down. “Max, meet Samson. Sam for short.”
“You’re a breed unto yourself, aren’t you, boy?” Max muttered to the dog as he squatted down to pet him. “Just like her.”
Sam had the thick, sturdy body and short legs of a Welshcorgi, the pointed ears and nose of a fox, and velvety brown eyes that had been Kate’s undoing. Black-and-brown fur waved down his back, ending in a long, silky tail that was sweeping the floor.
“No telling what he was up to in my bedroom,” she said. “Last night he tore his bag of dry snacks and scattered crunch all over the kitchen floor.” Max started to stand, but Sam put out a paw, pleading for more. “He likes you,” Kate observed.
The living room was empty because it faced north and was always dark, besides which she didn’t have much furniture. Now she saw it through Max’s eyes and realized how it must look to him—not only bare but temporary. “Want something to drink while I fix his supper?” she asked, an excuse to move to another part of the house. “I’ve got wine in a box and beer.”
“A beer would taste good.”
Sam led the way to the kitchen and sat beside his bowl while Kate took a plastic container and can of Olympia from the refrigerator, then handed the beer to Max.
“Did you name him Samson because he’s strong or just strong-willed?” he asked, watching Kate scoop some beef stew into Sam’s bowl.
“I didn’t know that at the time. I found him at the city shelter right after I got here.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Two months.” Kate had never had a dog, yet the idea came to her shortly after she started work at the museum. At first she assumed it was empathy, a subconscious attempt to understand the significance of what puzzled her most—the little white dog on Tashat’s cartonnage. Now Sam was just one more reason, besides Tashat, to believe that coming to Denver was simply meant to be—that Cleo had served as handmaiden to something more powerful than friendship.
“One look at those big brown eyes,” she added, smiling at Sam, “and I could no more walk away than—”
“—than you can walk away from Tashat without trying to find out what happened to her?” Max finished.
“Tashat grows on you with time. With Sam it was love at first sight. His name comes from the Hebrew
Shimson,
which means ‘like the sun.’ I thought it fit.”
“Is that one of the things we have in common?” Max inquired, dipping his head to where Sam was sitting up on his haunches, front paws folded in supplication. She realized then, if she hadn’t before, that Max felt the supplicant in his bid to scan Tashat.
“It just seemed—” she began, embarrassed, then decided to spit it out. “The Egyptians thought too much hair, on man or dog, was the mark of a barbarian.”
Max burst out laughing but gave her shoulders a friendly squeeze to let her know he wasn’t offended. “Feel free to look around if you want,” she suggested, “while I put Sam’s supper in the microwave to take off the chill. The glassed-in porch through that doorway is where I work and watch TV and read and just about everything else.”
He wandered out onto the enclosed porch that ran all across the back of the house, but soon returned holding a sheet of watercolor paper. “Tell me about this.”
“It’s the Egyptian Judgment Day. That one is from Tashat’s coffin, but it’s fairly typical. The heart of the deceased—the double-handled jug on one side of the scale is the hieroglyph for heart—is being weighed against the feather of truth, the symbol of Maat, goddess of order and justice. We’d say what’s moral or right.” She pointed to the dog-headed man. “That’s Anubis, watching to see that the heart doesn’t use any trickery, and the man with the head of an ibis is Thoth, the god of wisdom, who invented writing. He records the judges’ decision, while Horus, the son of Isis and Osiris, waits to escort her to Osiris, who will read her the
“You’re a breed unto yourself, aren’t you, boy?” Max muttered to the dog as he squatted down to pet him. “Just like her.”
Sam had the thick, sturdy body and short legs of a Welshcorgi, the pointed ears and nose of a fox, and velvety brown eyes that had been Kate’s undoing. Black-and-brown fur waved down his back, ending in a long, silky tail that was sweeping the floor.
“No telling what he was up to in my bedroom,” she said. “Last night he tore his bag of dry snacks and scattered crunch all over the kitchen floor.” Max started to stand, but Sam put out a paw, pleading for more. “He likes you,” Kate observed.
The living room was empty because it faced north and was always dark, besides which she didn’t have much furniture. Now she saw it through Max’s eyes and realized how it must look to him—not only bare but temporary. “Want something to drink while I fix his supper?” she asked, an excuse to move to another part of the house. “I’ve got wine in a box and beer.”
“A beer would taste good.”
Sam led the way to the kitchen and sat beside his bowl while Kate took a plastic container and can of Olympia from the refrigerator, then handed the beer to Max.
“Did you name him Samson because he’s strong or just strong-willed?” he asked, watching Kate scoop some beef stew into Sam’s bowl.
“I didn’t know that at the time. I found him at the city shelter right after I got here.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Two months.” Kate had never had a dog, yet the idea came to her shortly after she started work at the museum. At first she assumed it was empathy, a subconscious attempt to understand the significance of what puzzled her most—the little white dog on Tashat’s cartonnage. Now Sam was just one more reason, besides Tashat, to believe that coming to Denver was simply meant to be—that Cleo had served as handmaiden to something more powerful than friendship.
“One look at those big brown eyes,” she added, smiling at Sam, “and I could no more walk away than—”
“—than you can walk away from Tashat without trying to find out what happened to her?” Max finished.
“Tashat grows on you with time. With Sam it was love at first sight. His name comes from the Hebrew
Shimson,
which means ‘like the sun.’ I thought it fit.”
“Is that one of the things we have in common?” Max inquired, dipping his head to where Sam was sitting up on his haunches, front paws folded in supplication. She realized then, if she hadn’t before, that Max felt the supplicant in his bid to scan Tashat.
“It just seemed—” she began, embarrassed, then decided to spit it out. “The Egyptians thought too much hair, on man or dog, was the mark of a barbarian.”
Max burst out laughing but gave her shoulders a friendly squeeze to let her know he wasn’t offended. “Feel free to look around if you want,” she suggested, “while I put Sam’s supper in the microwave to take off the chill. The glassed-in porch through that doorway is where I work and watch TV and read and just about everything else.”
He wandered out onto the enclosed porch that ran all across the back of the house, but soon returned holding a sheet of watercolor paper. “Tell me about this.”
“It’s the Egyptian Judgment Day. That one is from Tashat’s coffin, but it’s fairly typical. The heart of the deceased—the double-handled jug on one side of the scale is the hieroglyph for heart—is being weighed against the feather of truth, the symbol of Maat, goddess of order and justice. We’d say what’s moral or right.” She pointed to the dog-headed man. “That’s Anubis, watching to see that the heart doesn’t use any trickery, and the man with the head of an ibis is Thoth, the god of wisdom, who invented writing. He records the judges’ decision, while Horus, the son of Isis and Osiris, waits to escort her to Osiris, who will read her the
Similar Books
