Thereby Hangs a Tail Read Free

rug we got at a yard sale, me and Bernie. Those nubbles feel great in a way that’s hard to describe. But on nights when Bernie snored—such as the night after our dinner at Dry Gulch—I moved back to the front door, which was why I heard a car pulling up outside just as the first light of day pushed in at the darkness.
    I got up, went right to the tall, narrow window by the door, looked out. A limo was parked on the street, long and black. The driver, dressed in black, got out and opened a rear door. A blond woman got out. She wore black, too. Lots of blackness, all of a sudden. I started barking, not sure why. From next door came a high-pitched yip-yip-yip. Hey! Iggy was up. I barked louder. So did he. Iggy was a great pal. The fun we’d had, back before the electric fence guy had made a sale at Iggy’s place—I could tell you a story or two. Iggy had had trouble getting used to the electric fence, now stayed indoors most of the time. No electric fence at our place, mine and Bernie’s, of course. Bernie had grabbed the collar from the electric fence guy and walked right through the zapper, taking the shock, and had then shaken his head and sent the man on his way. Who needed an electric fence? I wasn’t the wandering type, except if it just so happened the back gate was open, or the smell of fox or javelina was in the air, or a strange car went down the street, or I picked up the sound of—
    The woman in black was coming up the walk. She moved fast; the sun, popping up over the rooftops, glittered on her jewelry. That sparkly one on her finger—wow! Leda had a ring like that, but not nearly as big. Leda had had one like that, I should say. Just before the breakup with Bernie, there’d been a bad incident where I got blamed for losing the ring. Why would I want to bury a ring? Did I have even the slightest memory of ever doing anything remotely like that? No. My mind was absolutely guilt-free on that subject.
    The woman leaned forward to press the bell, but it had stopped working sometime back and was on Bernie’s list of things to fix. Every so often the toolbox came out and he took a crack at shortening the list. Those were exciting days! That time the toaster blew up, for example, or when the toilet—
    Knock knock. The woman in black had figured out about the bell, quicker than most. Something about the way she knocked rubbed me the wrong way. I barked again. Iggy picked up on me and did his yipping thing. The woman knocked harder, not a heavy knock, exactly, more a sharp ratta-tat-tat, like high heels on a polished floor. She spoke, and there was sharpness in her voice, too. “Anyone in there? Open up.”
    I turned and ran down the hall, past Charlie’s room, empty, meaning this wasn’t every second weekend or Thanksgiving or whatever Bernie and Leda had agreed on lately, and into Bernie’s room. Bernie lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, the covers all twisted up. I smelled bourbon and cigarette smoke, plus the smell of Bernie when it was time for a shower.
    I barked, but not too loud; the poor guy. I knew what he needed, had seen the whole routine plenty of times—a lot more sleep, then Advil, coffee, cold wet towel on his forehead. Knock knock knock. There wasn’t time for any of that. I barked again, louder this time.
    “Uh,” said Bernie, his voice weak. “Gah.”
    I moved to the side of the bed, pulled at a corner of the sheet. From down inside the twisted covers, Bernie pulled back. Bernie was a big, strong guy, but not at the moment. I ripped the sheets right off him.
    Bernie, arm still over his face, groaned, “Chet, what the hell?”
    Somehow I’d got all tangled in the covers. I couldn’t see—and that’s a thing I hate. I struggled, clawed, rolled around—nearby something came crashing down on the floor—and burst free at last. Bernie was sitting up now, one eye open. It had turned red overnight.
    “Sleep,” he said, his voice a bit stronger now, maybe what you’d call