saw tracks,” I protested.
“Probably a big dog,” he stated.
“No claws,” Nick mumbled, swallowing hard to clear away the last of the muffin.
“No claws?” Mr. McCurdy asked.
“There are no claw marks, just gigantic paw prints.”
“Where? Where did you see them?”
“In the lane leading up from the road,” I answered.
“Impossible, I’ve been here all night watching the lane and I didn’t see anything.”
“But you were asleep when we came up,” I noted.
“Asleep? No, I was just resting my eyes for a few seconds.”
“But why were you sitting there all night anyway?” Nick asked.
“Some darn fool kids were here last night. I heardthem coming up the driveway and chased them away. Sat here all night to make sure they weren’t coming back. Nobody came back. I scared them away, good.”
We stood there in silence. My brother bent down, grabbed the tray and started gathering up the fallen muffins. He rubbed one against his pant leg and then took a big bite. I gave him a disapproving look.
“Wanna bite?” he asked, offering me what remained of the muffin.
“They still look good to me,” Mr. McCurdy chipped in. “Let’s go inside. I betcha Calvin will want one too. That chimp has himself a real sweet tooth.”
Mr. McCurdy walked over, pulled open the screen door and then froze in place. He turned to face me. “Maybe we should just go on down to the barn and see how old Buddha’s doing. That would make you happy, wouldn’t it, Sarah?”
We walked around the side of the house and along the path leading to the barn. Nobody said a word. For Nick, that would have been difficult since he was stuffing his third, or fourth, muffin into his mouth. Coming up on the barn we circled around to the stable entrance. The door was open.
“I closed that door last night,” Mr. McCurdy said, his voice breaking on the last word. He picked up his pace. Both Nick and I fell in behind him. I realized he wasn’t carrying the rifle anymore. I guess he’d left it sitting onthe chair, or leaning against the house.
Mr. McCurdy flung open the stable door. “Buddha, I’m coming to see ya, boy!”
Nick and I came to the door and peeked into the darkened stable. At first I couldn’t see anything. My brother gave me a small shove in the back and when I turned he motioned for me to enter. I took a few steps with him right on my heels. I saw Mr. McCurdy kneeling, motionless in front of the tiger’s pen. I couldn’t see Buddha. I moved closer until I was standing over Mr. McCurdy. The pen was empty and the door was ajar. I looked down at Mr. McCurdy. In his hand was a length of thick chain.
“It’s been cut,” he said, showing me the chain, “right in the middle with some sort of hacksaw. Didn’t even touch the lock. See, it’s still locked.”
Mr. McCurdy rose to his feet, turned, brushed by me and started quickly walking back the way we came. “Show me the tracks!” he shouted over his shoulder.
We charged after him, this time wanting to keep up but surprised by how fast he moved. There was no hint of his limp and he was practically jogging up the sloped path back toward the house and the driveway.
“Mr. McCurdy, Buddha’s tame, right?” I asked apprehensively.
“He’s as tame as a tiger can get,” he answered without turning to look at me or breaking his pace.
“So he wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?”
“I didn’t say that. I said he’s as tame as tiger can get, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a tiger.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He may do what he’s told, but he’s still a tiger. He still thinks like a tiger and he still wants to act like a tiger.”
He slowed down only when he reached the driveway.
“Show me!” he commanded.
We scrambled around searching for the tracks.
“Here’s one!” I yelled.
Mr. McCurdy came over and dropped to his knees. Without saying a word, he shook his head. On his hands and knees, he moved up the driveway until he came to another
“Probably a big dog,” he stated.
“No claws,” Nick mumbled, swallowing hard to clear away the last of the muffin.
“No claws?” Mr. McCurdy asked.
“There are no claw marks, just gigantic paw prints.”
“Where? Where did you see them?”
“In the lane leading up from the road,” I answered.
“Impossible, I’ve been here all night watching the lane and I didn’t see anything.”
“But you were asleep when we came up,” I noted.
“Asleep? No, I was just resting my eyes for a few seconds.”
“But why were you sitting there all night anyway?” Nick asked.
“Some darn fool kids were here last night. I heardthem coming up the driveway and chased them away. Sat here all night to make sure they weren’t coming back. Nobody came back. I scared them away, good.”
We stood there in silence. My brother bent down, grabbed the tray and started gathering up the fallen muffins. He rubbed one against his pant leg and then took a big bite. I gave him a disapproving look.
“Wanna bite?” he asked, offering me what remained of the muffin.
“They still look good to me,” Mr. McCurdy chipped in. “Let’s go inside. I betcha Calvin will want one too. That chimp has himself a real sweet tooth.”
Mr. McCurdy walked over, pulled open the screen door and then froze in place. He turned to face me. “Maybe we should just go on down to the barn and see how old Buddha’s doing. That would make you happy, wouldn’t it, Sarah?”
We walked around the side of the house and along the path leading to the barn. Nobody said a word. For Nick, that would have been difficult since he was stuffing his third, or fourth, muffin into his mouth. Coming up on the barn we circled around to the stable entrance. The door was open.
“I closed that door last night,” Mr. McCurdy said, his voice breaking on the last word. He picked up his pace. Both Nick and I fell in behind him. I realized he wasn’t carrying the rifle anymore. I guess he’d left it sitting onthe chair, or leaning against the house.
Mr. McCurdy flung open the stable door. “Buddha, I’m coming to see ya, boy!”
Nick and I came to the door and peeked into the darkened stable. At first I couldn’t see anything. My brother gave me a small shove in the back and when I turned he motioned for me to enter. I took a few steps with him right on my heels. I saw Mr. McCurdy kneeling, motionless in front of the tiger’s pen. I couldn’t see Buddha. I moved closer until I was standing over Mr. McCurdy. The pen was empty and the door was ajar. I looked down at Mr. McCurdy. In his hand was a length of thick chain.
“It’s been cut,” he said, showing me the chain, “right in the middle with some sort of hacksaw. Didn’t even touch the lock. See, it’s still locked.”
Mr. McCurdy rose to his feet, turned, brushed by me and started quickly walking back the way we came. “Show me the tracks!” he shouted over his shoulder.
We charged after him, this time wanting to keep up but surprised by how fast he moved. There was no hint of his limp and he was practically jogging up the sloped path back toward the house and the driveway.
“Mr. McCurdy, Buddha’s tame, right?” I asked apprehensively.
“He’s as tame as a tiger can get,” he answered without turning to look at me or breaking his pace.
“So he wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?”
“I didn’t say that. I said he’s as tame as tiger can get, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a tiger.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He may do what he’s told, but he’s still a tiger. He still thinks like a tiger and he still wants to act like a tiger.”
He slowed down only when he reached the driveway.
“Show me!” he commanded.
We scrambled around searching for the tracks.
“Here’s one!” I yelled.
Mr. McCurdy came over and dropped to his knees. Without saying a word, he shook his head. On his hands and knees, he moved up the driveway until he came to another
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