pavement.
At that awful moment, with his arms waving at his sides, his heart pounding in his throat, the vent going in and out of focus before his tear-filled eyes, Vern made the decision of his life.
Vern jumped.
CHAPTER 17
Traveling Mud
Mud was making his way through the finest section of town, Maple Leaf Manor, where the rich people lived. He loped along the smooth white sidewalks, taking his time, pausing now and then to lift his leg on a wrought-iron mailbox or a particularly fine piece of shrubbery.
An occasional car passed, lighting up his pale fur, giving a red look to his golden eyes. Mud paid the cars no attention.
He slowed. His sharp ears had picked up the sound of running water. It came from behind this house, and he turned onto the soft manicured lawn. He ambled around the house to the swimming pool, where a spray of water ran continuously down the silver sliding board.
He stretched out on the cool tiles around the pool, stuck his head over the side, and lapped the clear chlorinated water. It wasn’t as good as toilet water or creek water, which he was accustomed to, but Mud was thirsty.
When he had drunk all he wanted, he spent a few seconds licking stray drops from his legs and feet. He chewed a flea on his ankle.
Then Mud got to his feet. He stretched. He was getting ready to lift his leg in the direction of a lounge chair to mark the fact that he’d been there.
Suddenly, from the right, Mud heard a long, low “Rrrrrrrr.”
The hair rose on Mud’s back. His sharp eyes looked in the shadows of a small walkway between the double garage and the house.
There Mud could see the high pointed ears of a Doberman. He could see the gleam of long white teeth.
The Doberman drew in enough breath to give another, longer “Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” An answering growl rose in Mud’s throat.
The Doberman leapt forward, throwing himself at Mud. He choked on his chain and fell back. He tried to attack again.
Mud hesitated. Mud had never started a fight in his life, but Mud had never run from a fight either.
Now he was ready for battle. His teeth were bared. His hair was up. His eyes were bright. If the Doberman got free, Mud would meet him more than halfway.
The Doberman was barking wildly, throwing himself in Mud’s direction, trying either to break his chain or to pull the whole house down. Between leaps the metal links rattled against the slate floor.
“Franklin!” a voice called from an upstairs window. “Be quiet down there.”
“Maybe it’s a burglar, Sam.”
“All right, already. I’ll take a look.”
Mud stood still, frozen at the edge of the pool. The patio lights went on. Mud lowered his tail. He heard sounds at the door: the unsnapping of the dead-bolt lock, the click of the doorknob. Franklin was barking wildly, knowing his owner was on the way. He was facing the door now, legs stiff with anticipation.
As the door opened, Mud ran around the pool. He whipped through the hedge and galloped across the lawn like a racehorse.
Behind him a voice said kindly, “What’s wrong, Franklin? You all right, boy?”
Franklin whined with pleasure.
“Was some stray dog after your bone?”
Mud hit the sidewalk and slowed. He lifted his leg on a bush at the Doberman’s driveway, then he took the time to scratch the grass vigorously with his back feet. A spray of fine zoysia grass flew into the night air.
Then, without a backward glance, Mud ambled down the sidewalk, on his way to Pap.
CHAPTER 18
The Missing Harmonica
Junior could not get to sleep. The lights in his room had been turned out. The hospital hall was as quiet as it ever got. Ralphie had gone to sleep with the little harmonica in his mouth, and every time he breathed out, he played a soft, soothing chord. Still Junior could not sleep.
Usually the only time Junior had trouble sleeping was Christmas Eve. Even the times when his mother had the terrible Christmas Eve talks with them, warning in her quiet way that sometimes Santa couldn’t
At that awful moment, with his arms waving at his sides, his heart pounding in his throat, the vent going in and out of focus before his tear-filled eyes, Vern made the decision of his life.
Vern jumped.
CHAPTER 17
Traveling Mud
Mud was making his way through the finest section of town, Maple Leaf Manor, where the rich people lived. He loped along the smooth white sidewalks, taking his time, pausing now and then to lift his leg on a wrought-iron mailbox or a particularly fine piece of shrubbery.
An occasional car passed, lighting up his pale fur, giving a red look to his golden eyes. Mud paid the cars no attention.
He slowed. His sharp ears had picked up the sound of running water. It came from behind this house, and he turned onto the soft manicured lawn. He ambled around the house to the swimming pool, where a spray of water ran continuously down the silver sliding board.
He stretched out on the cool tiles around the pool, stuck his head over the side, and lapped the clear chlorinated water. It wasn’t as good as toilet water or creek water, which he was accustomed to, but Mud was thirsty.
When he had drunk all he wanted, he spent a few seconds licking stray drops from his legs and feet. He chewed a flea on his ankle.
Then Mud got to his feet. He stretched. He was getting ready to lift his leg in the direction of a lounge chair to mark the fact that he’d been there.
Suddenly, from the right, Mud heard a long, low “Rrrrrrrr.”
The hair rose on Mud’s back. His sharp eyes looked in the shadows of a small walkway between the double garage and the house.
There Mud could see the high pointed ears of a Doberman. He could see the gleam of long white teeth.
The Doberman drew in enough breath to give another, longer “Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” An answering growl rose in Mud’s throat.
The Doberman leapt forward, throwing himself at Mud. He choked on his chain and fell back. He tried to attack again.
Mud hesitated. Mud had never started a fight in his life, but Mud had never run from a fight either.
Now he was ready for battle. His teeth were bared. His hair was up. His eyes were bright. If the Doberman got free, Mud would meet him more than halfway.
The Doberman was barking wildly, throwing himself in Mud’s direction, trying either to break his chain or to pull the whole house down. Between leaps the metal links rattled against the slate floor.
“Franklin!” a voice called from an upstairs window. “Be quiet down there.”
“Maybe it’s a burglar, Sam.”
“All right, already. I’ll take a look.”
Mud stood still, frozen at the edge of the pool. The patio lights went on. Mud lowered his tail. He heard sounds at the door: the unsnapping of the dead-bolt lock, the click of the doorknob. Franklin was barking wildly, knowing his owner was on the way. He was facing the door now, legs stiff with anticipation.
As the door opened, Mud ran around the pool. He whipped through the hedge and galloped across the lawn like a racehorse.
Behind him a voice said kindly, “What’s wrong, Franklin? You all right, boy?”
Franklin whined with pleasure.
“Was some stray dog after your bone?”
Mud hit the sidewalk and slowed. He lifted his leg on a bush at the Doberman’s driveway, then he took the time to scratch the grass vigorously with his back feet. A spray of fine zoysia grass flew into the night air.
Then, without a backward glance, Mud ambled down the sidewalk, on his way to Pap.
CHAPTER 18
The Missing Harmonica
Junior could not get to sleep. The lights in his room had been turned out. The hospital hall was as quiet as it ever got. Ralphie had gone to sleep with the little harmonica in his mouth, and every time he breathed out, he played a soft, soothing chord. Still Junior could not sleep.
Usually the only time Junior had trouble sleeping was Christmas Eve. Even the times when his mother had the terrible Christmas Eve talks with them, warning in her quiet way that sometimes Santa couldn’t
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