Birdie For Now (7 page)

“Praise her NOW, Dickon,” Leslie said.

Oh, yes. Praise her.

“Good girl, Birdie. Good, good girl!” he crooned.

She sprang up. Her tail quivered. As he beamed down at her, the tip of her tail spun in a little circle. Birdie was happy to be with him. For the moment, at least, she was his.

“Now, try it again, Dickon, and when she is sitting, tell her to stay. Keep your hand ready to encourage her. That goes for everybody. Birdie isn't the only one who sat for just three seconds.”

Dickon was tired when it was over. And he was the only one who had to leave his dog behind.

“Can I take her in to her place?” he asked.

“Sure,” Leslie said. “Good idea.”

When he lifted her, he was amazed at how light she was.

“Yes,” Leslie said. “She's much too thin. But we'll soon fix that.”

He put her in the cage and closed the door. She gave him a reproachful look. Leslie laughed.

“Dogs are experts at making people feel guilty,” she said. “I was watching her. She must have had some training before that man got her. She would have been young, of course, but Papillons are highly intelligent. I've seen them win at Obedience Trials.”

Birdie whined softly when he turned to go.

“I'll be back tomorrow. Bye-bye, Birdie,” he told her.

The next morning was Friday. It seemed years since the Friday before. He hadn't known Leslie or Jody or Birdie then!

At ten, he went back over, rounding the building. The small woman he had seen outside with Leslie on his first day in the new house was at the desk working on some papers. He opened the door and looked at her bent head. He was relieved to see Leslie coming out of the room where all the dogs were. She spotted him and smiled.

“Hi, Dickon,” she said. “This is Sally Croft. Can one of us do something for you?”

Dickon swallowed. Then he looked up into her cool eyes.

“Birdie's still pretty tangled,” he said, all in a rush. “If she is going to get adopted, maybe I should brush her.”

Leslie studied him silently for what
felt like at least half an hour. Then she said quietly, “It would be great for Birdie, Dickon, but maybe not so good for you. If you bond with her, she'll be hard to give up.”

“I won't bond,” Dickon said, ready to promise anything.

“Well, all right then. That little dog sure needs to become more trusting. She shouldn't be too hard to groom. Papillons have no undercoat and they don't mat like most breeds. Their hair is like ours.”

She went with him to the cage where Birdie lay with her head on her paws. She looked so lost that a lump formed in Dickon's throat.

“Hi, Birdie,” he half-sang in his softest voice.

The woman let the little dog out. “My, she's thin,” she said. “Sally gave her a flea bath this morning, but she hasn't had time to groom her. Here's your friend Dickon, Birdie.”

The dog trembled violently in Leslie's arms. She shook in Dickon's arms too. But he held her gently and kept
saying her name in a soft sing-song. She ducked her head to lick his fingers, but he could tell she was still anxious, not sure his kindness would last.

“Healing takes time,” Leslie said, watching them. “She's bruised, Dickon, in both her heart and her body. Go slowly with her. Be patient.”

“Yes,” Dickon answered, only half attending. He sat down on the floor with Birdie cradled close. He kept murmuring what a good dog she was, how special, how beautiful.

Leslie brought grooming tools. She led the boy and dog into a room with a grooming table and two deep sinks for bathing. Birdie had begun to relax, but she did not want another bath.

“It's all right,” Leslie told her, laughing as the little dog put her paws around Dickon's neck and hid her eyes under his chin. “Let me show you what to do, Dickon.”

She placed Birdie on the table, but the dog became so agitated Dickon took her back into his arms.

“I can keep her on my lap and do
it since she's so little,” he said.

“All right.” The woman showed him how to brush out the tangles without hurting the small dog. Then she left the pair to get on with it.

Dickon thought it might be a battle, but Birdie leaned her head against the stroking brush. He pulled it slowly and carefully through her damp tangles. He found a sore spot on her right flank. Her ribs were tender too, and she would not let him handle one of her slim paws. She even growled at him, but only in warning.

“Poor little Bird,” he murmured. “I won't hurt you. How could they do this? Did someone kick you?”

Leslie came back to check on them just as he finished.

“You are doing a wonderful job, Dickon, but you must always remember that she is not yours or you'll break both your hearts when she's adopted.”

Dickon bent his head low over the dog. So that was what bonding meant. It was too late. It had been too late since he and Birdie had first laid eyes
upon one another. His heart belonged to this dog. And he was positive that Birdie's heart was his. They were stuck to each other tighter than Crazy Glue could make them and that was that.

The weekend dragged. Luckily, his mother was still busy setting the house to rights. The two of them painted his bedroom pale yellow. It took several coats, but Dickon got to do a lot of the work.

Then Monday came and he was back with Birdie. When he raced home, however, happy as he could be, Mrs. Nelson was sitting on his front step.
His feet skidded to a stop.

“Stop right there, young man,” she said. “I've been watching you for a week. I know what you are up to and I also know your mother has no notion.”

“Oh, please, PLEASE, don't tell her!” Dickon begged. He dropped to his knees in front of their neighbor and gazed up at her. “Mum wouldn't understand. She's afraid of dogs. I can't have one. But Birdie needs me. She really does. Leslie …”

Mrs. Nelson reached out a hand and gave him a quick shake.

“Never grovel!” she said. “Leslie is my husband's niece. I called her after the second day. She says you are doing a good job with that poor little dog.”

Dickon scrambled to his feet. A smile beamed across his face.

“She does? Really? She really does?”

“She really does. She thinks the dog may be able to be adopted if your mother doesn't stop your going over there.”

“Oh, Mrs. Nelson …” he started in.

“Hush. I haven't told Julie yet. I know she has a phobia about dogs.
She doesn't want to risk one hair of your foolish head. One of these days, we will have to tell. But Leslie thinks another few days may settle this Birdie down enough.”

Dickon felt a warmth in his heart and a pain in his stomach. Birdie might be all right! But he would lose her. How could he bear it?

“Julie will be home soon. I'm surprised she hasn't smelled dogs on you. She must come home very tired indeed.”

“She does,” Dickon said, giving their neighbor a sheepish grin. “I watch for the car and push the button on the coffeemaker. She takes in this great deep breath and smells fresh coffee. I change my shirt too, and I wash when I get home.”

Mrs. Nelson laughed.

“Very tricky,” she said. “Come and see Charlie when you want a change of animals.”

“Thanks,” Dickon said. “How come she has a boy's name?”

“It's short for Charlotte. That's Leslie's second name. She gave her to me
a couple of years ago. Someone had brought her in to the Humane Society and Leslie wanted her to go to an adult. African pygmy hedgehogs are not ideal pets for a child.”

Dickon decided it was too late to visit Charlie right then. He had to put the coffee in the filter and pour in the water.

Mrs. Nelson headed home.

Leslie had told her aunt that Birdie was making great progress. His pleasure faded. If he did a super job with Birdie, he would lose her sooner.

The rest of the second week passed, though, and they began on the third without anyone wanting Birdie.

And Dickon's mother had not caught on. She was tired, of course. The manager, Mr. Frank, was picky sometimes. When she got home, his mother had to tell Dickon the latest adventure they had had. She said she had to be careful because she could not afford to get fired. Dickon knew there was no danger of that happening. His mother was smart and she worked hard.

“How was Mr. Frankenstein today?” he would ask her.

She would shake her head at him, but she always smiled.

One night when she asked about his day, Dickon told her about going over to see Charlie having her bath.

“Oh, honey, do be careful,” she warned. “That hedgehog might seem as friendly as can be and then take a piece out of you.”

“Charlie is a pushover,” he said impatiently. “Anyway, her prickles make me keep my distance so don't fuss.”

“I can't help it,” she said, pushing buttons on the microwave. “I know she's not a dog, but when I was three …”

“You've told me a million times,” he broke in, unable to hide his sudden anger. “But dogs are okay. They are fine. Otherwise, Mum, why would hundreds of people buy them for their kids? Answer me that.”

She stared into his face. He was not sounding like himself. His cheeks reddened and he looked away.

“Maybe we should get a small
aquarium and some of those Japanese koi,” she said, staring at him. “I know it is nice to have a pet. Koi are all different colors. You might enjoy …”

He could not believe it.

“No, Mother,” he said. “I do not de-sire a wet pet. Or a gerbil or a mouse or a guinea pig. For me, it's a dog or nothing.”

Silence came between them. He gritted his teeth and made no move to break through it. His mother sighed.

“Do you feel all right, baby?” she asked at last. “You must get so bored shut up with only the TV. We'll forget fish for now. I brought you a present, something to help pass the time. It's so cute.”

He opened the paper bag and pulled out a sticker book. He stared down at it. It was about toys. Teddy bears. The one on the cover was like the one on his stupid baby cup. He pushed the book away and tried to change the subject back to hedgehogs.

“Mrs. Nelson lets Charlie ride around in her apron pocket,” he said.

His mother shuddered. All at once, he wanted to hit her. He longed to burst out, “Birdie is a wonderful dog and I am training her and Leslie says she is doing wonderfully well and I've taught her to stay and sit and she almost al-ways comes when I say, ‘Birdie, come!' She knows more than Ruff and she is far better than Tallboy although Poppet is better at some things. But Jody had already worked with her before the class began. Oh, Mum, Mum, MUM, I never ever did anything so wonderful before. Never, ever, EVER!”

He bit back the flood of words. If he told, she might forbid him to go near the Humane Society. She was staring at him now with bewildered eyes.

“Did you take your pill at two?” she asked.

He felt like a time bomb ticking down to the moment when it would blow sky- high.

“YES! I am fine as fine as fine,” he shouted, leaping up and rushing to pour himself a glass of water. The chair fell over with a crash, and when
he turned the tap on, water sprayed in all directions.

“Oh, baby, watch what you're doing!” she wailed. But he saw relief in her face. She knew this boy. He was hers.

Maybe she wanted him to stay this way. Did she like his being her own special wild Birdie? If she saw him with the others, acting like everybody else, would she want to change him back to Dizzy Dick? He could not bear the thought.

“I'm watching every minute. It's only water, Mum. It's not the end of the blasted world. It's not dire. And I'm OKAY. Don't make a big production out of it,” he said, struggling to stay in control.

“I'm sorry, baby,” she said, her eyes filling with the tears he so hated. “I know you're trying hard. But you'll have to get yourself to settle down if you are to go to the regular school, Birdie.”

Don't call me “Birdie,” he thought. Don't call me “baby” either.

“I KNOW!” he cried aloud, his eyes wild. “Don't you think I know anything?
I'm weird. Your weird kid. So weird I can't even have a dog like other kids.”

His last few words had dropped to a whisper. Had she heard? No. She had turned to get out two frozen dinners. If she had caught what he had whispered, she would just say for the millionth time that he could not possibly take care of a dog — even if he could find one who was guaranteed not to be vicious or dirty. If Birdie were frightened, how could he be sure what she would do?

“I gotta pee,” he cried, and ran, shutting the bathroom door behind him. For the first time in his life, he locked it. He needed to have a minute really truly to himself.

No, that wasn't it. He needed time to BE his new self. Not “Julie's baby bird” but Dickon Fielding.