Sable (2 page)

Sable sniffed the twine in my hands, then lay down in the leaves at my feet.

I measured and cut three long strands and started braiding them. Holding the plaited twine against Sable's neck every now and then, I tested until I had a piece long enough. Sable sat patiently as I tightened the ends around her neck into a square knot.

Next, I pulled out my old hairbrush and plucked the bristles clean. Sable sniffed the honey-colored cloud of my hair. She tried eating it.

“Don't eat that, Sable!” I cried. “It'll make you sick.”

I blew the hair cloud away, into the chilly afternoon. “Maybe some mouse will use it,” I said. “To make a nest.”

Gently, I dragged my hairbrush through Sable's matted fur, careful not to pull. I worked at her tangles, the way Pap worked at mine, until I'd eased them all out.

“You sure look pretty, Sable,” I said when I finished. Sable wagged her tail in a tired circle. All groomed, with a collar on, she really looked like she belonged to somebody.

In the worst way, I wanted her to belong to me. But where could I keep her? Mam wouldn't let her in the house, not if she was scared of dogs.

And I couldn't leave her outside, what with the nights so cold and Sable so weak and skinny. And what if she ran away?

I decided I'd build a doghouse. If Pap would let me.

3 / The Bed

“Pap?” I called, poking my head inside the shop. Pap stood at his bench, gluing up boards. “Pap, can I use some of your wood to build a house for Sable?”

“Sorry, Tate,” Pap said, shaking his head. “This wood's too good for any doghouse.”

I guess I knew he wouldn't let me. About all Pap ever lets me use are his stickers. Those are the strips he puts between planks when he's drying wood. He's got a lot of stickers, but I couldn't figure how to build a doghouse out of them.

“Come on, girl,” I called to Sable.

We hunted in the shed behind Pap's shop. Dressers, and bed frames, and boxes of canning jars leaned against the rough pine walls. I swiped at spiderwebs. “There must be something in here we can use for you,” I told Sable.

She turned her head in my direction. I wiped my dusty hands on the seat of my pants and stooped down. Holding Sable's brown jaw in one hand, I stroked the top of her bony head with the other. She still wouldn't look right at me.

“I'll figure out something for you, girl,” I whispered. “Don't worry.”

I'd hoped to find a big empty carton I could maybe cut a door into. Or a wooden crate. All I found was a worn-out cardboard box; it didn't even have the flaps that make the top.

“Well, this will have to do,” I said. “It'll make a good bed at least, Sable. Hold on. I'll clean it up for you.”

I knocked the dried leaves and dead bugs out of the corners. Then I turned the box upside down and banged on the bottom, raising a puff of dust.

Sable sneezed. I sneezed, too.

“We need something soft to put in here, don't we, girl?” I asked. “It's not really a bed until it's soft.”

I thought Pap's sawdust might work as bedding. I led Sable back around to the shop.

Pap's piles of sawdust were stacked up like fine raked leaves. I wished I could jump in those piles, but Pap's broom was always leaning over them, just daring me to try.

“What you doing out there in the shed, Tate?” Pap asked.

“Just looking around,” I said.

“Don't be making a mess, girl,” Pap warned.

“No, sir.”

I stood, staring at Pap's back. His dark hair poked through the hole above the plastic snaps in his baseball cap.

“Pap, can I use some of your sawdust?” I asked.

Pap nodded, not even looking over at me. “Just don't trail it across the floor,” he said. “And shut that door behind you, Tate.”

I closed the door and knelt in front of the tallest pile. Using my hands, I scooped sawdust into Sable's box. Sable pushed her nose into the middle of things, helping.

“Okay, girl,” I said, standing up and brushing dust off my knees. The sawdust reached about halfway up the box sides. “Come on. Try it out.”

I pushed the box right in front of her.

Sable stared at me. Then she stared at the box. Instead of climbing in, she walked right past it, plopping down on the hard shop floor.

“Not there, Sable,” I said. “In your bed.”

Sable dragged herself up onto her feet again. She had sawdust all over her newly brushed fur.

“I should put something on top of the sawdust, shouldn't I, Sable?”

I remembered the old stained quilt from Grandmam Betts. It wasn't nice enough to put on a bed anymore. But it would do all right for Sable.

“Can Sable stay in here a few minutes?” I asked Pap.

Pap nodded, too busy working to notice what I was up to.

“Okay, girl,” I said. “Stay right here.”

Sable sank to the floor again, sweeping sawdust with her tail as I backed out of the shop.

I climbed silently onto the back porch. Mam stood in the kitchen, listening to the radio, her sleeves pushed up past her elbows. The muscles worked in her long back as her fist kneaded dough.

Slipping around to the front of the house, past Mam's willow, I let myself in quietly. I crept up the stairs, careful to skip the creakers. My heart hammered against my throat. Mam would sure explode if she caught me giving Sable one of Grandmam Betts's quilts, even a ruined one. I managed to get the quilt down from the closet and out of the house without Mam knowing.

Pap looked up as I rushed through the shop door. My hair crackled, full of static from carrying the quilt on my head.

“Does Mam know you have that blanket?” Pap asked.

“No, sir,” I said.

Pap nodded. “She's not going to like it.”

“I didn't take a good quilt, Pap,” I said.

“She's still not going to like it.”

I folded and refolded the blanket, till I got it just right in Sable's box. “Okay, girl,” I said. “It's ready now. Hop in.”

Sable backed away from the box, her tail between her legs. I climbed inside it myself, showing her what to do.

“This is your bed, Sable.”

She just sniffed inside my ear.

Finally I gave up trying to coax her. I just picked her up and put her in. For such a big dog, Sable weighed about as much as an empty school bag.

She stood on the quilt for a few seconds, looking wobbly. Then she sniffed the fabric, pawed some wrinkles into it, circled, and dropped her bones down.

Sable sighed, real long, like wind down a chimney. She rested her head on the edge of the cardboard box.

“Can we keep Sable's bed in your shop tonight?” I asked Pap.

Pap looked over and frowned. “We don't even know if that dog's housebroken, Tate. If she messes anything—anything,” he said, “you're responsible.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

I explained to Sable how she was a guest in Pap's shop. “You better behave,” I told her.

*   *   *

Cooking up a pan of mush for Sable's supper, I stirred a spoon of bacon fat in to improve the flavor.

Sable ate her mush out on the porch, licking the bowl over and over, chasing it around with her tongue, until finally I took it away. Then I led her back toward Pap's shop. She didn't wait to be invited. She headed right inside out of the shivery cold as soon as I opened the door and clicked on the light. She climbed straight into her box.

“Don't get comfortable yet,” I said. “Remember, Sable, no messes in this shop.”

I led her back outside, standing in the patch of light from Pap's shop window, hopping up and down to keep warm. Sable didn't make me wait in the cold for long.

“You're a good dog,” I said, hugging her skinny brown neck.

Sable smelled like dried leaves, and dust, and pine trees. Her warm breath tickled inside my ear. I buried my face in her dark coat, breathing her in. Sable stood still, her tail swaying gently behind her.

“Into bed now,” I said. I fingered those ears of hers one more time. The white tip of her tail twitched against the side of her box. There was no room in her bed for a full tail wag.

Holding her face between my hands, I concentrated on fixing everything about her in my mind.

“Sable,” I whispered.

For the first time she looked straight at me. Her eyes shone like chocolate melting in the pan, all liquid and warm and sweet.

A bubble of something joyous lifted inside me.

“Don't get into trouble tonight, Sable,” I said. “Promise.”

And be here in the morning, I prayed as I turned out the light and shut the shop door behind me.

That night I stared across the starlit yard. There was a dog sleeping in a cardboard box in Pap's shop. A real dog. Tomorrow I'd bring money to school and scoot over to Tom's General Store. I'd buy real dog food for Sable. When I got home, I'd teach her to sit, and stay, and roll over.

Mam and Pap hadn't said I could keep her.

But they hadn't said I couldn't, either.

4 / Sable's Bad Habit

The next morning I woke as the smell of perking coffee needled the house. Pap snored in the next room and Mam sang country in the shower. I pulled on my overalls and raced to the shop.

Sable met me at the door, wagging her tail and sniffing my hands. “Good girl,” I said, checking for messes and not finding any. I hugged her and led her outside.

“Want some breakfast?” I asked.

Sable sat on the back porch in the frosty morning, watching me through the storm door while I soaked some bread in milk.

She bolted down the soggy bread and sat waiting for more.

How could I leave her and go off to school? I wouldn't mind staying home. But I knew Mam and Pap wouldn't let me. Sometimes Pap took me along when he delivered a job out of town. He'd let me skip school for that, but not for a dog.

I looked at Sable and considered tying her. If I tied her, she'd surely be waiting for me when I got home. But then I thought about Raye Cather's dogs. Those dogs lay in their own mess, day in, day out. I couldn't do that to Sable.

“Don't run off while I'm gone today,” I told her as we walked down the drive to the bus stop. “I'll be back at three. I promise.”

Sable wagged her tail in the crinkly leaves, looking right at me. “When I get home, Sable, I'll feed you dog food from a can, and I'll teach you to sit.”

Sable already sat pretty well on her own, but only when
she
felt like sitting.

The bus screeched to a stop in front of the driveway. Sable sat, watching, as I climbed the steps.

“Got yourself a dog?” the driver asked.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said.

I hurried down the aisle to the back of the bus so I could see Sable out the rear window. Just before we turned the bend in front of the Cobbs', Sable lay down in the dust of our driveway, resting her head on her paws.

I couldn't stay fixed on my schoolwork that day, wondering if I'd find her when I got home. During recess I worked it out with Tom. I'd dust and sweep the store in exchange for dog food. Now, at least, I'd be able to feed Sable.

On the way home I strained my neck, trying to see our driveway as we came around the corner. If hoping could make a thing happen, Sable would surely be there. And then she was there, waiting at the bus stop for me, just where I'd left her.

She waited for me that first day. And the second too. She waited the whole first week. She was always there, sitting in the middle of our driveway, watching the bus pull up, wagging her tail.

I almost stopped worrying about her running off when one morning, after she'd been with us a few weeks, instead of lying down like she usually did, Sable started running after the bus, trying to catch up. I watched, helpless, from the rear window as she sprinted down the road. She stayed close behind us, too, until we turned onto Route 30 and picked up speed.

I never was the best student to begin with. But that day I couldn't keep my mind on anything, knowing she might get hit by a car. Or wander so far she couldn't find her way back.