Once they had rounded the curve again, Missus unclipped the leash. “Go ahead, girl, explore. See what you can see, like the bear who went over the mountain. Do you know about that bear, Sadie?”
Don’t know bear. Don’t know mountain. But I know ditch. This is the ditch!
“Now where are you going? You’re the silliest, sorriest dog I’ve ever seen,” Missus said. “Sorriest, silliest, sweetest … sportiest? No. Not sportiest. You’re not a bit sporty, are you?”
Sporty, yes!
Missus liked to talk, no matter what she was doing. “All right, Sadie. We’ve finished the kitchen and the bed is made,” Missus would say in the morning. “Now’s our chance to get out in the garden. It’s finally spring, Sadie. It’s almost time to plant. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
Let’s go!
At first, Missus worked in the garden with a rototiller. “We’re getting the soil ready,” she explained. “Turning it over, aerating it, mixing in manure.”
Sadie kept away from the rototiller. It was a machine like the tractor, loud and smelly and scary. Angus had explained it to her: Stay away from machines. Unless it’s the pickup, of course. When Missus turned on the rototiller, Sadie ran over to the porch and hid behind the steps. She would have done that even without the warning from Angus. A machine sounded like something that would like to crunch you up.
Missus agreed with her. “Good move, Sadie. You’re getting smarter every day, as well as bigger.”
Yes, smarter!
But the rototiller came out only for the first two days Missus worked in the garden. After that, she used a shovel, and after that, the hoe and pitchfork, so Sadie could dig right alongside of her, helping. While Sadie and Missus gardened, Patches sat in the kitchen window or curled up in a puddle of sunlight on the porch, to watch and sleep.
When Angus was off working with Mister, Patches and Sadie took naps together on the rug in front of the kitchen sink, or stretched out nose-to-nose behind one of the rocking chairs on the porch. Sometimes Sadie chased Patches around the house, barking at him, and sometimes Patches pretended to be trying to catch Sadie by the tail.
You can’t be friends with a cat, Angus told Sadie.
All right, Sadie said, but she napped and played with Patches all the same. If Angus said they couldn’t be friends, he was probably right; but Sadie went on liking Patches even if they weren’t friends. The friend question puzzled her. Am I your friend? she asked Angus. Are we friends?
Of course, he told her. We’re dogs. Dogs are always friends with other dogs. Unless it’s a dog you don’t know, from another farm, and he wants to come onto your farm. Or unless you don’t like them.
I’ll probably like them, Sadie said.
You better be careful about who you like, Angus warned her.
All right, Sadie said.
As long as Sadie had the cast on her leg, Angus had Mister all to himself all day long. They walked across the grassy pastures together, with Angus on a leash, to check the winter damage to the fences that kept the cows and sheep safe. They checked the wooden railings and the electric fence wires. They rode the tractor, with Mister lifting Angus up into the cab before they started off to plow the fields.
They rode the tractor on a dirt road into the woods, and then climbed together over low stone fences, walking right into the woods. Mister let Angus run free while he cut up fallen trees with his chainsaw. Angus quickly got used to the roar of the tractor as it turned over the soil in the fields or pulled a flatbed into the woods to be loaded with logs. He even got used to the whine of the chainsaw as it cut through trees, lopping off branches, slicing up trunks.
“Stand back!” Mister called, when a machine started up. When Mister said that, Angus backed away to a safe distance from the noise. “Clever boy,” Mister said. Then Angus lay down, waiting until the job was done, keeping an eye on Mister the whole time. “Good dog,” Mister said.
At the end of the day, when Mister and Angus came home for supper, they all stayed in the kitchen together. Mister and Missus sat at the table, eating. Angus and Sadie had already eaten, so they stretched out on the floor near the warmth of the stove to rest. Patches sat on the windowsill, among pots of aloe and parsley, rosemary, mint, and a cyclamen with bright white flowers. “I like flowers in my kitchen,” Missus said, “even if they are useless. I like flowers in my life.”
Angus told Sadie about all the things he had seen and done that day, after which he dozed off for a little nap. Sadie wasn’t tired, but she took a nap, too. Patches kept his distance, up on the deep windowsill behind the sink. Whenever Angus was around, Patches preferred to keep his distance.
After they finished in the kitchen, the dogs took a bathroom walk outside. After they went back inside, Missus combed and brushed them, telling them how handsome they were. Then Mister walked down to the barn with Angus at his side and Sadie lolloping behind. Sometimes Missus came with them and sometimes not. Angus led the way into their stall, and Sadie followed. Mister no longer closed the stall door. Now he just said, “Keep an ear out. It’s up to you, Angus.” They heard him say, “Good night, ladies,” to Bethie and Annie before he left the barn, closing the big doors behind him. Then, they heard his faint steps as he walked back up along the path to the house.
You can’t go to sleep yet, Angus told Sadie.
All right.
We have to listen. When we know everything is okay, then we can go to sleep.
Everything is okay, Sadie said. She could hear that. The restless barn cats were padding around the loft. The cows shuffled in the hay, and the tractor smelled nasty, just the way it was supposed to. You can sleep. I can sleep.
Something bad could happen.
If something bad happens, we’ll wake up and you’ll fix it, Sadie answered. She lay down to go to sleep, curled up against Angus’s warm body. Angus stayed awake and listened, and listened, for a long time. Then he went to sleep, too.
Soon the puppies had lived on the farm long enough to have forgotten they had ever lived anywhere else, and long enough for spring to have pulled bright green leaves out from the trees and pushed soft green seedlings up in the garden. One spring day, Angus and Mister took the tractor into the woods and then climbed down to walk along a dirt road, looking for fallen trees to clear away. Mister carried his chainsaw and Angus was off the leash. The soft mossy ground under their feet smelled of unknown animal tracks, but Angus didn’t feel like exploring that day. He felt like sticking close to Mister, following right behind Mister’s boots, stopping when Mister stopped to examine a fallen tree, waiting while Mister sawed it into pieces and put them into neat piles. They had gotten deep into the woods when Angus heard—far away—a high noise. He had never heard anything like that before, but as soon as he heard it he knew something was wrong. Angus ran to see what was happening. He barked to tell Mister, Trouble! Follow me!
Mister yelled and chased after him, but Angus was much faster than Mister, especially in the woods, where he could run low to the ground and Mister had to crash through, carrying the heavy chainsaw. Running fast and low, Angus left Mister far behind.
At last, Angus found the noise. It came from an animal that smelled like the pen behind the barn, so he knew it must be a sheep. The sheep had fallen down into a steep gulley and gotten tangled in some bushes at the bottom. She was thrashing with her legs, trying to get free, trying to stand up, making high bleating sounds.
What are you doing down there? Angus asked. Get out of there! You better come back up!
The sheep kicked its legs, bleating in fear and misery.
You have to get up.
Bleat! Bleat! The sheep struggled even harder, as if, instead of helping, Angus had just made her more frightened.
Angus didn’t know what to do. But he was sure that Mister would understand what was wrong and fix it. Angus turned back the way he’d come and ran to find Mister.
Running from opposite directions, Angus and Mister almost crashed into each other. Mister
demanded angrily, “What got into you, Angus? You’re a bad—”
Then he heard the thrashing and bleating, and he lifted his head to listen. “What?” he asked. “What’s that?” He set down the chainsaw and ran. “Come on!” he called, and Angus followed close behind him.
Later, Mister told Missus all about it while they were eating supper and the two dogs were lying in front of the oven. “The silly thing had got herself tangled up in vines and undergrowth.”
“Good thing it wasn’t barbed wire,” Missus remarked.
What’s barbed wire? asked Sadie.
Something bad, Angus answered. It catches your legs. He thought some more. It hurts.
“And every move the silly thing made just got her more tangled and more tightly caught,” Mister said. “So she panicked. Well, sheep do that.”
“Would you have found her if Angus hadn’t?” Missus asked.
“Maybe.” Mister paused and thought and then said, “Maybe not.”
“Good dog, Angus,” Missus said. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”
Yes. I am. Angus’s tail thumped against the floor. He was feeling proud, and happy, too, because he had helped Mister.
“If Angus hadn’t been there, the poor silly thing might well have died before I noticed she’d gone missing and went looking for her in the part of the woods where she’d gotten herself trapped. But Angus saved the day.”
“He saved the sheep at least,” Missus said, and they both laughed. “The day isn’t over yet,” she added, and they laughed again.
After he had eaten some more, Mister said, “You know what that means. There’s a break in the fence around the spring pasture. I thought I was finished with fences for the year.”
“You’re never finished with fences on a farm,” Missus answered.
You’re smart, Sadie said to Angus.
And I did a good job of saving the sheep, Angus answered. He liked being the dog who saved the sheep. That was the only dog he wanted to be.
Am I smart?
Not as smart as me.
Maybe when I get my cast off, Sadie said.
Probably not, Angus told her. But don’t worry. I’m here to take care of you.
“On the other hand,” Mister said, “Angus didn’t come back when I called him. He just kept on running away. It’s time that dog had some training.”
“What about Sadie?”
“It’s time for both of them. They’re more than three months old. Doesn’t the cast come off next week? Shouldn’t we make a couple of appointments at the vet’s? We’ll start training after that.”
Did you hear? Sadie asked. Did you hear that? I’ll be able to run! I’ll be able to run with you!
I can run faster, Angus warned her. I’m bigger, and stronger.
I know, Sadie said. But I won’t have a cast! I’ll be able to run! I’ll be able to run with you!
3
How both dogs visit the vet, Angus is better at being trained, and Sadie isn’t a fetcher
They all went into town together to go to the vet. Angus and Sadie were too big now for their box, so they rode behind the seats, climbing back and forth, over and under each other, to look out the windows.
“Settle down, you two,” Mister said.
They didn’t know “settle down,” but they understood his tone of voice. Mister didn’t like what they were doing.
“They’re just nervous,” Missus said.
“They don’t know enough to know to be nervous,” Mister said.
“Maybe they do,” Missus said. “How do we know what they know?”
As soon as they entered the vet’s office, Angus and Sadie were suspicious. There was something about it they didn’t like. It smelled bad in a nasty, sharp, clean way, and the floor was slippery. It wasn’t the farm. It wasn’t home.
“It’s going to be all right, I promise,” Missus told Angus. “Dr. Anderson is a very good vet, and you’ll have Sadie for company.”
“You’ll both be back home tomorrow,” Mister told Sadie. “You’ll have Angus for company.”
They could tell that Mister and Missus were worried, too.
What’s going to happen? Sadie asked.
It’ll be all right. Missus said.
What will be all right?
We’ll be home tomorrow.
When’s tomorrow?
Angus wasn’t sure. Soon. He was too worried to want to talk anymore. Very soon.
As it turned out, Angus was correct. But before tomorrow came, they all went together into a bright little room to meet the vet, a man in a white coat, who crouched down to stroke their whole bodies, and look at their mouths, and pull gently on their ears. It wasn’t petting, but it was nice. “They look grand, Mr. Davis,” he said to Mister. “Are they eating well? Are they lively enough?”
“More than lively enough,” said Missus.
“Well, they would be. They’re part border collie,” the vet said. “You can leave them here with me, now. We’ll do everything—shots, cast off—while they’re unconscious. That’ll be the easiest for them. Come back anytime after seven in the morning. Somebody’s always here by seven. They’ll be ready.”
While the vet was talking, Angus stuck close to Mister’s leg and Sadie stuck close to Missus.
I want to go home.
Me, too.
“I’m not too happy about leaving them,” Missus said.
“Not to worry. This is just routine,” the doctor said.
Routine, said Angus. It’s just routine. Everything’s going to be fine.
All right, Sadie said.
Mister and Missus gave the doctor the leashes and let him lead them away, and it turned out that Angus was right again because when the doctor talked to them, they fell asleep, and when they woke up they only wanted to go back to sleep again, so they did. Then Mister and Missus were there to take them home.
In the truck, Missus said, “I bought you new collars, because you’re bigger now. Red for Angus and green for Sadie.”
I feel wrong. Bad.
Me, too.
“They’re color-blind. They don’t care what colors they wear.”
We should go to sleep.
All right.
When the truck stopped, and the dogs were lifted out, for a minute they were so glad to be home that they felt fine. Missus put the new collars on them. “You both look very handsome,” she said, and she petted them both on the head and the ears. “And, see? You have name tags, too, so you can’t get lost.”
Home!
Look! I have my own leg!
“Name tags won’t keep them from getting lost,” Mister told her.
“You know what I mean,” Missus said. “I mean, anybody who finds them will know they belong here, with us.”
“If they get lost around here, they’re more likely to get found by coyotes or bobcats than people,” Mister said. “That’s why it’s important for them to learn to come when we call them, and stay when we tell them to.” At the vet’s Mister had bought a choke chain collar and a book for dog training.
Look at me! The cast is gone!
Sadie tried to run over to play with Angus, but her leg felt funny now. It felt as if it didn’t know what it was doing. She took off toward the garden, and then turned right—and that leg didn’t know how to turn. So she fell down. She scrambled up and tried again, more slowly.
I feel bad, she realized. Not my leg.
I feel worse than you, Angus said. We should go to sleep.
All right.
They lay down together in the grass by the porch steps, where the sun could warm them and the barn cats would leave them alone.
A few days later, when the dogs felt normal and good again, and Sadie had gotten so used to having four legs the same that she almost forgot she had ever had a cast on one, training began. After breakfast, before the day’s work, Mister and Missus took the dogs out to the grassy lawn in front of the barn. They had both read the training book, so they knew both masters
had to train both dogs.
“Only a few minutes at first,” Mister reminded Missus.
“I read the book, too,” she reminded him.
“I’ll go first, then you,” he told her.
“We start with Sit,” she told him.
Mister removed Angus’s red collar and replaced it with the choke chain collar. Then he clipped on a leash.
Missus and Sadie sat together on the grass, and watched.
Angus looked right at Mister, and waited.
“Angus, Sit!” Mister said.
What?
“Sit!” Mister said again.
Angus stared right at Mister, waiting to understand.
Mister pulled up hard on the leash.
What? The chain closed tight around Angus’s throat. What? What! Angus stuck his muzzle up into the air, trying to loosen the collar, and that lifted his whole head up, which lifted his shoulders up. All that lifting made his haunches go lower and lower, until he had his rear end down on the ground with his nose still pointing high into the air. “Good dog,” Mister said, and then he lowered the leash and the collar was comfortable again.
“Good dog,” Mister said again. He bent over and rubbed Angus on the shoulder. “Good dog, good boy.”
Angus stood up and shook himself; he was good, everything was all right. He licked Mister’s hand.
Mister stood up, too, but instead of walking off to get to work, he said, “Angus, Sit!”
What? Again? But—
Before Angus could even start to wonder, Mister jerked up on the leash and the chain tightened. Immediately, without even thinking, Angus lifted his nose and lowered his rear. Then Mister bent down and praised him again. “Good, good dog. Good boy.” He scratched Angus behind the ears. “What a good dog.”
This time Angus didn’t lick Mister’s hand. This time he stood up a little more slowly, and wagged his tail a little cautiously, because he wasn’t sure what would happen next, although he thought he might be able to guess. And he was right.