Belle's Challenge Read online

  I heaved a sigh. “That’s the Labrador Retriever in him, Jazzy. They’re the fastest of all the dog swimmers.”

  Darcy raced beside Buster. “Come this way.”

  Grabbing a stick he dog paddled around a rock. On the other side of it, water foamed. The current snagged his legs, and he swirled away from us.

  “Yippie,” he shouted.

  Holy fleas! The water was moving fast. Could he swim against its flow?

  Snatching a branch off the ground, Darcy tried to catch his leash.

  Buster plunged under a footbridge and came up, gasping. Catching his breath, he swam harder.

  “See if we can beat him to the next bridge,” said Susan. “Maybe you can lean over it and catch him.”

  Handing my leash to Susan, Darcy took off running, dragging the stick behind her. She got to the bridge a few seconds before Buster, scrambled onto it and stretched the branch down. It snagged his collar.

  She tugged him toward the bank. The branch snapped.

  Buster ducked under the water, popped up and went down again. When his nose surfaced, he coughed and choked.

  I glanced down the path. The ditch flowed toward a grove. No lights glimmered there, but branches rustled, as if someone had slipped through them, and a peppermint odor drifted on the breeze.

  I touched noses with Jazzy. “What are we going to do? I can’t swim.”

  “Stay out of the ditch,” said Jazzy. “You can’t do anything.”

  I lowered my ears and tail. “But I’ve got to help. Herding dogs do that.”

  “Don’t!” Jazzy’s hackles rose. “I’m warning you for your own good.”

  I wanted to howl.

  Buster struggled toward shore. The current flung him back into the center of the ditch. His head disappeared.

  Darcy clapped her hands. “Come on, Buster. Try again.” She smelled of sour stomach.

  I barked as loud as I could.

  Jazzy sat down.

  “Jazzy, bark,” I thundered. “Make noise. Attract attention.”

  “It won’t help,” she said. “The people in the woods won’t listen, Belle.”

  Gagging, I strained toward the water. “Buster, Buster. This way!”

  Darcy seized my collar and hung on.

  Drawing a deep breath I roared, ending each bark with a yelp that burned my throat.

  The current threw Buster against a pile of wood. He flopped his forepaws onto it.

  The peppermint smell grew stronger. Glancing up, I saw a woman rushing toward us from the woods, field glasses around her neck. Her brown hair tumbled down her back. “What’s the matter here? Can I help?”

  The brush trembled under Buster’s weight. A branch groaned. Another spun into the current. He dug into what remained.

  Reaching the ditch, the woman looked at Buster, dropped onto her stomach and stretched her arm. Her fingers slid onto Buster’s hips. She grasped his hair. He flailed, spewing water. The mound under him collapsed.

  With her free hand, she grabbed his hind legs. Wriggling backwards, she pulled him closer to her, and lifted her other hand and dug it into his scruff.

  Buster half floated and half swam to the bank.

  Plunging her hand into the water, Darcy seized his leash. Susan lifted his forelegs and tugged.

  Buster clambered up the bank and collapsed in the grass, sides heaving. His tongue flopped out of his mouth as he sputtered and choked.

  Jazzy and I exchanged a glance. Darcy put her fingers to her lips, and Susan put a hand on her arm.

  No one moved. We all stared at Buster.

  He stopped coughing and panted. After what seemed like enough time to eat a whole bag of kibble, his gasping slowed. “That—that stream’s roaring,” he whispered and ran his tongue over his chops.

  “Irrigation ditches do that,” said Jazzy.

  I looked at the woman. She had bright blue eyes and a narrow, freckled face. Lines creased her chin and cheeks as she smiled at Buster’s recovery. Straining against my leash, I tried to lick her hand.

  Darcy caught her breath. “Th-thank y-you.”

  Yes, thank you, lady, and thank you, dog heaven.

  “That’s okay. I’m glad I went owl watching tonight,” the woman answered in a clear, musical voice.

  I was glad I’d screamed until my throat felt like I’d swallowed a thistle.

  Susan looked at the woman, and her jaw dropped. “Mrs. Merriwether! It’s me, Susan Krebbs.”

  “Well, hi, Susan.” Mrs. Merriwether smiled.

  Buster staggered to his feet and shook. Mud and water sprayed Mrs. Merriwether’s denim pants.

  Darcy’s face turned red. “Oh, Buster!”

  He leaned against Mrs. Merriwether and slurped her hand. “I’m not going to jump in that water again, don’t worry.” He spoke in Labrador Retriever, the language he used when he talked to people.

  “Oh, whimper, whimper yourself.” She laughed gently and pushed him away from her.

  Darcy frowned at the mud that caked Mrs. Merriwether’s pants from the knees down. “Can we wash your clothes for you?”

  The woman’s laugh rippled. “Heavens, no. These are old pants.”

  “Mrs. Merriwether teaches the middle school chorus, Darcy,” Susan said. “I joined last year. It’s fun.”

  Darcy looked like she wanted to disappear into the grass like a lizard. Mrs. Merriwether’s chuckle sounded like a song. “I’m glad you like to sing, Susan.” She smiled at Darcy. “And who are you?”

  Susan introduced Darcy, explained how we’d just moved in and how Buster had jumped into the irrigation ditch.

  Mrs. Merriwether’s lips straightened. “Lucky I was near enough to you to hear all the barking. Dogs have drowned in this ditch.”

  Darcy shivered and took a firm hold on both of our leashes. “I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

  Mrs. Merriwether led us away from the water. “Do you sing, Darcy?” Her mouth turned up again, exposing little spaces between her teeth. Crow’s feet crinkled around her eyes.

  Darcy’s brows arched. “Yes, I do. I was in the chorus at home.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Merriwether’s broad, flat cheeks turned pink. “Well, come join us. We meet during activity period first thing in the morning. We’ll have tryouts for select ensemble and section leaders the first day of school.”

  Darcy bit her lip and stuck the toe of her tennis shoe into the ground. “I haven’t been singing very long.”

  “That’s okay. The full chorus is open to everybody.” Mrs. Merriwether nodded to Darcy.

  I pushed my nose into Darcy’s hand. She had a wonderful voice, and I hoped she’d join chorus. Then I wondered if Emily Robinson would join, and what it might mean for Darcy. The thought made me heave a sigh. Coping in New Mexico was a challenge for everyone in our family, human and dog.

  Chapter 5

  Near Miss and Ice Cream

  A few sun times later, Darcy slid her pack onto her back and opened the door.

  Susan stood on the stoop, a book bag over her shoulder. “You ready to go?”

  “Yup. Don’t want to be late the first day of school.” Sounding too cheerful, Darcy opened the screen door and stepped out of the den.

  I smelled fear on her.

  Darcy’s smell grew worse as the girls trotted to the sidewalk.

  Wait, Darcy. I’ll go with you. Nudging the screen door, I barked.

  “She’ll be all right, Belle.” Buster’s tongue lolled. Bob and he were probably the only happy beings in this den.

  The door to the Krebbs’ den banged. Stubby tail pointing up, Jazzy trotted up and looked through our screen,

  “Hey, guys,” she clacked her teeth. “What are you up to today?”

  “Nothing,” Buster replied, tail sweeping the floor.

  “Want t
o go over to the school?” Jazzy asked. “We’ll come back before it gets hot.” Cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger wafted off her.

  “Let’s go,” I shouted, nose locking onto the cheerful aroma, though I knew we shouldn’t run away. “I want to make sure Darcy’s okay.”

  Buster tucked his tail between his legs. “What if we get caught?”

  “We make sure we don’t,” Jazzy said.

  “Can you open our door?” I butted the screen with my head.

  “Of course.” Leaping on her hind legs, she pushed the door handle with her nose. The door opened.

  Buster and I tumbled out. Something crashed in the food burrow. “Hey!”

  Margaret’s footsteps tapped toward us. Spicy perfume drifted ahead of her, and I remembered she was going to the library today to talk about the aide’s job.

  Should we stay home so Margaret wouldn’t worry about us? No, I had to help Darcy if she needed me.

  Jazzy barked. “Run for my back yard!”

  I took off after her.

  Dashing around the back of her den she dropped on her belly. “Stay low.”

  We dived and skittered through cool grass and pressed against earth moist with dew. What a game.

  Margaret’s smell hovered behind us. Pepper tinged it.

  We came to a street.

  Darcy’s and Susan’s aromas overpowered Margaret’s. Behind them, Katherine Robinson walked with three girls just taller than Buster.

  “I hate reading class,” Katherine exclaimed “It’s yucky.”

  I pictured the books on Darcy’s sleeping burrow shelf, and saw myself curled beside her as she read. Katherine didn’t know what she missed.

  “My sister’s sprained her ankle,” Katherine added. “Mom’s giving her a ride to school, the lucky stiff.”

  Margaret’s smell faded, as if she had returned to our den.

  Jazzy crept forward on her belly. “Let’s hang behind the girls so they can’t see us.”

  We scooted from shadow to shadow.

  Katherine’s group turned into a red brick school den. Susan and Darcy walked to the den where they played soccer.

  A kibble bag full of kids milled on the field, and the sidewalk, smelling of fresh clothes, polished leather, and new pencils.

  Jazzy strutted to the field and slid under the bleachers. “We’ll stay here until they go inside. Then we’ve got the run of the place.”

  Buster and I laughed. Lying down, I tracked Darcy, smelling lightning and sour stomach.

  A bell clanged. Feet pounding, everyone dashed toward the door. A man blocked their way. “First period is activities period,” he shouted. “Go to whatever your special interest is. If you don’t have one, go to the guidance counselors. After activities period, report to your home room.” He stepped out of the way, and everyone surged inside. Scents of orange, sausage, chocolate, and blue jeans jumbled together.

  Panic gripped me. “Buster, I can’t smell her anymore.”

  Buster wiggled his nostrils. “I can,” he whispered. “She’s in the first room next to the door. Susan’s there too, and so is that Emily Robinson fleabag.”

  Rabid cats! I wiggled my nose until I could smell all three girls.

  The last of the kids scrambled inside. The door hissed shut.

  Jazzy slid out from under the bleachers. “Come on. Let’s go sit by the windows where Susan and Darcy are.”

  I followed her. The odor of peppermint perfume mixed with Susan and Darcy’s smells.

  Buster’s tail thumped the ground. “Mrs. Merriwether’s in that room!”

  I heaved a sigh. Darcy was at least with a friendly grownup human.

  “Places, everyone. Sopranos here. Altos there.” Mrs. Merriwether’s voice called. “Oh, dear, we have so few boys, but tenors one and two over there.”

  I smelled Darcy and Susan moving with the sopranos and Emily with the altos, whatever those were.

  “Can you sing any better than you can play soccer, Darcy?” Emily’s jeer cut through the shuffling as the students settled in their sections.

  Darcy’s peppery odor welled, but she said nothing. I held my breath.

  Buster and Jazzy glanced at me. “I hope Darcy sings Emily into a dog pile,” Jazzy said.

  Jumping onto his hind legs, Buster peered into the window. “Darcy’s ignoring Emily. Emily’s balancing herself on sticks and her ankle’s wrapped in cloth.”

  Mrs. Merriwether said something I didn’t understand, and the room quieted. One by one, each person sang.

  Darcy’s odor turned from pepper to lightning.

  One voice soared so high, it screeched. My ears throbbed. Buster’s twitched.

  “Go, Susan,” Jazzy said, though she winced.

  Poor Jazzy. She tolerated those pitches for Susan. What a dog biscuit. I wagged my tail at Jazzy.

  Susan finished, and joy like baking bread clung to her.

  Emily took a turn. Her song reminded me of honey dripping from a bottle. When she finished, she chuckled as if she’d won the top prize in a dog agility contest.

  “Susan and Emily will get into the chorus. No problem,” Jazzy said, stretching on the grass.

  Other people sang. Some reminded me of birds warbling or wind blowing. Others sounded like trucks grinding garbage. When each finished, I smelled fresh bread, or dry leaves, depending on how they performed.

  Darcy’s flowery, lightning aroma drowned the others. She must be ready to sing! I leaped at the window, Buster beside me.

  As I flew upward, I saw Darcy take a deep breath. Then I tumbled to the ground.

  Buster braced his legs against the side of the school den and pressed his nose to the glass.

  “They’ll see you,” Jazzy warned.

  Buster didn’t move. Darcy’s voice rose brilliant as the sun on an Illinois snow drift. It didn’t reach as high as Susan’s, but it tinkled like chimes on a patio when the breeze blew.

  Tail wagging, Buster dropped to all fours. “If she doesn’t get into that chorus, then I’m a piece of rotten meat.” He nudged Jazzy. “What do you think of her?”

  Jazzy didn’t answer. She stared at the street, sour stomach rolling off her. A metallic stench mixed with it. Panic!

  Buster and I spun toward the traffic. A white pickup with a cage in its bed stood in front of the school. A man in a brown shirt and pants jumped out, holding a long pole with a loop at one end. He stared at us.

  “Animal control!” exclaimed Jazzy. “He’s got a catch pole. Come on.” She charged onto the sidewalk.

  We dashed after her. Tongue hanging out, Buster raced past Jazzy and tore into an alley.

  Feet pounded the pavement behind me. I peeked over my shoulder. Shaking his catch pole, the man hurried after us. Breath rasping, I caught up to Buster, and saw another alley just before a corner.

  “Cut in there,” Jazzy yelled from nearby.

  We skidded into the alley, bumping each other. Jazzy ran past a bakery, judging from the sugar cookie aroma pouring from it.

  The catch pole man’s steps reverberated off the wall.

  Jazzy dove behind a dumpster and scuttled on her belly. Buster and I followed, nearly falling on her.

  The man bounded at us and aimed the pole at Jazzy.

  “You again,” he shouted at her. “You’re on every dog catcher’s list in the city.”

  Oh, fleas! Maybe we’d picked the wrong friend.

  “Let’s show him something.” Lunging to her feet, Jazzy jumped high, grabbing the catch pole.

  “Come on, Buster,” I shouted. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “We can’t abandon Jazzy.” Buster clamped his mouth next to hers.

  Twisting their heads, they jerked and yanked, shaking the loop. The pole flew out of the man’s hands.

  “Doggone it,” he thundered, stre
tching toward it.

  Jazzy stuck her nose on his face.

  Pushing aside my better judgment, I nipped at the catch pole man’s heels. “Come with me, Buster, please.”

  Yelping, the man scrambled backwards, tripped and sprawled on his back. “Blast you,” he gasped.

  Jazzy shot into an alley. Buster scrambled after her and disappeared into a broad street.

  The catch pole man stood up. His loop hissed past my ear. Lowering my head I flew after Jazzy.

  “Run for the ice cream shop,” she yelled, dashing up a sidewalk and disappearing into a den. Which one I wasn’t sure. Nose wiggling, I tried to follow her scent or locate a trail of ice cream. The catch pole man’s steps slammed down the alley. He smelled like pepper. If he kicked me, I’d be a goner.

  Buster barked someplace. “This way, Belle.”

  Focusing my ears, I followed the sound. The catch pole man’s footfalls faded. He must still be in the alley. Wiggling my nose, I sought out the sweet odor of ice cream.

  Buster’s head poked out of a doorway. I dove through it. As I dropped onto the cool floor, I heard the catch pole man coming.

  “Stay low,” gasped Jazzy, licking her chops.

  Panting, I glanced around, spotting empty booths and tables.

  The catch pole man’s footfalls raced up the street. I peeked through the big window by the door but couldn’t see him. “Let’s get into one of the booths, Jazzy. It’ll be dark there.”

  “No. Come with me,” she whispered, darting through a gap in a long counter at the back of the shop.

  We followed. I felt the chill of a freezer near my flanks, and smelled a treat pile of ice creams; chocolate, strawberry, mint, lemon, and my all time favorite, peach.

  Paws tacking on tile, Jazzy led us to a half open door and slid behind it. In a heartbeat, we huddled in a space where humans went potty, and held our breaths. Somewhere beyond us, something clattered, and I smelled a human with the aroma of brown sugar and nuts. The shop must have a food burrow in back.

  The catch pole man’s steps turned in at the street door. My heart pounded so loud I feared he’d hear it. Please, dog heaven, don’t make him have to go.

  “Hello?” he shouted.

  The banging stopped. A woman in a white dress bustled toward us, drawing even with our hiding spot. I saw her dark hair and ruffled green apron. Pausing, she grabbed the door to our den and glanced right at us.