Angus and Sadie (16 page)

“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.

She followed and followed, without thinking of where she was going and where she had been. It was darker in the woods than in the fields, but Sadie knew what she was doing: She was following that sheep, to find it for Mister. She didn't worry about the trees all around her or the snow coming down thick through the air. She worried about finding that sheep.

When she finally caught up with it, it was leaning against a big tree, shaking. Its eyes were closed tight. Sadie barked once, not very loudly, and the sheep's eyes opened. Sadie dropped down onto the ground, and eyed the sheep.

That sheep was frightened of her! It was so frightened that it just closed its eyes, to pretend she wasn't there, to pretend it wasn't tired and lost and cold and all alone, to pretend everything was all right. Sadie understood how that sheep was feeling. She said,
I'm here now
, the way Missus did.
Everything's all right now
. The sheep couldn't understand her, but that didn't matter.
Mister will be here any minute
, she told the sheep, and then she settled down on the ground to wait, as if she had been ordered to Down! and Stay! and she was obeying. She settled down with her eyes fixed on the sheep.

But Mister didn't come, and neither did Angus. Sadie waited and waited, and they still didn't come. The air got darker, the snow kept on falling, she was getting too cold, and they still didn't come.

Where were they?

The wind howled around her ears. It was so loud, she almost couldn't even hear her own thinking.

When would they come?

She knew they would be angry at her for not obeying, but she still wanted them to come.

Why hadn't they caught up with her by now?

The wind howled and howled, as if that was the answer to her question, and Sadie began to worry that Mister and Angus might be lost in the woods, in the storm.

What if they couldn't find her? What if they never found her?

At that thought, Sadie stood up. She shook herself free of all the snow that had piled up on her while she was waiting. Now
she
was afraid.

Angus had told her over and over that she was afraid, and she had worried that he might be right, even though she didn't agree with him. Now she knew for sure that Angus had been wrong. Now that she really was afraid, she knew just how dark and cold and lonely fear felt.

She was as frightened as the sheep now, because she knew the wind would keep on howling, and it would get colder and colder, and there would be more and more snow. She didn't know what would happen then, but she knew it wouldn't be anything good. Nothing warm, for example, nothing with food, nothing like being at home in the kitchen with Missus and Patches and waiting for Angus and Mister to come in from the barn. After colder and colder came something bad. She wasn't sure exactly what, but she was very sure about bad.

These thoughts made Sadie even more afraid. She wished she had obeyed Angus and waited for him. If she had waited for Angus, Angus would be here, and he would know what to do.

She wished she had obeyed Mister, and Come! when he had called. If she had done that, she wouldn't be here alone with this silly frightened sheep.

She was all alone, and she didn't know what to do, and that sheep just stood there with its eyes closed as if it were asleep in the shed beside the barn with the rest of its flock, as if nothing were wrong.

But everything was wrong.

They had to get home
.

Sadie suddenly knew that, for sure. She didn't know where home was, or what was the way from here to home, but she did know that one thing,
Home
.

At that thought—but it wasn't a thought, it was a feeling, a sense of where Missus was, as if she could smell the kitchen—Sadie's legs knew where to go.

But how could she know if her legs were right?

If Angus were here, he'd know the way and she could follow him. It was so cold and the wind was so loud, and the branches of the trees were waving in the darkness all around, and the snow kept falling and kept falling.... Sadie wished for Angus so hard that she had to howl. And howl.

The wind took her howls up and blew them away, and they were lost in the thick falling snow. So she stopped howling.

Sadie shook herself again, to shake off the new snow from her coat and to shake out the howling feeling inside her. Even if she couldn't find her way home, she was going to have to do it, because Angus wasn't here. Here, Sadie was the only one who could do anything.

She turned to go off in the direction her legs wanted. But then she remembered the sheep, because that sheep was her work. You couldn't just walk away from your work. If Angus were here, he would bring the sheep home with him. Sadie knew that.

Sadie went up to the sheep where it was leaning against the trunk of the tree with closed eyes. She barked right into its face.

The eyes stayed closed.

She barked again, and growled as if she were Snake or Fox, about to attack.

The eyes flew open, and the sheep stared at her out of wide wild eyes.

Home
, she told it.
We have to go home
. She dropped down flat on the ground and eyed the sheep.

After staring at her for a minute, the sheep turned and jumped off sideways, about to bolt off.

About to bolt off in the wrong direction.

Sadie jumped up and got in its way. She dropped down and eyed it again. The sheep stopped, standing with the snow halfway up its thin legs. Sadie tried to know what to do.

What would Angus do?

She didn't know. Sadie wasn't Angus—how could she know what he'd do?

The sheep started to move away from her in another wrong direction, and then Sadie figured it out: If she was standing in the wrong direction, the sheep would bolt off in the right direction.

But there were so many wrong directions to block off.

She was getting colder, and it was almost as dark as night, and the snow kept on falling and the wind kept on blowing. So Sadie did the only thing she could. She ran around behind the sheep, lowered her head, and growled.

The sheep ran off for a little bit, in almost the right direction, and then stopped to stare at her, frightened.

Sadie moved a little to one side and eyed it. The sheep moved again and stopped again.

That sheep didn't want to go through the snow. It wanted to stop under trees. It was frightened by the loud howling wind. It wanted Sadie to go away and leave it alone.

Again and again, that sheep moved, and then stopped. Again and again, Sadie growled or barked, and then fell to the ground and eyed it. Twice, the sheep tried a quick sideways turn, a bolt of speed to get away from her. It was as if that silly sheep
wanted
to be lost, and
wanted
to get colder and colder, until whatever worst that could happen had happened.

Instead of going home, which was what Sadie wanted.

Sadie ran around the sheep and made it turn around and take a few more steps toward home.

It was a long, dark, cold, and windy time before Sadie drove the sheep out of the woods. Beyond the protection of the trees, snow blew into her eyes, her nose, and her ears. It had piled up on the ground as deep as her chest. But Sadie knew where she was. She was home!

Or, almost home. She knew exactly where home was now, and it was close. Sadie plowed forward. The snow didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter how cold she was because soon she would be warm, and Missus would give her something to eat, and Mister wouldn't be angry when he saw the sheep, and Angus would be proud of her.

For about ten steps—ten leaps, really, through the deep snow, ten happy, excited leaps—Sadie moved forward. Then she stopped, because the sheep had already turned around and was trying to run back through the snow on its spindly legs, back into the woods where the snow wasn't so deep and the wind didn't blow so hard. The sheep didn't know how close they were to home.

Sadie didn't have to take care of that sheep. Nobody had told her to, not Mister and not Angus. She didn't want to take care of it, either. But she turned around and leaped after it. She didn't bark until she had drawn ahead of it, so that her barking would stop it. After it stopped, she barked again, and it turned to get away from her. That silly sheep didn't even know it was going home.

When they got to the barn and the sheep heard its flock, it stopped again. This time Sadie left it where it was, standing up against the fence. It didn't remember where the break in the fence was, so it stayed fenced out, calling in a high, whiny voice to the other sheep to let it in, to come join it. Sadie didn't wait. She ran around the barn and up the steps to the porch. She stood at the door in the howling wind and blowing snow, and barked.

Nobody opened the door. What if they couldn't hear her? What if they were upstairs in bed? Sadie barked again, twice, and that time, Angus barked back from inside.
Sadie?

Then the kitchen door opened, and Missus was kneeling to let Sadie climb onto her lap.