Shepherd's Crook (3 page)

six

I took two jerky
steps forward and spun around. Jay was behind me, his back end wiggling like a Tahitian dancer and his front feet doing a tap dance. Tom's black Lab, Drake, stood beside him, whapping Tom's leg with his beater of a tail and grinning at me. The next thing I knew, I was on my knees, my arms around Jay and my face buried in the thick silky fur of his neck. Drake shoved his cold nose into my neck and I pulled him into a group hug.

“Some guys have all the luck.”

At the sound of the voice, I took a deep breath, squeezed Jay a tiny bit tighter, stroked Drake's velvety cheek, and disengaged. Jay got me with one good cheek slurp before I got to my feet and turned on the man at the far end of the dogs' leashes.

“You scared me to death!”

Tom Saunders is the last person in the world likely to hurt anyone's animals, and the first person I want at my side if there's trouble. During the year I had known him, I'd seen him shine in the worst of times, as well as the best. Besides, gray highlights in his beard and yummy brown eyes aside, he had a way of wearing his jeans that made my insides go gooey. But not at that moment.

“What were you thinking?”

Tom looked as if I'd slapped him. He leaned slightly back and said, “He had to pee. What's wrong wi—”

“Where
were
you? I looked … Oh my God. I think I'm going to barf.”
Or cry.
I didn't want to do either.

“We went for a little walk,” said Tom. “I left you a note. I thought—”

“You didn't think!” My mouth was set on anger blurt, and I regretted the words as soon as they were out. Adjusting my volume and tone a bit, I said, “A note?”

Tom pointed at the bottom of the crate. A green index card lay on the green rug I used as a crate pad. A note.

“I didn't see it.”
I was blinded by terror.
Part of me wanted to slug Tom for not using a large poster board and
Day-Glo
paint to let me know he'd taken my dog. The other part wanted to slap
me
for missing a perfectly thoughtful note, although green on green
had
made it hard to spot. I knew I should apologize, but decided he could go first. “If I'd known you were coming I might have … What are you doing here, anyway?”

Tom didn't say anything and I couldn't tell whether he was hurt or angry or surprised. All of the above, I decided. We stared at each other for a few seconds before we both said some version of, “Sorry, I should have—”

“I didn't think you were coming today,” I said. “I thought you had papers to grade.”

“The realtor called. Drake and I had to clear out for a showing, so we came to see what's happening in
herding-dog
land.” Then he asked me why I had gone into a meltdown over something we did with each other's dogs all the time.

“You hear those wackos over there?” The little nag in my head whispered
you're a bit of a wacko yourself, Janet,
but I ignored her.
“I thought someone … They're over there … Someone took …” As I
struggled to speak a complete sentence, I stepped out from behind the van and spotted Edith Ann and Kathy coming our way.

“I don't see him down that way.”

“He's here!” I smiled as she reached us, and Edith Ann squirmed her way to Jay and Drake and rolled
belly-up
at their feet. When Jay snuffled her neck, she jumped up and all three started the requisite canine sniffing routine, twisting their leashes into a tangled mess. I held my hand out to the woman and introduced myself, Tom, Jay, and Drake.

“Kathy Glaes,” she said. “We're on our way to Chicago and stopped by for the disc event.” We talked a bit more, and she led a reluctant Edith Ann back toward the disc practice area.

Jay sat in front of me and cocked his head to the left. Tom stood beside him and cocked his head to the right. Drake stood behind Tom, watching Edith Ann's departure and slowly waving his tail. I sat back against the van's bumper. As if they had choreographed the move, Jay put a paw on my foot and Tom laid a hand on my shoulder. My adrenaline level was tapering off and my inner crybaby had crawled back to her crib, so I signaled Jay to pop his front end into my lap, massaged behind both his ears, and looked at Tom.

“You didn't hear the ruckus over by the sheep pens?” I asked.

Tom looked toward the structures on the far side of the field. “I heard voices, but figured they were just getting organized.” When he looked at me again, a line had formed between his eyebrows. “Why? What's going on?”

“Wackos were going on,” I said. “And on and on. Animal rights nuts. They were over there waving signs, you know, ‘liberate the enslaved animals' and that stuff.”

“So that's why the Sheriff is here?”

I shook my head and eased Jay back to the ground. “No, but it's good timing.” My butt was protesting the sharp edge of the tailgate, so I stood up and took Jay's leash from Tom. “Summer actually called the Sheriff about the sheep.”

Tom raised an eyebrow and said, “The sheep did something illegal?”

“Part of the flock disappeared during the night.”

We had talked a few times about incidents of livestock rustling around the area. Several recent cases had been reported in the news, but they had all involved cattle. Ten head of Black Angus had been stolen from a pasture near Auburn, and some Herefords from a farm east of Fort Wayne, near the Ohio line. The newspaper said there was evidence the animals had been hauled off in stock trucks. I was just thinking that there was no way anyone pulled a
semi-trailer
onto the property without being seen when Tom spoke again.

“So the rustlers are branching out,” said Tom. “That's disturbing.”

Just what we need. Thieves and wackos.

seven

The four of us
walked to the pole barn and Tom put Drake in the canvas crate I had set up earlier. He gave him a chew toy, which Drake would probably not touch, and filled the water dish. A man—a contestant's husband, I surmised—was sitting next to a matched pair of crates a few feet from mine. He had headphones and a very fat book, and looked like he'd be there for a while, which was reassuring. Still, I slipped a padlock through the zipper pulls on my crate and reminded Tom that the combination was my address. “Just in case.”

When we got back to the arena, everything seemed normal. The protesters were gone and people were arriving with chairs and coolers to stake out good spectating spots. Jay whined softly when he spotted the sheep huddled in a tight cluster at one side of the arena, as if they knew they might be next. In fact they might, but they'd face
well-monitored
herding dogs, not stock rustlers.

Ray and Evan stood near the arena gate, their dogs lying at their feet, calm but alert. The men weren't talking, and although they stood not more than two feet apart, they were turned slightly away from one another. As I watched, Evan said something, and Ray spat in the dirt. I was beginning to think his spitting was in lieu of speech. Evan wheeled toward Ray and the hand hanging at his side curled into a fist, then relaxed.

Tom apparently hadn't noticed the hostile body language. He said, “I'm going to say hello,” and veered toward the two men, whom he knew from tagging along to a couple of my herding lessons at Evan and Summer's place. My first thought was that he might learn something juicy if the obvious trouble between the two men had anything to do with the missing sheep. I considered tagging along, but thought better of it. I walked on past the corner of the building, Jay trotting beside me, and reminded myself that I wasn't going to get involved in any kind of sleuthing. Nightmares from the previous year's misadventures still disrupted my sleep. I didn't need any new ones.

Three people formed a loose circle halfway up the dirt roadway that paralleled the side of the pole building and led to the empty sheep pen. One was Summer Winslow, talking fast and pointing this way and that. An Allen County sheriff's deputy stood
side-on
to me, sunlight glinting off the
spit-polished
holster at his hip. The third person was a big man in tan chinos and a corduroy jacket. He had his back to me, but there was no mistaking detective Homer “Hutch” Hutchinson of the Fort Wayne Police Department. I'd gotten to know the man pretty well over the previous year, and I felt oddly comforted to see him there.

As if he had heard me thinking, Hutch turned around. He nodded at me and broke into a big grin when he saw Jay. Judging by the furry butt wiggling against my leg, the feeling was mutual.

Summer stopped talking and stared at me, and the deputy—Deputy Johnson, according to his name tag—turned as well.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“No problem,” said Summer. “The problem is between these gentlemen.” She reached both hands behind her head, twisted her long
penny-colored
braid, and knotted it at her nape. She glared at the deputy, then at Hutch, and said, “You have my number. Call me when you get your act together.” She walked past me toward the stock arena.

Hutch hunkered down and called Jay, so I dropped the leash and they had a major bonding moment, complete with Hutchinson cooing, “Ooh a good boy, ess ooh are.” It was hard to believe the man had been afraid of dogs when we met a year earlier.

The deputy watched them
blank-faced
for a moment, cleared his throat, and nodded at me. “Ma'am.”

“What's going on?”

“Little matter of jurisdiction,” he said.

Hutchinson stood up and brushed a pound or so of Aussie fur off his pants. “The city limits line runs right though here.” He indicated an imaginary line transecting the little road at a
forty-five
degree angle. “So we're not sure who has jurisdiction.”

And meanwhile, whoever has the sheep gets farther away
. I could see why Summer was upset, but I managed for once to keep my opinion to myself. I asked Hutchinson if he could stick around to watch some of the action, and he said he'd like to if he didn't get called away. The deputy answered his phone, told the caller to hang on, and looked like he wanted to talk to Hutch, so I picked up Jay's leash and excused myself.

As I walked back the way I had come, my eyes skimmed the dusty surface of the road. The sun was at just the right angle to make the footprints stand out. Hundreds of footprints. Or, more to the point, a few prints from boots and shoes, scores from canine paws, hundreds from hooves. I slowed myself until I was taking baby steps, telling Jay to heel to keep him at my knee. The marks in the dirt were, of course, a jumbled mess of partial prints overlaid by others, but still, it was clear that several people and several dogs, and a bunch more sheep, had passed this way recently. There were no tire marks that I could see.

Tom left the other two men and joined me where I was creeping along the roadway. Tom teaches anthropology at the Indiana University's Fort Wayne campus, and as a trained observer of human behavior, he knew that I wasn't just being eccentric. He stayed to the edge of the road and, as he approached, he asked, “Tracks?”

“Gazillions of tracks,” I said. “Just what you'd expect—people, dogs, sheep.”

He stepped in beside me and we crept on, both of us looking at the ground. “Interesting,” Tom said, describing a circle over a section of road with his hand.

I stepped closer and looked. “What?”

“The prints travel both directions.”

“Wouldn't you expect that?”

“I'm not sure.” Tom looked at me, then back at the tracks. “The people and dogs, of course, but the sheep? If they moved them in from that direction yesterday,” he said, pointing down the roadway toward the arena, “and if they didn't officially move any back out this morning, why do the hoof prints go both ways?”

Good question
. I filled Tom in on the jurisdiction issue and said, “I guess we should let them know.”

Tom agreed. “And soon, before the tracks are obliterated.”

We turned back toward Hutch and the deputy, inching along the edge of the roadway for ten feet or so. I was just about to pick up the pace when Tom stretched his arm in front of me and said, “That's from a big dog.” He pointed at a paw print near the edge of the roadway, almost under the bottom fence board, where the jumble of impressions was less confusing. In fact, most of the area was clear of marks. There were a few partial prints, clearly canine, but it was hard to tell much about them. And that one pristine paw print in a mound of soft dusty earth. Tom was right. It was made by a very big dog.

eight

By the time I
had alerted Hutch and the deputy to the possible significance of the tracks on the roadway and helped them block it off to further traffic pending a closer look, I had about half an hour to get ready for the instinct test. Not that there was much to do at that point, other than breathe deeply and review what little I knew about handling my dog while he handled the sheep.

At my van, I switched out Jay's everyday collar for the one he wore in competition, the one with no tags dangling. We walked past the handful of vehicles parked along the fence row and into a rolling,
close-mown
stretch at the back of the property. New fence posts marched across part of the area and more were stacked in scattered piles, along with tight rolls of welded wire fencing.

Jay stopped to test the wind, which was blowing from the direction of the arena where we would be taking our test. I turned that way. Ray and Bonnie were moving three sheep into the pickup pen for the first dog. I looked at Jay, and he looked at me, eyes bright and tail nub wagging. “Pretty soon, Bubby,” I said, and Jay went into full body wiggle and let out a squeal. “Come on, let's finish our walk.”

Walking helped me gather my thoughts and burn off a little
pre-performance
adrenaline, and it was something I tried to do any time we competed. The instinct test isn't competitive, but it
feels
a lot like competition when dog owners talk afterward about whose dog passed and whose did not, and which handler made what ridiculous mistake. Twenty minutes later, I decided it was time to grab a folding chair and head over to the arena.

When I opened the back hatch of my van, a huge sheet of brown paper, formerly a grocery bag, stared back at me. It was bungeed against the two crates that live back there, and its message was neatly printed in giant black caps: YOUR CHAIRS AND I ARE AT THE ARENA. TOM.

I was still smiling as I passed the disc dog practice ring and waved at Kathy and Edith Ann. Jay bounced with excitement, shifting his gaze every few seconds from me to the arena and back and tipping his twitching nose up and into the wind. I stroked his cheek and followed his gaze to the arena. The remaining dozen sheep were gathered into a loose
off-center
knot. They didn't look overly concerned about what was coming.

Ray Turnbull stood outside the far right end of the arena talking to a
heavy-set
man in a
dirt-beige
suit that was out of place in this land of
animal-friendly
jeans and sweatshirts. As always, Bonnie sat at his feet. I couldn't see the stranger's face, but judging by Ray's expression, he was involved in yet another unfriendly conversation. He took a step back from the fat man and shook his head. The other man stepped toward Ray, his right hand raised and index finger pointing at Ray's face. Bonnie let loose a
high-pitched
series of warnings and the stranger stepped back. Bonnie stopped barking when Ray held his palm toward her, but she kept a close eye on the man. Ray said something to the man, then turned and walked toward the arena, his dog beside him.

What the heck was that?
Not for the first time I wished I had one of those gadgets that let you pick up conversations from far away. I pulled Summer's phone out of my pocket and checked the time. “We'd better get over there, Bubby,” I said, and Jay let out a soft
boof
of agreement. I found Tom sitting by the arena, kissed his cheek, and said, “Thanks for the note.” Jay hopped his front end onto Tom's lap and
one-upped
me with a
full-face
flurry of kisses.

Tom lowered Jay gently to the ground and was still laughing when he asked, “When are you up?”

I handed Tom the leash and said, “No idea. I'll check the board.”

Summer stood in front of a white board displayed on an easel near the gate to the arena, apparently checking the list on the board against the paper in her hand. When she finished, I asked her whether there was any news, and how she was doing.

She shook her head and said, “Just dandy.” She looked me in the eye and said, “No, not dandy at all.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice went flat and low. “I'd like to find whoever's responsible, truss him up tight, and let the whole flock trample him into the dust.”

Summer's urge to hurt whoever had stolen her sheep was understandable, but I'd seen enough violence in the previous twelve months to keep me from commenting directly. Instead I said, “Hopefully the police will find them.” I almost asked whether area slaughterhouses had been given a heads up, but I couldn't get the question out of my mouth.

“Do you need something?”

“No, thanks, I just came to see when Jay and I go.” I smiled at Summer, then turned to the white board with the list of dogs in the instinct test.
Please don't let us be first.
I read the six names. Jay and I were second. I breathed again.

Summer patted my arm and said, “You'll do fine.” She tried for a smile and added, “Well, Jay will. Just stay out of his way and do what the tester tells you.”

Way to bolster my
self-confidence
at my first herding event, I thought, but I knew she was right. Even without much training, Jay knew a lot more about handling sheep than I did. I started to walk away, but turned back, pulling the cell phone out of my pocket. “You gave me the wrong phone,” I said.

Summer stared at the phone in my hand, looking confused. She reached into her right pocket and when she came up empty, checked the left. She looked at the phone in her hand—my phone—and said, “Oh, wow. Sorry.”

I rejoined Tom and Jay, but was too jumpy to sit down. As usual, my dog was fully in the moment, and as I watched him, my
scared-o
-meter dropped a degree or two. Jay sat beside Tom's chair, his whole being focused on the three sheep that Ray and Bonnie had just moved from the holding pen to the main arena. The Aussie breed standard described Jay's ears perfectly—the base of each lifted away from his head, with the remaining
three-fourths
of the soft triangular flaps falling slightly to the side. That, and the look of eagles in his eyes, gave back whatever confidence Summer's comment had taken from me.