Little Klein (2 page)

LeRoy had been a wanderer, a dog who spent his nights outside the corner bar with the other wanderers, surviving on the generosity of the grill cook at closing time. He liked his routine, tracing the changing town smells, alley by alley, tree by tree. Early mornings were for the town, padding past houses as lights turned on; midday in the cool shade by the river; afternoons smelling his way back. People he hadn’t smelled much, only the storekeepers who left him scraps and the drunks leaving the bar at closing.

Then one day LeRoy’s nap by the river was interrupted by an intoxicatingly sweet sound. He lifted his head abruptly, and a spindly boy tripped and landed smack on him. LeRoy rose up, the boy fell off, and the dog stuck his nose in a nest of long hair. This boy smelled of leaves and grass and rabbit and river and eggs and feet. He was a feast, but he moved fast. Soon three enormous versions of the small one grabbed LeRoy’s scented boy and took him away, leaving behind a splendid bouquet of all of LeRoy’s favorite smells. He yapped, he howled, he chased his tail. Then LeRoy put his nose to the ground and followed this pack.

“Get!” the biggest one yelled when he saw him catching up. “Get on, you!” LeRoy barked his most furious bark, hoping to impress. The littler boy whistled before being shushed.

LeRoy bared his teeth to show what a fine specimen he was, but the big boys ignored him. Their backs did not insult LeRoy.

“Put me down,” hollered his boy.

LeRoy lagged behind while following the pungent trail out of the woods, across the bank parking lot, past Liberty Corner Restaurant (stopping not for the fine aroma of cooking cow meat), under the railroad bridge (without a glance at the yapping ball of fur in Nels Nelson’s yard). He followed the pack until they walked through the back door of a house and closed it on his nose.

His long-haired boy tried to come back out to him.

“Get away from the door!” said their leader, picking up the little one like he was the weightless runt of the litter.

“I wanna keep him,” said his boy, but the big one kept talking.

“Mark and Luke, get rid of the dog before Ma gets home.”

“Why us?” whined one.

“I gotta work on my bike,” muttered the other.

“I wanna keep him,” his boy continued to plead.

“No dogs. Dad’s rule and he’ll be back in three weeks. Now just do it.”

When the door opened and the little one popped out, LeRoy had hope, but before he could get a sniff or a lick, his boy was snatched away by the leader again.

“Beat it!” he yelled, and LeRoy scampered into the alley. He hid between garages until the streetlights came on and the house lights went out, then he crept back up to the house.

All night LeRoy lay by their step, hoping for another whiff, ear cocked for another call. His stomach rumbled, he barked, but not even the
Shad up and scram, you!
shouted out a window or the ensuing silence moved him from his spot.

After the moon rose and trash-can-scavenging raccoons woke LeRoy, he toured the fenceless yard behind the house. Weeds, rabbit, worms, raccoon, squirrel . . . but no dog. Faint whiffs, of course, faint but passing. This yard was home to no dog. LeRoy stretched. He pranced a few circles after his tail. He took a winding sniff around and around and around the house, and he knew: this was the end of wandering.

Not since his puppy days had LeRoy felt the urge to add a family to his life. But once the notion hit him, LeRoy accepted it without question. LeRoy lifted his leg on the apple tree. He went back to the dirt next to the step, where the smells of frog and ripe shoe mingled like a lullaby, and LeRoy slept.

Little Klein was the first to find LeRoy in the morning.

“My dog!” he yelled, running out the back door only to be toppled once again.

LeRoy launched into a chorus of howls and barks so long and loud that Priscilla Warren, newlywed, stepped one slippered foot onto her next-door stoop and said in her most married voice, “Well, I never!” hoping to end this uncivilized ruckus.

“Get, dog! Get on, you!” cried Mother Klein, dashing after her boy and dislodging him from the slobbering pooch. “Where in tarnation did you come from?” Then turning to Little Klein, she said, “I suppose you’ve been whistling again. Now, back inside. Good morning, Priscilla. New robe?” She turned toward the house. “Matthew, Mark, Luke! Up and out!”

Little Klein hesitated, and LeRoy danced around Mother Klein, knocking his boy to the ground.

“Lord have mercy!” Mother Klein cried as she separated the two again. “Boys!” she called. “Are you okay, baby?” she said, kneeling down to inspect her paw-printed son.

“Golly!” said Little Klein, diving back into LeRoy’s matted coat. “I’m nine.”

“You’re fragile,” Mother Klein answered, collaring LeRoy with her arms, pulling him away from Little Klein.

“I’m
small,
not
fragile,
” he said.

Matthew stuck his head out the upstairs window.

“We didn’t bring him home, Ma. Never saw that dog before.”

“Can I keep him? Can I keep him, huh? Huh, Ma? Can I keep him?” begged Little Klein.

“Certainly not. He’ll break you clean in two.”

LeRoy kept up his howling and barking until Mother Klein held up one hand and said, “Stop!”

Then LeRoy lay down with his head on his paws and whimpered.

“Look, Ma, he’s as skinny as me,” said Little Klein. “We have to feed him at least.”

Mother Klein harrumphed. She called Mark to bring out a bowl of yesterday’s stew. Mark set it on the bottom step before the whining dog, then walked a wide nervous circle around him. LeRoy offered the bowl three sharp barks before burying his snout and slurping it clean.

“Look at him eat,” said Little Klein. “I’ve always wanted a dog my whole life. A dog that hungry has to be homeless.”

“He’s a wild dog, not a pet. Now he’s fed. He’s got to go back where he came from.”

“No!” wailed Little Klein, planting himself on the ground next to the dog.

She waved her arms and said, “Shoo! Shoo, dog! Get on, now! Get!” But LeRoy scooted over and sniffed her feet, dribbling some undigested stew onto her shoes.

“Lord have mercy. I’ve got more to do with my day . . . Boys!” she yelled again.

Matthew and Luke stumbled bleary eyed into the yard, Luke mumbling, “I didn’t do it,” as he flopped onto the bottom step.

Matthew whapped the back of Luke’s head.

“Get up,” he said as he grabbed his mitt and threw a ball high in the air, watching the sky until he caught it, then threw it again.

“Mark did it,” Luke tried.

“What?” Mark spun around to defend his name.

“Cut it out, Luke,” said Matthew, giving him another whap, this time with his glove.

“I want to keep the dog,” demanded Little Klein, but no one heard him over the ensuing Big Klein wrestling and blame calling.

When Mother Klein did not come to intervene, Mark ducked his head out of the tangle and said, “Um . . . uh . . . maybe we aren’t in trouble?”

Mother now tried unsuccessfully to escort the dog from the block, Little Klein trailing behind.

LeRoy broke free and bounded back to Little Klein, then to the yard, yelping all the way.

“Do you think we’d like having a dog?” Mark asked as LeRoy and Little Klein approached, looking from Matthew to Luke.

“I’ve
always
wanted a dog,” said Luke, grabbing a stick and throwing it across the yard for LeRoy to fetch.

“Sure we’d like a dog,” said Matthew. “But we
can’t
have one. Little’s too fragile, for one thing.” He retrieved the stick from LeRoy and threw it farther than Luke had.

“Don’t blame me,” said the breathless Little Klein. “Dad’s allergic, when he’s here. Plus he doesn’t like dog smell. Come on, boy, get the stick! Just pick it up with your mouth and bring it back! Come on, boy!”

“What if he was
our
dog, the threes of us?” Mark suggested.

“There is that,” pondered Luke, in rare agreement with Mark. “We could take care of it. It could be our dog, then she wouldn’t worry about it hurting Little Klein.” They looked to their oldest brother for the final say.

“Hey!” Little Klein tried to interrupt, but no one was listening.

“Or maybe Mark’s afraid of dogs . . .”

Mark lunged at Matthew, but Luke shouted over them. “If he slept outside he couldn’t bother Dad’s allergies or smell up the house.”

“I found him. He’s
my
dog,” insisted Little Klein. He tossed the stick again, but the Big Kleins were already on their way to Mother.

“Need some help, Ma?” Matthew asked.

“Mercy!” Mother Klein panted, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “You’ll have to take it out to the woods or something.”

“Uh-huh,” said Luke. “But look how dirty it is. Shouldn’t we at least clean it up first?”

“It’s a he!” protested Little Klein, running up behind them. “Clean
him
up!”

“And,” continued Matthew, “what if we keep him clean? And feed him? If he is our dog, the threes of us Bigs? We’d take care of him, make sure he stays away from Little. Keep an eye on him. Maybe he could even be some protection for Little, if we train him, like a watchdog.”

“But he’s
my
dog. . . .” Little Klein cried again, but Mother Klein had started resolutely singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” which meant there was no use pleading anymore. She grabbed Little Klein’s hand and huffed inside, the screen door slapping shut behind them.

LeRoy started barking all over again, bounding in circles around the boys.

“Wash the dog,” she called from the kitchen window at last. “Then we’ll see.”

“But . . .” Little Klein headed for the door.

“There are times,” Mother Klein said as she put a sheet of drawing paper in front of him, “when your brothers have things, do things, that you don’t have and do. And you’ll do and have things they won’t. The dog is one of those things. But I’m not saying we’re keeping him. In fact we can’t keep him. Here,” she continued from the living room, where she fiddled with the radio, “let’s see if we can find a ball game. Or maybe
Captain Midnight
is on. What do you suppose that old Ivan Shark is up to this time?”

“What good’s the radio when there’s a live dog outside?” Little Klein moaned.

Little Klein slumped over the table. He
felt
as big as his brothers. When would his body catch up? When would he have that growth spurt his father had promised? He grabbed a pencil and drew himself as tall as the page, with a dog at his side. Around them were soaring stalks of corn, the farm Little Klein dreamed of operating. He drew in miniature farmhands, the Bigs, each smaller than the tractor far off in the field. Stanley Klein, his soon-to-visit father, was there, too, the same size as the Bigs. They were all looking up at Little Klein and his dog, smiling.

Little Klein jumped when the screen door announced Mother Klein’s departure. He flipped his paper over and ran outside.

“That dog looks like your homely uncle LeRoy, may he rest in peace,” Mother Klein was saying as the Bigs wrestled LeRoy into position for a rinse. “Whether or not he stays, his name is LeRoy.” LeRoy woofed his approval.

“Ma!” the boys groaned. Just then the hose took an unplanned twirl, its pressure shooting water over all the Kleins, around and around until Little Klein dived onto it, taming the beast. Mother Klein turned off the hose and called, “Step away from the mud! Step back before you’re all dirtier than when you started. Come inside and dry off.” She turned and went inside and the Bigs sloshed after her, but Little Klein lagged back. He stood facing the wet mass of fur.

“You’re a different brown now,” he said.

“Woof,” replied LeRoy. Then that soggy lump quaked. It shivered and twitched. The dog lowered his head and shimmied his middle, shook his rump, and let his tail swing free, releasing streams of gleaming droplets into the bright air.

Little Klein stepped toward LeRoy, his bare toes sinking into the mud. This time LeRoy didn’t jump or jostle. He allowed boy fingers to comb his coat and tickle his ears. He sniffed all over his boy, lingering over the aromas caught up in the fine net of hair. Yes, this was
his
boy all right. LeRoy turned and sauntered away with the satisfaction of knowing his boy would be there when he returned.

Little Klein ran after him, but LeRoy picked up speed, turned the corner, and was gone. Little Klein dashed into the house to round up his brothers.

“For the love of Pete,” Mother said. “Matthew! Mark! Luke! Get back here.” But the big boys were gone, too.

Little Klein started to follow, but Mother held him back.

“Leave it to your brothers,” she said. “Besides, I’m not saying we’re going to keep him. In fact we can’t keep him. We’ll just see.”

Mother set to hanging sheets on the line and singing. Little Klein climbed up the tree to watch his brothers until they were out of sight. When Mother answered Mrs. Warren’s toodle-oo to help turn on her new oven, Little Klein slipped out of the yard and started running as fast as his short legs would take him after his brothers, after LeRoy.

The Bigs, not ones to run unless necessary, had slowed to a walk as soon as they were out of Mother Klein’s sight, so it wasn’t long before he had their curly heads in his view.