It’s not rain, it’s Snowing, Sadie told him. Then, because she wasn’t sure and didn’t want to pretend she knew something she didn’t, she said, Either that or it’s Winter.
The Snowing stayed in the air all afternoon, so that by the time Mister and Missus walked the dogs down to the barn after supper, it had piled itself up on the ground. The dogs stuck their noses into it.
Cold!
Cold!
Run!
Mister bent over to pick up a handful of Snowing, and he threw it far out ahead of him. “Fetch, Angus,” he said, so Angus went running off to find it, where it had landed in the garden.
But it wasn’t there. Angus sniffed and sniffed, but he couldn’t find it.
So Mister threw another.
Angus ran to catch it in his mouth before it hid itself away on the Snowing-covered ground, but he was too late.
Then Missus bent down to pick up some Snowing, but instead of throwing it to Angus, she threw it at Mister. “You fetch,” she said.
“Hey!” he said, and threw some right back at her.
“Hey, yourself!” She laughed. “You shouldn’t tease Angus that way. Or any way. Or any dog.”
“Okay,” Mister said. “You’re right. Angus, Come! I want to show you something.”
Angus came, and Mister gave him the Snowing instead of letting him fetch it, and that wasn’t nearly as much fun. When Angus took the Snowing into his mouth, it was cold. Not only that, but Angus didn’t have it in his mouth for very long at all before it turned into water.
It’s just water, he told Sadie.
No, it’s Snowing, she told him.
Try eating it, he advised her.
So she did. What happened to the Snowing? It’s water! she said.
I shouldn’t tease you that way, Angus said.
By the middle of the next day, the Snowing had entirely disappeared. But before long, there was more of it floating down through the air. This new Snowing covered everything, just like the first time, but this one didn’t go away the next day. Mister said, “The dogs had better move inside for the winter, don’t you think?”
“I think so,” said Missus.
So Angus and Sadie’s blanket was folded up into a bed, which was moved to an empty kitchen corner. Their food and water bowls were also moved inside. Angus worried, What about the barn? Who will take care of the barn?
Inside is warmer, Sadie said. It’s close to Mister and Missus. You can take care of them instead. I can help. She liked spending the long nights warm in the house, with Mister and Missus, Patches and Angus, all of them together.
Angus also liked the warmth of the kitchen at night, especially after the day he and Mister brought the sheep down to their pen behind the barn. That day, Angus started out cold, and he ended up cold and wet and tired. The sheep didn’t go inside the barn to sleep, like the cows and cats. They had their own fenced pen behind the barn, with their own small three-sided house to stay in during bad weather. Angus thought that was a good place for the sheep in winter, but for some reason they were reluctant to come down from the snow-covered pasture. It made no sense to Angus, the way the sheep scattered off and tried to hide from Mister. Mister made whistling noises and waved his arms—“Sheep! Sheep! Hoo-eee!”—but the sheep didn’t cooperate. They drifted apart, going nowhere, or they ran off into a far corner of the pasture. They were much worse at obeying than Sadie was. Getting them all from their pasture back to their pen was cold, hard work. After that long day, Angus was especially glad to eat a big dinner and then curl up on his blanket on the floor of the warm kitchen.
The next day, after midday training, when Mister called, “Let’s go, Angus,” Angus wasn’t sure he wanted to go. He remembered how cold and tired he could get, going off with Mister to work. But Mister insisted, and he called to Sadie, too, “Let’s go, Sadie,” and then he called to Missus, “Let’s go, honey.” They all four went walking off together. They walked through the snow along the dirt road, and then they turned into the woods. Mister pulled a sled behind him.
In the woods, Mister sawed at the trunk of a fir tree while Missus held the tree upright, and Angus chased Sadie through the Snowing. Then, Mister and Missus lay the tree on top of the sled and tied it on. Together they dragged it all the way back to the house.
“I wonder if we could train the dogs to pull in harness?” Mister said, as he pulled.
“They’re herding dogs, not huskies,” Missus said.
“I bet Angus could do it,” Mister said.
When they got home, Mister and Missus took the fir tree inside and stood it up in the living room, away from the fire, near a window. Then they hung things on it, strings of lights and popcorn, balls that Angus wasn’t allowed to chase, and other small toys he wasn’t allowed to chew. The two dogs lay beside the fire and watched this strange behavior, wondering, until finally Missus explained, “This is a Christmas tree, Sadie. We always have a tree for Christmas.”
“And we always have a rib roast,” Mister said. “For Christmas dinner. Wait’ll you smell that, Angus. Wait until you get a smell of Christmas dinner.”
It didn’t take the dogs long to learn that it was called snow, not Snowing. “It looks like we got a lot of snow last night,” Mister said, looking out the kitchen window. “Maybe twelve inches, maybe sixteen. What do you think?”
“I think we’re going to have a white Christmas,” Missus said, opening the door to let Sadie and Angus out. “Let’s see how the dogs like snow when it gets deep.”
They said snow. Not Snowing. You told me the wrong thing, said Angus, who cared about being right.
Now we know, answered Sadie, who didn’t.
“Come on, dogs!” Missus called. “Out!”
They ran together through the door and over the steps, to jump down onto the white ground. But they didn’t land on the ground, they sank into it. They sank into it halfway up their legs.
Oh!
For a minute they stood stock still, too surprised to move.
What?!
The air was so bright that the dogs had trouble seeing, and it was icy, too. The snow was cold under their paws and up their legs. When they stuck their noses into the snow, it was so new, it had almost no smell at all. They chewed at it, but it melted into ice-cold water and drooled out of their mouths. This snow was so deep and cold and exciting, everything was so unlike it had been before, that the two dogs started to run—
But running in snow wasn’t at all like running on the ground. You had to jump up for each step you ran forward, and each time you landed you had to sink in a little.
Missus watched them from the porch. “How do you like winter?” she asked.
Winter means snow and cold, Angus told Sadie.
Jump! she answered. Play! and she bumped right into him, knocking him over into the snow, biting at it and tossing it up into the air until Angus got back on his feet and bumped right into her, knocking her over into the snow. They liked winter just fine, especially since they could go into the warm house whenever they wanted.
Because of the cold and the snow, the other animals kept close to the barn. The two cows stayed inside, except for when they went out to the cow pen where Mister kept their water and hay. Snake and Fox stayed up in the loft, catching mice and keeping warm in the piles of hay. Behind the barn, the sheep had their big pen, with a rail fence to keep them safe. They huddled in groups, or crowded together inside the three-sided shed where Mister put their food and water. In winter, their thick coats kept them warm. The chickens stayed in their house, and were—for chickens, who tend to be chatty—quiet.
Not long after that first deep snow, Mister and Missus set boxes under the lighted and decorated tree. They did this just before they went upstairs to bed. The next morning—as if they’d forgotten that they put the boxes there themselves—Mister and Missus took those same boxes out from under the tree and opened them. In one box they found marrow bones for Angus and Sadie to take outside and eat, and chew on, and bu
ry.
The dogs had never had bones before. Everything kept being so different and so exciting—bones, and the snow, and Mister and Missus watching them from the kitchen door and laughing—that Angus pretended to fight with Sadie and Sadie pretended to fight back. Then they settled down on the packed snow by the porch steps, each holding a bone between their front paws, and chewing, as if they had bones all the time and already knew just what to do with them.
“Look at the two of them,” Missus said.
“They know how to have a good time, don’t they?” Mister asked. “Like children.”
“Dogs make Christmas more fun,” Missus said. “Like children would.”
“Just look at them,” Mister said.
“Do you ever think about having children?” Missus asked.
“Yes,” Mister said. “I do.”
That same day Mister and Missus had a big dinner, but no other people came to eat it, no children, and no other dogs, so it was perfect. They were entirely happy to be just them, just Mister and Missus, Angus and Sadie and Patches, and everywhere a smell that filled up their stomachs just smelling it.
That’s what Mister was talking about, Angus reminded Sadie. Rib roast.
Christmas dinner, she remembered.
No, Angus corrected her. He said rib roast.
Even though it was just the two of them, Mister and Missus ate at the dining room table. When Missus sat down, she said to Mister, “Merry Christmas.” When Mister gave Missus a plate of food, he said, “Rib roast makes the perfect Christmas dinner.”
We were both right, Angus said. But I was righter.
How long does Christmas last? Sadie wondered. Angus didn’t know. Maybe always, Sadie decided. Maybe forever from now on.
Patches knew better. It goes away, I remember that. It goes away, and then, after a long, long time, it comes back.
When will it end? Sadie wondered, but cats are no better than dogs at telling time.
When will they let us outside to chew on those bones again? That’s what I want to know, Angus said.
Christmas went away, but winter stayed. The dogs got used to having icy snow on their paws when they came in from outside. They learned how to chew clumps of ice from them while they lay on their blanket in the warm kitchen. But if there was new snow on the ground—so fresh! so empty of any smell!—they were always eager to be outside. They barked, and ran, barking, through the snow. Once or twice, the snow was so deep that they sank in up to their shoulders.
Yikes!
Jump!
Up!
Oh!
When they had training and Mister or Missus said, “Down!” and then “Stay!,” it was cold on their chests and bellies while they waited, and waited, and waited to hear “That’ll do!” When they finally heard that command, they jumped up eagerly. Mister and Missus thought they were obeying, but really they were getting away from the freezing snow.
Day after day, the snow stayed on the ground. Sometimes the sky grew gray and cloudy, and even more snow fell. These conditions would have made training and running around impossible, if Mister hadn’t used the pickup with its plow. The plow pushed snow away from the front of the barn and cleared the driveway, too. Missus shoveled the steps clear.
During winter, Mister and Missus stayed inside almost all of the time, fixing or making things or reading. Sometimes Angus and Sadie stayed inside, too; but they also liked to go outside to check on the cows, to slip underneath the rails of the fence and make the sheep nervous, to sniff at the faint traces of scent left by the little creatures that came out at night, to eat whatever they might find in the snow-covered garden. Angus and Sadie had warm fur coats. They didn’t want to stay inside most of the time. They wanted to be outside, running around in the snow, until they came in where it was warm, to eat and to sleep, until they could go outside again.
9
How it’s Sadie who is the hero
One day, the sky hung especially low and dark over the farm, and a wind roared at the windows and doors of the house, and shoved against its walls, and howled all around the house and the barn.
“I’m doing a last check before this storm hits,” Mister said. “I’ll take the dogs because, if it’s as bad as they say it’s going to be, they won’t get much exercise for a while.”
“The snow’s starting,” Missus reported from the window. “It’s not coming down heavy yet, but—wear your gloves.”
“I am.”
“And a scarf.”
“I am.”
“And a hat, too. With earflaps.”
“I am, I am. Angus, Come! Sadie, Come!”
Sadie wasn’t sure she wanted to step out into that wind. When she did, she wished right away that she hadn’t. She hadn’t known a wind could be that loud, or strong. She could barely walk through it. What really surprised her was how exciting it felt to be out in a storm. All the noise and confusion of a wind so hard it almost knocked her over made her heart race, and that made her want to bark and bark. Mister and Angus were there, so she knew she didn’t have to be afraid.
They kept close together, all three of them. The wind pulled at the dogs’ fur as it whirled past them, pushing their ears back against their heads. A few flakes of snow whipped into their faces. Angus lowered his tail, lowered his head, lowered his body, and followed behind Mister. Sadie, too, lowered her tail and head and body, and followed behind Angus. Inside the barn it was bitter cold, but the cows never noticed much except food and being milked. They mostly stood, and shifted on their hooves, and chewed. That was what cows did.
Mister pulled up his stool and milked Annie and Bethie, covering the two pails and setting them just outside the open doors of the barn. From their warm nests in the hay, the cats peered down at the two pails, but it was too cold and windy for them to think of leaving their loft to make a quick raid. “We’ll pick these buckets up on our way back to the house,” Mister was saying when—Boom! Bash!—there came a huge crashing sound, so big and heavy that even the wind couldn’t drown it out. The cows looked up, worried. The cats burrowed for cover. Angus and Sadie looked at Mister, to find out what it was, but he was looking at them as if he expected them to know.
“What?!” Mister said.
I don’t—
Is it dangerous?
“What was that?” Mister asked.
They all listened, but they didn’t hear any more crashing. All they heard was the wind howling, just like before. Finally, Mister said, “That’ll be bad news, I’ll bet. Sounded like a tree’s down. Luckily, it’s not near the house, and it looks like it didn’t get the barn roof, but I bet you dollars to doughnuts it scared the sheep.”
Dollars?
Doughnuts?
“And they were probably already in a panic because of the storm. You know how jittery sheep are,” Mister explained. He led the two dogs out of the barn, pulling the wide doors closed. “Sheep are bolters.”
Snow was now blowing thick through the air.
“Let’s go see what’s what with the sheep,” Mister called, loudly enough for Angus and Sadie to hear him through the wind as he headed off behind the barn.
Snow fell thickly onto Sadie and she had trouble keeping close to Angus, but she managed, even when they turned the corner and the wind really attacked them, blowing snow so hard into their faces that it was hard to keep their eyes open.
“Some storm, isn’t it, Angus? What do you think of this weather, Sadie?” called Mister, but the wind grabbed his words and blew them away. Angus and Sadie barely heard him. They could barely see him to follow close on his heels as he walked around the sheep pen, with one hand on the top rail of the fence to guide him. His scent was quickly covered by the snow.
They arrived at a dark, high mass of branches where the wind had torn up a big pine tree, ripping its roots up out of the ground and throwing it onto the rail fence. The fallen tree had knocked down part of the fence, and there were sheep everywhere, scooting around the pen in groups of three and four.
The sheep bolted back and forth in terror and panic, and two were running out through the break in the fence. No, three sheep were escaping. One sheep was way ahead of the other two.
“Hey! Hey!” Mister shouted. He ran toward the escaping sheep, waving his arms. Angus ran with him, barking, with Sadie behind.
Mister’s loud voice, combined with Angus’s barking, frightened the sheep even more.
When sheep are frightened, first they stop dead in their tracks. Then, they look down at the ground or around at one another, pretending there is nothing to be afraid of after all. Finally, suddenly, as if they’ve made a group decision, they break and run fast.
When Mister yelled, the two closest sheep stopped dead in their tracks long enough for him to catch up to them, but the third one had time to stop, and then to decide to run off.
“Hey!” Mister shouted at the two sheep. “Back! Go on now!” He waved his arms to drive them past the fallen tree, back into the pen. Angus stayed beside him to help, barking. “Good going, Angus,” Mister said, waving his arms and yelling. “Hey now! Hoo-eee, sheep!”
There’s one more, Sadie said.
I know. I’ll take care of it.
It’s bolted off into the woods.
I know. Just wait until I’m through here.
But Sadie didn’t wait. That sheep was already out of sight in the trees. It was going to get itself lost. Sadie took off after it. Behind her, she heard Mister call, “Sadie, Come! Sadie, Sit!” But she had a sheep to go after.
The sheep’s track was only a faint smell that was already fading away under the fast-falling snow, so Sadie put her head down and ran as fast as she could, following the track through the trees. In the trees the sound of the wind wasn’t so loud and the snow wasn’t so deep. After a little while, Sadie had come close enough to hear the sound of the sheep running away. The sound was muffled by the snow and buried in the wind, but it was still just loud enough to hear, and to follow. Sadie had to pay very close attention so as not to lose track of the sheep.