Watchdog and the Coyotes Read online

  “Only, like I said, he was a big little boy. I was still a puppy when he went away to this place called college. I missed him. I’d get so lonely I couldn’t stand it. At night I’d cry and howl. The daddy didn’t like that. He yelled at me. He even threw water on me. The neighbors had a cat. Sometimes the cat would come over and climb on our roof. Sometimes cars would park in the alley behind our house. Every time the cat climbed on our roof or the cars parked in the alley, I barked to warn the daddy what was going on. He never understood, though. Each time I barked or howled, he’d yell at me or throw water on me. Even the neighbors yelled at me and threw stuff. They yelled at the daddy, too.”

  “People are kind of dumb animals,” Red sighed. “They really can’t communicate too well. So what happened next?”

  “So,” I continued, “one day this lady came to the house. I barked to tell the daddy that someone was there. She looked mean and acted funny. I growled at her, and she kicked me. Then she started pounding on the door. When the daddy didn’t come, she started yanking on the doorknob and trying to get in. I was afraid she was going to hurt the daddy. So . . . so . . .”

  “So?”

  I sniffed. “So I bit her. I nipped her right on her big flabby bottom. I figured it would make her go away. Only she didn’t go away. She started screaming and crying and yelling. The daddy came running out the door. He kept yelling at me and hitting me with a rolled-up magazine. He told me that if I ever bit his mother again, he’d take me straight to the pound.” I looked at Red and swallowed the big knot that lumped up in my throat. “I didn’t know she was his mama. I was just trying to protect him.”

  Red gave a little sigh. “It was an honest mistake. It really wasn’t your fault.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell him, only—”

  “Yeah,” Red knew what I was going to say. “Only he didn’t understand Dog.”

  I nodded. “About a week after that, the daddy’s brother came to visit from Oklahoma. He had a little little boy who came out and played with me in the backyard. He was real tiny, so I was careful not to knock him down and stuff. I really liked him, too. Anyway, the daddy told his brother that I needed a boy to play with, and since they lived on a farm in the country, my barking wouldn’t bother the neighbors. He never mentioned that I had bitten his mother. The brother took me to live with them in Oklahoma.”

  Red rolled to his side and rested his cheek on the ground. “You bit somebody else when you got to Oklahoma, right?”

  My ears twitched. “Well, no. Not really.”

  “You barked at stuff or you . . .”

  Suddenly Red stopped and stared at the fence on the far side of my yard.

  “Who’s that?”

  “That’s Poky,” I told him. “He and his master just moved into that new house two days ago.”

  “What is he?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. He won’t talk to me. When I tried to make friends, he growled and told me how big he was and how mean and terrible, and he said if he ever got ahold of me, he’d chew my head off.”

  “You ever see him?”

  “No. The fence boards on that side are too close together. I can’t see through them at all. But I know he’s big and really mean. He told me so.”

  Red snorted. He made that grunting sound when he stood up. I followed him across the yard.

  “Hi. My name’s Red. I’m an Irish setter. This is my friend—”

  “Get away from my yard!” The smell and the high, sharp growl from the other side of the fence warned us. “Back off or I’ll rip both of you to shreds. I’m big and tough and mean.”

  Red’s white eyebrows scrunched low on his red forehead. “You sound and smell like a beagle.”

  There was another growl from the far side of the fence. “Yeah, that’s right. But I’m huge. I’m the biggest, meanest beagle you ever saw, and if you mess with me I’ll—”

  “Nobody’s gonna mess with you,” Red snorted. “I’m too old to fight, and this pup here is nothin’ but a big pussycat.”

  “I’m not a pussycat,” I pouted. “I’m a Great Dane.”

  “Some Great Dane,” Red huffed. “You may think you’re a Great Dane. You may think you’re a watchdog, but you act like a pussycat.”

  Through the fence, he explained to Poky what had happened with the burglar last night. Poky just growled at him. Red told him that he had dug a hole under my fence so we could be friends and he could help me. Poky only snarled.

  Red confided in him that even though he was old, he still got lonely and figured it would be nice to have a friend. “Since I’m out making friends, I figure I might as well make friends with you, too.”

  “I don’t want to make friends,” Poky barked. “I’m too big and mean to have friends.”

  Red looked at me and winked. “We’ll just see.”

  With that, he trotted to the corner where my back fence joined the side where Poky lived. My eyes flashed in terror as he started to dig. I was going to the pound for sure. Not only had I messed up and let the burglar in, but now there was going to be a huge hole in my backyard and I’d get blamed for it.

  Chapter 5

  “Please!” I whimpered. “Don’t dig a hole in my yard. Mr. Shaffer will take me to the pound and . . .”

  Red ignored me and kept digging.

  I had to stop him. I remembered what had happened to Scotty. I couldn’t let Red dig. In the twitch of a whisker, I leaped between him and the fence. I plopped down, right where he was digging.

  He looked at me and snarled. Then, with a grunt, he pulled his paws out from under my bottom.

  “Move, you big ox!” he growled.

  Red tried to dig under my tail. I pushed my bottom harder against the ground. “Please stop. If Mr. Shaffer finds a hole in his yard—”

  “Get away from my yard,” the high voice snarled from the far side of the tall fence.

  Red moved around in front of me and started digging from a different angle. I put my front paws down and stopped him.

  “I’m warning you!” Poky yapped. “I’m big and tough and mean and . . .”

  Red moved again. He tried to wiggle himself between me and the fence so he could dig. I pushed against him and kept him from getting through. Instantly he scooted behind me and tried to dig there. He shoved, trying to make an opening between me and the fence. I pushed harder against the fence to block him.

  There was a loud crunch-crack!

  Something snapped. Something gave way. I felt myself falling. Paws and legs sprawling, I tumbled backwards. I landed on my head with a thud.

  Suddenly I was no longer in my yard. I blinked and looked around. The fence was on the wrong side. I was on the wrong side! I was upside down!

  From the corner of my eye I saw a white, black, and brown streak. It shot across the yard and disappeared into a small doghouse under a pecan tree.

  Paws churning, I rolled from my back and struggled to my feet. Frantic, I looked all around.

  “Where am I? What happened? Where’s my yard and my food bowl?”

  “Good job, pup!” Red’s head appeared through an opening in the fence. Then his shoulders, chest, and rear. Finally his tail slipped through and he wagged it. “Wish I was big enough to snap boards like that. It would sure save a lot of time and effort digging under.”

  “What happened?” I repeated.

  Red turned back to the fence. With his nose, he shoved on one of the boards. It swung from a loose nail at the top. As it moved, I could see the fresh wood at the bottom where it was cracked. The two boards next to it were broken as well, although I could barely see the crack. They were also held by one loose nail at the top of the fence.

  “You snapped those three boards, pup. Just busted right through ’em. Those loose boards make a neat gate. The way they swing from those top nails—as soon as we go through, they just slip back in place. Our masters won’t even know about it.”

  “But how do I get home?” One ear arched.

  “J
ust stick your nose through the crack,” Red explained. “Once you squeeze through, the fence boards just swing back in place. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

  I stuck my nose in the crack. Sure enough the board moved over. I was so big that two boards moved when I thrust my whole head through. My yard was still there. So was my food bowl.

  Just then someone nipped my tail. It was a gentle nip, more of a tug. I backed out of the opening and looked around.

  Red tugged my tail again.

  “Come on. Let’s go check out the beagle.”

  I hesitated. The beagle, Poky, was big and mean and scary. I really didn’t know whether we should try to find him or not.

  Red trotted across the yard toward the little doghouse under the pecan tree. I waited a moment, then cautiously followed him.

  • • •

  “Why did you lie to me?” I asked.

  The little dog cowered against the back wall of the tiny doghouse. He covered one eye with a big floppy ear. Poky was tiny. Well, I guess he was the normal size for a beagle, but compared to me he was tiny. He was mostly white with big black and brown spots on his fur. It would have taken five of him to make one of me, and he wasn’t mean at all.

  “Why did you lie?” I repeated. “You told me you were big and fierce and mean.”

  The floppy ear wiggled just a bit. I could see part of a soft brown eye.

  “I could tell you were huge,” Poky said sheepishly. “I was afraid if you knew how small I was, you’d eat me. So . . . well, I figured if you thought I was big and mean and tough, you’d stay on your own side of the fence. I really am tough, though. I’m a lot stronger and meaner than I look.” Again, he hid his eye under his ear. “Please don’t eat me.”

  Red plopped down on his bottom. He had to lean over to see inside the low doghouse. “Nobody’s gonna eat you. We just want to be friends. Come on out.”

  Red and I talked to Poky for a long, long, long time before we finally got him out of his house. When he did come out, he tried to look mean. His curved tail stood straight up in the air. The hair rose along his back in a sharp ridge, and his little short legs were as stiff as the boards in the fence.

  We all took turns sniffing and inspecting each other. Poky kept growling and telling us how ferocious he was. But he finally relaxed.

  “I guess you guys are okay,” he admitted. “You’re just so darned big, though.”

  “I’m a Great Dane,” I told him. “Great Danes are supposed to be big. We can’t help it.”

  “I’m not all that big,” Red confessed. “I’m really kind of skinny—mostly long red hair. Besides, like I told you through the fence, I’m too old to fight. And the pup here is nothing but a big ol’ pussycat.”

  “I’m not a pussycat,” I said. “I’m a dog. And I’m not a pup, either. I’m three and a half years old, so I’m an adult dog.”

  Red wiggled his nose from side to side. “Well, compared to me, you’re a pup. I’m twelve. Besides, you act like a pup—won’t even bite a burglar.”

  “A burglar!” Poky snarled. “Is that what all the commotion was last night? Man, if I ever get ahold of a burglar, I’ll chew his leg off.”

  While we explored Poky’s yard and peed on his shrubs, Red told him all about the burglar and why I didn’t bite him because I made a mistake once and bit some old lady on the bottom. When the three of us squeezed through the boards to show Poky my yard and pee on my bushes, Red told him about how my brothers and sisters called me a bully and about how I was afraid to dig in the dirt because of this guy named Scotty who got sent to the pound.

  We were just getting ready to crawl through the hole so we could explore Red’s yard when Poky stopped. His floppy ears perked up and his tail stopped wagging.

  “That’s my master’s car. It’s almost evening, and he’s home from work.” His tail made a circle. “My master will be out to feed me any minute now.”

  Red glanced at the orange sliver of sun that rested on the back fence. “We’d better get home before our masters find out we’ve been gone,” he said. “First thing after they leave for work in the morning, we’ll get together and see if we can straighten this pussycat—excuse me, Great Dane—we’ll see if we can straighten him out.”

  Poky slipped through the opening on his side of the yard. As soon as his tail disappeared, the boards fell back into place as if they weren’t even broken. Red made a grunting sound as he squeezed through the hole on his side of the yard.

  “I figure you’re safe,” he called from the other side. “If your master was going to take you to the pound, he would have already done it, so quit worrying. See you in the morning, pup.”

  “My name’s not pup,” I told the fence. “It’s Sweetie.”

  From the other side of the boards, I could hear Red chuckling.

  Chapter 6

  That night a coyote howled in the desert. He was much closer than the last time I’d heard him. The sound of his voice made me uneasy. His howl made the hair on my back stand on end. He was so close that I could almost understand what he was howling about—almost but not quite. The sound didn’t make me feel lonely, though. Now, I had two new friends. Friends make you feel better.

  I guess Red was right about my master. Mr. Shaffer didn’t take me to the pound. In fact, the next morning he even petted me and scratched behind my ears when he put my dog food in my bowl. “Some watchdog you are,” he said.

  His words should have made my tail wag, but the way he said the word “watchdog” made my shoulders sag and my tail tuck under. I knew for sure that my master was not really proud of me. People are bad about that, I thought. They’re bad about saying one thing when they really mean something else.

  When Poky’s master left for work, the beagle shoved the broken boards aside with his nose and came over to say good morning. We waited at the hole under Red’s fence until we heard a door slam and a car pull out of the driveway. Then we went to visit Red.

  Poky walked right through the hole under the fence. He hardly had to squat down. I couldn’t get through. I was afraid to dig, so I waited by the fence until Red and Poky dug enough dirt out of the hole for me to squeeze my way under. We explored Red’s yard and romped and even chased one another around and around the yard. Even though he was old, Red was still pretty fast. He got tired quickly, though, so we went to sit by his doghouse.

  “Got plenty of food left,” he panted. “You guys hungry? Help yourselves.”

  “I’m always hungry.” Poky wagged his tail. “Thanks.” Then he looked up at me. “How about you? You’re as big as a horse. Probably takes a ton of dog food to fill you up. You go first.”

  I flipped my tail to the side and sat down. “I may look as big as a horse to you, but that doesn’t mean I have to eat like one. I’m full. You eat. I’m not hungry.”

  Poky finished Red’s leftovers. Then all three of us stretched out to soak up some of the warm sunshine.

  We spent that day and the days that followed lying in the sun and playing chase. Red wouldn’t run for very long because he got tired. Poky had lots more energy. He was quick, too. Just about the time I got to him, he’d dart to the side. My long legs were faster than his short stubby ones, but I couldn’t turn as quickly. I nearly had to stop to make such sharp turns. Sometimes he’d turn so quickly that I’d stumble and land on my chin just trying to keep up with him.

  I did have to be careful not to step on Poky. My paws were so big, and he was so small—one good smack might have smushed him.

  I was glad that Red had forgotten to make me tell him about my little little boy. The memories of my boy and of Oklahoma always made me sad. I was having so much fun with my new friends. I wanted the good feelings to last, and I wanted to forget the sad times.

  And we did have some wonderful times. We spent the fall romping and playing. We shared our food. We chased each other and lay in the yard to soak up the warm Arizona sun.

  Winter tried to come a couple of times, but fall chased it awa
y as quickly and easily as I used to chase the sparrows away from Mama’s food bowl. I knew it would be that way, too.

  The first year I lived with the Shaffers was in a place called Chickasha, Oklahoma. The winter there was cold and nasty. It rained, and a few times it snowed or the ground was slippery with ice. When the wind blew from the north, it howled! It shook the brown leaves from the trees and left them naked and shivering. It was a damp, cold wind that seemed to cut right through my fur and down to my very bones.

  Then, two years ago, my master got a new job—it was called retirement. We moved here, to Scottsdale. Mr. and Mrs. Shaffer worked hard at retirement. She painted pictures, and he made things out of silver and pretty little blue stones. Each morning they got in their car and went to the shop. I didn’t know what the shop was, but they always took their pictures and trinkets with them, and they always came home about the same time Poky’s master did.

  The two years we’d spent at Mr. Shaffer’s new job in Arizona had been great. The winters here seemed more like spring in Oklahoma. The wind didn’t blow, and there was never ice on the ground to slip and fall on. I thought it would always be that way.

  Only, this winter was different.

  One night the wind howled. It was so cold that even the needles on the cactuses shivered. I kept hearing this strange sound, so I crawled out of my warm doghouse to investigate. The sound came from the direction of Red’s yard. I leaned my ear against the wood fence and listened. It was a whining, whimpering sort of sound. It was Red’s voice. It sounded as if he was hurt.

  Quick as a flash, I darted under the fence and trotted to his doghouse. Red was huddled in the corner. He was asleep, but his legs shook and the whimpering sound kept coming from his half-open mouth.

  “Red?”

  He just trembled.

  “Red,” I said louder, “are you all right?”

  One eye opened. He jerked, surprised to see my big head poked into his doghouse.