Birdie For Now (8 page)

“Are you all right?” she called.

He flushed the toilet, splashed water on his hands and face and unlocked the door.

“Of course,” he told her.

The next morning, his mother felt his forehead.

“Open your mouth wide,” she told him. “I think you must be coming down with something.”

“I feel great,” he said, frantic to get her gone. “Maybe I stayed out too long in the sun yesterday.”

“Bird, where were you? You promised
to stay inside the house while I'm at work. How could you get too much sun?”

His thoughts skidded into each other like bumper cars at the midway. But, just in time, he pounced on one that saved him.

“Mrs. Nelson took me over to watch Charlie have a bath,” he said. “I was out with her while she was drying off in the sunshine. She's so cute, the way she stretches out.”

“All right. I just can't help worrying about you. Well, if you really are fine, I must fly or I'll be there late. Does she really bathe a hedgehog?”

He nodded, smiled and opened the front door for her. After she drove away, he counted to one hundred three times. Then he took off.

Here I come, Birdie, his heart sang. Here I come, girl.

He went straight to where the brushes were kept and got what he needed to groom his dog. But when he went to the cage, it was empty.

He felt as though a giant hand was
squeezing the life out of him. For several seconds, he stood frozen, staring at the cage. Then he ran to the desk. Leslie was there. She beamed at him although her eyes were not smiling.

“Where's Birdie?” he croaked.

“A couple is looking for a pet,” she said. “They're walking with two dogs. They have Birdie now and then they'll take Pickles.”

She saw the horror in his eyes.

“I was afraid of this, Dickon. Birdie can't spend her life in a cage, even with you visiting her each day. She deserves a home and family. If your mother would take her, that would be perfect, but you say she won't.”

At that moment, the people came back with Birdie. She was overjoyed to see Dickon. He knelt down and picked her up, hiding his face in her silky coat.

“This is the boy I was telling you about. He's done a great job with Birdie. But let's put a leash on Pickles. He's a little more … Well, a happier dog. He's younger too. About ten months old, the vet thinks.”

“Yes,” the lady said, smiling a sugary smile. “Birdie is darling, of course, but she's a bit skittish.”

“She's too small to be a real dog,” the man muttered.

Pickles wagged her tail so hard it was comical. She was twice Birdie's size.

“We really wanted a larger dog. Pickles is just right,” the lady said, taking the leash.

Dickon held Birdie close and turned his back on the couple so they would not be tempted. Why would anyone choose that brainless Pickles over Birdie?

He and Leslie glanced at each other. They watched the couple going down the sidewalk with Pickles bouncing along next to them. She pulled ahead and stopped to sniff bushes.

“I should have given you Pickles to work on in the Obedience Class,” Leslie said. “She's young yet, but she's going to be a handful.”

“I don't like her,” Dickon said, cuddling Birdie close.

“Sure you do. Nobody could dislike
Pickles. Anyway, you're not going to lose that little dog today. But prepare yourself! Birdie is lovable and attractive. She's almost ready to be adopted, Dickon. Someone is sure to want her.”

“I'd take her myself,” Sally said. “But my husband says four dogs are enough.”

“Especially when two of them are beagles,” Leslie said.

“What's wrong with beagles?” Dickon asked unsteadily.

“Well, Sally's two have dreams of running away and making their for tunes,” Leslie said.

Dickon's thoughts were not on Sally's beagles. “Someone is sure to want her,” Leslie had said. Well, someone already does, he thought fiercely.

“Pickles is the one for us,” the lady said, beaming. “She's darling.”

“Reminds me of a dog I had as a boy,” her husband said.

Neither glanced at Birdie peering over Dickon's shoulder. She stretched out her paw as though to shake hands, but they did not notice. Dickon pulled the paw down fast.

They left.

Dickon began grooming Birdie with special care. Nobody else would come. Surely he could at least finish up the Dog Training classes before anyone would take her. Birdie was doing so well, but she was not perfect yet.

“Leslie, can't you just not let people look at Birdie until the classes are done?” he asked, keeping his head bent.

“There's only a week left,” she said. “I'll try. But the week will pass, Dickon. And it will be just as hard then.”

He said nothing. She sighed.

“Tomorrow's the day we test the dogs in obedience class,” Leslie reminded him a week later. “I hope Birdie does you proud.”

Dickon hoped so too. Tomorrow. He had not realized that the class was almost over. Well, maybe he had, but he had forced his thoughts to keep away from the subject. He went home and tried to eat the lunch his mother had left for him, but he could not finish. That afternoon, everyone worked hard.

“I don't want the training to end,” Jenny said. “Perkins is doing fine, but couldn't we go on and work toward those Obedience Trials they have at dog shows? I went once with my aunt and it was cool.”

Leslie looked thoughtful.

“Maybe we could consider offering an advanced class,” she said slowly.

Dickon's heart leapt and then he remembered. Birdie was not his. If they had this advanced class, he would have no dog to train.

He wakened on Friday knowing the day of testing had come. What if Birdie blew it?

“You have to eat more than that,” Mum said, looking at his plate. “Are you sick? Should I stay home?”

“No,” he yelped, in panic. “I was just resting.”

He stuffed in some toast.

Then she was gone and he ran to pick up Birdie. A friend of Leslie was the judge. She looked serious. Dickon
crossed his fingers and wished.

Birdie was practically perfect. She sat when he told her to sit. She stayed and then she came to him, circling behind him and sitting down on his left side. She walked at heel as though she had never done anything else.

Dickon felt smug. Tallboy had done almost everything sloppily and had refused to come until he had had two leash corrections. Poppet kept lying down when she was supposed to be sitting. Little Hercules tripped Kristin up. Dog after dog did something wrong. But not his Birdie.

Only “Sit … stay” was left, the command where he would walk away from her, wait one minute and call her to him. She loved doing this one. It was her best thing.

“Sit, Birdie. Stay!” he said firmly, giving her the hand signal.

Head high, he strode away.

Jingle, jingle. Somebody's rabies tag and dog license were clinking together.

Not Birdie's, he told himself, star ing straight ahead.

The other kids were laughing. A dog was dancing at his heels. He turned his head ever so slightly to check.

She was right behind him, looking proud of herself.

“Oh, Birdie, no!” he wailed.

“Try again,” Leslie said, “even though she has already lost the points.”

“We've all had this experience,” the judge said kindly. “Perhaps she's a bit young.”

She wasn't. Blushing, he reseated his dog and told her again what to do. This time she remained exactly where he had left her.

“Birdie, COME!” he called.

When she romped over to him, he was still so proud of her he wanted to hug her.

Leslie handed him a certificate. She also gave him a dog biscuit. “You two have surely earned this,” she said.

The other kids clapped. Dickon had never been so proud.

“Time to eat,” Sally said, smiling at them.

Then Dickon glanced through the
wire fence into his own backyard. Mrs. Nelson was watching.

Next to her stood his mother.

Dickon thrust the leash at Leslie.

“I gotta go,” he gasped.

“But, Dickon …” she began.

“My mother's there,” he whispered and ran. He dashed around the Humane Society building and raced home.

“Mum, Mum,” he shouted, “I can explain. Birdie needed me. Leslie will tell you …”

He broke off. She wasn't there.

“Where are you?” he shrieked.

She came out of the bathroom. Her head was bent. She had been crying. He saw her grip her hands together to stop them shaking.

“I trusted you,” she said in a small tight voice.

“I know, Mum, but you don't understand. Wait till I tell you.”

“Don't bother. Amy Nelson has al-ready told me. She knew. I trusted her too. You both betrayed …”

Her words choked on a hiccupy sob. She turned her back on him. Her shoulders heaved.

He knew, with a sick feeling, that she meant him to see her like that, just as she wanted him to hear that ugly word “betray.”

Dickon was beside himself. If only she would listen! He was in big trouble. Maybe he deserved to be. He had disobeyed her.

But he had not lied. Not in words anyway.

“I've put macaroni and cheese in to
heat. Leave me alone until it's ready,” she said.

Her bedroom door shut in his face. He stood there numb with shock. What should he do? He gritted his teeth. Well, he would not cry. She hadn't listened. His anger was a tight knot in his chest. His throat ached.

The phone rang. Was she going to get it? No. He picked the receiver up on the sixth ring.

“Hello,” he said. His voice sounded far away.

“Julie?”

“No,” he said, recognizing Mrs. Nelson's voice. “It's me, Dickon. She's lying down. She said to leave her alone.”

“Well, I don't know what all the fuss is about. Surely a boy has a right to go next door and help train a needy dog. You weren't out of sight of my window once. Tell her to call me when she gets up.”

He hung up, feeling braver. Some-body was on his side.

All at once, he knew that he was not the one who should be saying “sorry.”
His mother had been unfair. She had made up her mind that he was bad without giving him a chance to speak. He stomped back out the front door, slamming it behind him, and kicked the step until his toes hurt.

In that instant, he decided. He was not baby Birdie, Julie's little Dickie Bird. Not any longer. He was Dickon Fielding. And about time too.

He shivered at his own daring, but he had made up his mind. He was going to fight her for Birdie. And he was going to win.

The door opened.

“Oh,” his mother said, startled. “I heard the door shut and I thought you'd run off …”

Dickon faced her. He did not jiggle or jump. He did not plead either. He did not shed a tear. He spoke slowly, his voice rock steady.

“I want Birdie,” he said.

“Birdie is that dog Amy Nelson was talking about, is it? Who decided on that name, if I may ask?” Her tone was icy.

“Not me,” he yelled at her. “The kid who abused her thought her ears looked like wings. They do, too. She's a Papillon, Mum. It's the French word for butterfly. She's …”

“This bird dog is no concern of ours,” she broke in. “You know full well …”

“She's going to be MY dog.” He shot the words at her like bullets. “We are going to adopt her. If you don't let me, I will never forgive you.”

Her mouth dropped open and the steel went out of her backbone.

“Birdie,” she moaned, reaching out to him and letting tears rain down her face. “Please, stop speaking in that hard, cruel way. You look just like your father. You mustn't do this to me.”

“I must,” he told her. “For Birdie I can do even more. And why shouldn't I look like Dad? Most boys look like their dads.”

“But, sweetheart, he left us …”