Birdie For Now (5 page)

The slam of a car door woke him. He leaped up and zoomed into the hall.

“Hi, Mum,” he said, suddenly pleased to see her.

“Hi yourself, my sweet Birdie,” she said, dumping groceries onto the kitchen table and hugging him. “Did you think I was never coming?”

“No,” he said, surprised. Then he
stole a look at his watch. Five-forty-five. She had said she would be home by five at the latest.

“I knew you'd call if something was wrong,” he said.

He was in luck. She was so taken up with her first full day at her new job that she forgot to quiz him about what he'd done all day.

“So what's new, Chickabid?” she asked finally through a yawn.

He told her he'd watched TV and had lunch and worked on his Lego.

“Kids came to a dog class at the Humane Society,” he threw in, casually.

“Oh, baby, they want me to work late for the first two weeks,” she burst out, not hearing what he said. She launched into the story of her day. It sounded dull to him, but clearly she had found it a great challenge.

“Wow,” he murmured, realizing she had paused for him to react. “Wow” should be safe.

At last she got up and started making their supper.

They had almost finished eating before Dickon realized that his mother was feeling guilty because she was going to be late coming home for a while.

“Don't worry,” he said, keeping his voice steady, hiding his relief.

“But I hate leaving you alone,” she began.

“I'll be fine,” he said, slugging down the milk she had poured. “I was okay today, wasn't I?”

“It might be against the law,” she said. “I'll ask Mrs. Nelson to watch out for you. And I'll check in at noon. You're pretty sensible.”

“I'm TOTALLY sensible,” he said.

A dog barked shrilly. Another answered. His mother frowned.

“I wish we were not so close to that place,” she said. “If one of those strays got loose and attacked you …”

“Really, Mum, you've been watching too much violent TV,” he teased.

His voice must have sounded funny. She stared at him. He shifted his feet and balled his hands into fists. If only something would distract her!

The phone rang.

What a relief! She was soon chattering with someone from work. He parked himself in front of the TV. Although she always said he watched too much television, he knew she relaxed when she heard it go on. After all, her darling was safe in front of the tube. Ha!

Wednesday morning crawled by. He visited Mrs. Nelson and Charlie. She was giving the tiny hedgehog a bath in the basin. Dickon watched in fascination.

Charlie kept trying to escape. As she scrambled up the enamel sides of the basin and slipped back, her under-side grew beautifully clean. Mrs. Nelson laughed gently at her, but Dickon could see she was sympathetic.

By noon, he was at home waiting for his mother's check-up call. But she did not phone until after twelve-thirty. Then she chatted.

So he was later than he planned.

He slipped across the patch of grass that was his own yard and inspected
the hole under the fence. The gap was big enough. Without taking time to look around, Dickon flung himself flat, prized up the wire and rolled under as far as he could. The left leg of his jeans snagged on a bit of metal. He pulled the denim loose and tried again. Wow! He had done it. Then feet thudded across the grass.

“Well, well, Kris, what have we here?” Jody's voice said from right above him.

Dickon blushed scarlet. Where had she come from? A dog's nose poked against his cheek. He rolled over and sat up.

Kristin giggled. “No, Hercules. Don't eat him alive.”

“It's an alien,” Jody said. “Hey, kid, what's your name?”

He was rattled.

“Birdie …” he started. Then, trying to fix it, he got out, “I mean, Dickon.”

“Why did you say ‘Bird'?” Jody asked.

Dickon thought fast. “It's my last name. I'm Dickon Bird,” he said.

Nobody would believe that. His ears burned.

“Dickon Bird. How cute,” Jody said,
letting his blush pass.

Dickon opened his mouth and shut it again. The girls were introducing him to Poppet and Hercules. Other kids were coming over. Somehow the words he meant to say did not come out. Why were they all here early? He looked at his watch. One-thirty. They weren't early at all.

Then it dawned on him that if they did not know his real name they couldn't tell his mother he had been over here. Maybe it was safer to go on being Dickon Bird.

“All right, class,” Leslie Hawkin called. “Time to start. Who, pray tell, might you be, young man?”

“His name's Dickon Bird,” Kristin said with a small snort of laughter.

“Could I watch?” Dickon began, doing his best to appear responsible and quiet.

“I'm sorry but we don't let anyone watch who isn't signed up,” the teacher said briskly. “You would be distracting to the dogs.”

“I wouldn't,” Dickon burst out. “Please, let me. I wouldn't …”

“Run along home,” she said sharply. No touch of warmth sounded in her voice now. “The class is too large as it is, and I've already told you …”

At that exact moment a newcomer burst upon the scene.

Andy had left the gate open. A small black-and-white dog came flying through the space. One minute she was not there and the next she had dashed in among them, her dangling leash sailing through the air after her.

She was half Poppet's size. She might be no bigger than Hercules, but she had a silky coat that rippled in the breeze. She had a black patch over each eye with a white part coming down between. And she had incredible ears. They were black, too, and tall, shaped like butterfly wings. Her feathery tail curled up over her back one minute, streamed out behind her the next and, finally, tucked itself out of sight between her legs. To Dickon, that tail shouted, “I want to be friends … I'm running away … I'm afraid.” He understood the little dog completely.

“Hello,” he whispered and dropped down on one knee.

His words drew her. Her small, dainty face lifted and her pleading eyes looked right into his. Perhaps she chose him because he was the only child without a dog. In any case, she ran straight into his arms and cowered against him, whimpering.

“Who on earth …?” Leslie started.

Then, a man shaped like an armored truck came charging around the building, bellowing, “Get back here, you birdbrain. NOW!”

Dickon stiffened, glaring, but the man did not notice.

“Catch that mutt,” he roared. “Blast her, she's nothing but trouble.”

Dickon's arms tightened around the small creature. He rose with her in his arms, the leash dangling. Then he stood still, not speaking to the man but whispering comforting words to the frightened dog he held.

“Easy, girl,” he said in a shaking voice. “Don't be scared.”

Her huge, feathery ears brushed his
cheek. They were the softest things he had ever felt. Like the butterfly kisses his mother used to give him with her eyelashes. The dog's golden brown eyes begged him for help.

He wanted to promise to keep her safe forever. But the man fetched up next to them, panting heavily. His cheeks were brick red. His eyes blazed. He bent over with a grunt and grabbed the leash. Then he stood, catching his breath and glaring at everyone.

“Don't …” Dickon began.

Instantly, the man began to shout at the frightened dog.

“This is it for you,” he told her. “No more peeing on the carpet, no more chewing shoes, no more running away when you are called. I've had enough. We are turning you in and if they have any brains you'll be dead before the day is out. Put her down again, boy. The little beast snaps.”

The children had gathered, wide-eyed, in a ring around Dickon and the dog. But the man's rage frightened them almost as much as it scared the
dog. Everyone but Jody, the teacher and Dickon himself retreated to a safe distance.

Dickon's insides squeezed tight just as they had when his father had yelled at him or at his mother. In those days, he had run and left Mum to protect him. But now he must stand his ground. The little dog had run to him.

“Don't yell so loud.” His words came out in a squeak, but they did come out. “You're scaring her.”

“I'll yell at her if I please,” the man snarled. “Put her down, I said. What happens to her is not your business. She deserves whatever she gets. She made a puddle of pee on my newspaper this morning before I had a chance to read the sports page. And she chewed up my girl's new Barbie.”

Dickon had no choice. He set the dog on the ground as gently as he could. The man wheeled about and set out for the Humane Society building. As he did so, he jerked hard on the leash, tumbling the dog off her feet. Then, without glancing back, he dragged her
after him as though she were a pull toy, never giving her a chance to get her balance.

“Just a minute, mister!” Leslie shouted after him.

When he kept going, she strode to catch up. All the kids knew she was mad as a wet hen. They grinned.

“You fix him, Leslie,” Travis said. But he kept his voice down.

“You're a BEAST!” Jody shouted after the striding man. Her voice shook, but it was at full volume.

The man charged on. Dickon agreed with Jody, but yelling would not help the dog. He ran after the pair, trying to think of how he could rescue her.

“What's her name?” he called in a desperate bid to slow the man down.

The man slowed slightly and stared at the boy dashing after him. Leslie turned too.

“What's it to you?” he snarled. Then he surprised Dickon by answering. “I'll tell you. It's a dumb name, but she's a dumb dog. Birdie! Her name's Birdie.”

Dickon was so startled that he missed his footing and almost fell flat. Leslie grabbed his elbow and steadied him. They ran on.

Birdie! Had the man really said her name was Birdie?

“Bertie?” he called. “Did you say …”

“I said Birdie. It ought to be Bird-brain, but it's Birdie.”

“That's enough,” Leslie's voice cut
in, silencing the man briefly.

Dickon's thoughts whirled.

She couldn't be Birdie. He was Birdie.

Birdie for now, he reminded himself. I'm really Dickon. I'm not Birdie at all.

The man had been forced to stop at the door. A family that had just found its lost calico cat was coming out, all smiles. They clustered together in the doorway, crooning over her. “Oh, Motley,” the little girl said, “I thought you were dead.”

The man tapped his foot. Then he looked at Dickon.

“My girl Tiffany named her. When she ran, her ears stuck out like wings or some stupid thing. But even Tiff agrees now she's really Birdbrain. Would you people move it? I have things to do.”

The family ignored him, but they were soon gone. The door of the Humane Society swung shut behind the man, the dog and Leslie, who followed him in.

Dickon stared at the door. The other children crowded around, but only Jenny saw how pale he had grown.

“Are you all right?” she asked, moving close enough to touch him. “You look sick.”

Dickon hardly heard her. Birdie. Her name was Birdie. It must mean something, but he felt too shocked to think clearly.

Through an open window, they could all hear the man inside raving on about how bad the dog was.

“I got her for my girl from a guy I know who works in a pet store. He said she was a purebred Papillon some woman had had for six months and then she had to go to England or someplace so she'd asked him what to do. He let me have her cheap. I should have known she wasn't worth fifty bucks.”

“Purebred Papillons cost far more than fifty dollars,” Leslie told him coldly. “They are still thought of as a rare breed. She should have her papers and her health record. Never mind that now. You don't want her, I take it.”

“You're dead right,” he barked.

He was starting in again, but Leslie cut in.

“Did Tiffany try to train her?” she said crisply.

“We all tried. The animal is worthless, I tell you. I've promised to get Tiff a pedigreed, housebroken poodle. The kid is sick of cleaning up after Birdie-Brainless.”

“How old is she exactly?” asked a voice Dickon had not heard before.

“About a year and a half. What does it matter?”

“Has she had her shots? Is she spayed?”

“Yeah, yeah. We had her fixed and generally checked out.”

“How about a dog license?”

“No,” he said uneasily.

“Get one for the poodle,” Leslie Hawkin's voice said. “I'll take her now.”

“Hey, I want that leash. I paid good money for it.”

The children strained their ears, but heard nothing more for a few moments.

“I gotta go. I'm late,” they heard him say finally.

“I also am late. If your daughter
cannot be kinder, do not get her that poodle.”