Angus and Sadie (19 page)

W
hen Sadie said to Angus,
You don't know everything
, Angus almost said right back,
I never said I did
. Because he never had. He was just better at things than she was, better at everything. They both knew that. But when Sadie told him
That'll do!
as if she was the trainer, that made Angus angry.

Angus had tried to help Sadie, and now all she had to say to him was
That'll do!
as if he was a pest. As if he
wanted
to spend all his time helping her. As if he'd never helped her at all. Thinking about it made him really angry.

It felt good to be angry at Sadie. Being angry cheered Angus up.

He figured that it wouldn't be very long before Sadie got scared by something, by the cats, or maybe some wind howling at a window, or even just the tractor being turned on. Something would frighten her and she'd come running.

But he wouldn't help her. Not anymore. He was done helping Sadie. Because she was acting as if he hadn't ever helped her at all. Telling him
That'll Do!
like that. Angus was good and angry now. He kept on being angry, day after day.

Sadie didn't notice this, not really. The days were warmer, as well as longer, and the snow had all melted away, so Angus and Mister went out into the woods to cut up the trees that had blown down in the winter storms. They were gone all day, and when they returned, Angus fell asleep almost right away. The dogs were over a year old now, and they got fed only once, in the mornings, so at night there was nothing to do except fall asleep. Sadie didn't have many chances to notice Angus being angry at her.

Everything was muddy: the driveway, the animal pens, the pastures. The dogs moved back to the barn for the nights, and the sheep—with two new lambs this year—moved back to the spring pasture. Angus and Sadie were not allowed to go along for the move. “They've just learned not to go into the sheep pen,” Mister said. “I don't want to ask too much of them. It's spring, and everybody's a little nutty in spring. Even Angus, aren't you, boy?” So Angus and Sadie stayed in the house that morning, Angus napping alone in the living room, not even answering when Sadie asked why didn't he come into the kitchen to drink some water and lie in the sunlight with her and Patches.

The air in spring was soft to breathe and warm with sunlight. It was the sweetest air of the whole year. But everybody was so busy—cleaning house and turning over the fields, planting seeds in trays full of tiny pots, clearing fallen trees and mending the fences—that nobody had time to appreciate the air. Nobody, that is, except Sadie, and Sadie had the time only because what little time there was for training was spent on Angus.

Mister wanted to take Angus to the trials in April. “My brother's had Lucy in trials twice already, last spring and last fall. Angus is at least as well-trained as Lucy was last spring, and he's probably smarter than she is.”

“Maybe, but your brother had that professional trainer work with Lucy. That has to make a big difference.”

“The trials are down in Massachusetts. I'd need to be gone a couple of days. Would you mind?”

“Not with Sadie for company. I can easily take care of the cows, and if you turn the garden over before you go, I can make a good start on the planting.”

“Are you sure you should be doing that kind of heavy work?” Mister asked.

“The stronger I am, the better it'll be for the baby,” Missus said.

What baby?
Sadie asked.
Angus, did you hear that?

When Angus didn't answer, when he acted as if she hadn't said a thing, Sadie finally understood that something was wrong with him, and that what was wrong with him was probably her fault. She didn't know what she had done wrong, but it was obvious she had done something.

The dogs slept together in the barn, but it wasn't the same. They had their old blanket in their old stall, and the familiar barn noises around them, but everything had changed, because Angus and Sadie were different. They were like a dog and a cat—or a dog and a chicken, or even a dog and a cow—two entirely different kinds of animals that just happened to be living in the same stall. Two different kinds of animals do different kinds of things, and they especially don't do things together. That is the way it was with Angus and Sadie.

For example, when Angus patrolled around the inside of the barn at night, he didn't want Sadie to go with him. Sadie minded this, but she didn't say anything about it.

And on the first night the dogs had returned to the barn, the barn cats jumped at Sadie. She leaped up, yelping, but then she turned and barked at them, chasing them off, and she never asked Angus for help. Angus didn't say anything about that. Afterward, Snake and Fox left Sadie alone, and Angus didn't say anything about that, either.

Sometimes, Sadie heard a noise from the garden and went out alone to be sure everything was all right. Everything was always all right, and she thought that if there really did happen to be some animal there, a dangerous raccoon, or a fox, Angus would come to help her if she really needed it. So she wasn't too worried. It was worrying enough out in the dark garden, listening to hear if she was going to have to do something. But when she growled low in her throat, the animals were as frightened of her as she was of them, and they rustled away into the darkness. She didn't know what kind of animals they might be, and she couldn't ask Angus. He didn't want her asking him questions.

Angus was working particularly hard with Mister at training, getting ready for the trials. Often, Mister didn't really train Sadie at all. Angus watched silently while Mister had Sadie Sit! Down! Stay!, and Come!, just one time. Then Mister said, “That'll do!” and sent Sadie back to sit beside Missus so he could work with Angus. Angus almost never made any mistakes, no matter how many times Mister gave him an order. He was perfect, and Mister said so.

“Does he have to be perfect?” Missus asked.

“No, of course not,” Mister said. “But it's nice if he is. Why? Do you have something against perfect?”

“No, I just have something against
having
to be perfect.”

“Angus knows he doesn't have to be perfect.”

“Do you really think so?” Missus asked.

“Besides, you're perfect, too,” Mister said. “Perfect for me, I mean.”

“Oh, you mean
that
kind of perfect? Well, yes, of course I am!” Missus said, and they laughed.

They could laugh, but Angus planned to be perfect, absolutely perfect all of the time, and better than Sadie, too. He was looking forward to the trials. He was looking forward to how proud Mister would be when Angus had earned a leg. He didn't know what he was going to have to do to get it, but he did remember that a leg was the prize you won. When he thought about it, he understood that he didn't really know what a leg was—except, since Lucy hadn't had any more legs than he did, he figured it couldn't be a real leg. Maybe it was a cast? No, Lucy didn't have a cast. He didn't know what a leg was, but he wanted it. He hoped it wasn't a cast.

Earning a leg was much harder than bringing a sheep home in a snowstorm, Angus was sure. He could barely wait for the day of the trials to come, and when it did, he jumped up into the cab of the truck so eagerly that Missus said, “I guess he really does want to compete.”

“Of course,” Mister said. “He's been working hard. He's ready to show off.”

After Mister and Angus drove away, Missus and Sadie went back inside to finish cleaning up after breakfast, to put the laundry into the dryer, and to make the bed, before starting on the garden. Starting on the garden meant putting pairs of stakes into the ground and tying string between them. The seeds would be planted in straight lines right under those strings. Starting on the garden meant cutting up the seedling potatoes and planting them in the ground, and then mounding the dirt up over them into tiny hills. It was also supposed to mean getting the tomato seedlings planted, but by then it had started to rain, so Missus and Sadie went back inside the house.

Missus washed up and had lunch. She folded laundry and then she sat to sew her quilt, while Sadie had a nap. Later, they raced together through the rain down to the barn to milk the cows and give them fresh water. Then they raced together back to the house, Missus splashing up the path and Sadie splashing right beside her. On the porch, Missus took off her boots and then dried off all four of Sadie's paws on a towel before either one of them went into the warm kitchen.

That night, Sadie stayed in the house with Missus. While Missus had a long hot bath, Sadie had a nap in the steamy warm bathroom, right beside the tub. Sadie slept upstairs that night on the rug beside Missus's bed. She and Missus listened to the rain while Missus read her book. At last Missus said, “I hope it's not raining like this in Massachusetts. The news says it isn't, and I hope it's right for once. Good night, Sadie.”

Sadie wagged her tail, a soft thump-thump on the floor.

It was raining when they woke up, so after the cows were taken care of and the ironing was done, and the bed was made and the house vacuumed, they still couldn't plant tomatoes. Instead, “Come on, Sadie,” Missus said, and she went upstairs again. “I don't know. I just don't know, so I need your help.”

Sadie followed, ready to help.

The job was: to sit quietly for a long time in every spare room. There were three spare rooms that needed sitting in. “Let's get the feel of this room,” Missus said at the door of the first as they went in.

Sadie didn't know what getting the feel was, but she was happy to go along. It turned out that getting the feel of a room meant sitting on the bed for a while, and then lying down on it to look up at the ceiling. It meant sitting in the chair and looking at the floor and the walls, and then getting up to look in the closet. Getting the feel meant looking out the windows for a while, opening them to smell the air, and closing them before too much rain could get in.

“If you were a baby, would you want a room that faced east for the sunrise?” Missus asked. “Or west for the sunset?”

Sadie didn't know, but she remembered,
The baby at Thanksgiving just wanted to sleep
.

“If you were a baby, would you want a big room with lots of space in it? Or a small, cozy one?” Missus asked, and Sadie didn't know that either.
How long will the baby be staying?

Missus didn't know at first, but she knew by the end of the morning for sure. She asked Sadie next about what color walls the baby would want, or if a baby preferred wallpaper.

Color? Wallpaper?

“Thanks, Sadie,” Missus said. “You've been a big, big help. And look, the rain is stopping.”

After lunch they could go back to the garden to plant the seedling tomatoes and peppers.

“Tomorrow we'll plant peas and carrots,” Missus said. “I wonder how Angus is getting on. Do you think he'll do all right?”

Of course! He'll be perfect!

“They'll be home tonight,” Missus said, “so we'll find out then.”

It was late, long after supper, when Angus and Mister returned. Missus and Sadie were waiting for them in the kitchen. Mister and Missus were so glad to see each other that they both talked at the same time. “Is everything okay? How are you three?” “How did Angus like it? What about you, how did you like the trials?”

Sadie forgot that Angus didn't want to talk to her.
You're back! I'm glad you're back!

And Angus had forgotten that he was angry.
I was good! I was perfect at standing for exam! The judge said I was a rare one. But sometimes I couldn't remember
, he told her.
Sometimes I got distracted. Like you
.

But you never get distracted
.

When I heeled on the leash, I was perfect! And a lot of people watched, and they applauded. Sometimes they made me do it wrong and that felt bad. It's all right when you do it wrong, but not me
.

Mister was telling Missus, “I hadn't trained him to finish properly, so of course he couldn't do it. It was my fault. But you should have heard the judge, he was really impressed with Angus. A whole lot of the dogs were disqualified from the long sit and down because they got into a fight. But Angus held it perfectly, no matter what the others did. He was the only one to get an excellent score on that one, weren't you, boy?”