bari leading them.
In my day, there were twenty clerics and marronniers living in the hospice with eight dogs. Day in, day out, a steady stream of travelers passed through. Travelers who came to the hospice received cheese and bread to eat and wine to drink.They were able to hang up their wet clothes to dry. Wrapped in blankets, they sat and toasted themselves before a roaring fire in the refectory. If they stayed the night, they could sleep in a small, private room or in the dormitory on a bed with cleansheets and warm blankets. And if they needed it, they got a dog and a marronnier to guide them through the pass, which followed along the ridge that lay between two of the highest mountains of the Alps: Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa. It was a busy, lively place—a good place for a dog. There were always new people to meet, new scents to sniff, and important jobs to do.
I was born one late spring day in a big room in the cellar of the hospice where the clerics kept the casks of wine. It was dark and damp down there, but it was home to us. It’s the place where we dogs slept and ate and had pups. I had a brother, Jupiter, and a sister, Phoebe. Mother was very proud of us. In those first few weeks, we stayed with Mother in the cellar. Father was gone much of the time, and when he did come back, he flopped into the corner and slept.
My legs were still shaky and my eyes were barely open when I first started making my move toward the door. I had watched the big dogs as they opened the door with their muzzles and disappeared. I wanted to sneak out behind them and see what was on the other side. But before I ever had a chance, Mother would pick me up in her mouth by the scruff of my neck and bring me back to the corner, next to the casks. The corner was where she kept us in a nice clean bed of straw and rags.
But I want to go out and see the world
, I told Mother as I squirmed to free myself from her gentle jaws.
You will get to do that soon enough
, Mother said, plopping me down next to my brother and sister.
When you’re bigger
.
I am big enough now
, I grumbled. I was threeweeks old and already too big to fit in Michel’s hat. Michel was the marronnier in charge of taking care of us.
I like it here
, said Jupiter, snuggling up to Mother’s teat.
We get to snuggle and drink warm milk whenever we want it
.
And we also get to listen to the clerics sing
, said Phoebe.
Phoebe was right. From where we were in the cellar, we could hear the clerics singing every day, once in the morning and again in the evening. Their voices drifted down from the chapel. It was a sound to stir a dog’s heart. But I wanted more. I wanted to be like the big dogs. I wanted to go where they went and do what they did.
One early morning, I woke up blinking and shivering. Even with the warm bodies of all the sleeping dogs, it had gotten cold in the cellar. Therewere chinks in the wooden door. I lifted my nose to them. My nostrils quivered. Somewhere beyond the door, I smelled something cold and dry and very big. What was it?
Mother was dozing while Jupiter and Phoebe suckled.
I butted Mother’s big head softly with my nose.
Mother?
I whispered.
Mother lifted her muzzle and yawned. She had a big, wide mouth and a long pink tongue.
What is it, my puppy one?
she said, nuzzling me.
I smell something
, I said. And my nose twitched almost as if it had a will all its own.
That is dog and straw and milk and mud that you smell, my darling puppy boy
.
I shook my head.
No, it’s something else
. I lifted my nose to the door again.
Then the clerics began to sing, and the sweetsound made me sleepy. I dropped my head onto my paws and drifted off. When next I lifted my head, I heard a roaring, whistling sound.
I wagged my tail and said to Mother,
What is happening?
Mother twitched her nose and sniffed.
It is a blizzard
, she said.
You smelled it even before it came. That’s a very promising sign
.
Jupiter and Phoebe stood up and shook out their
In my day, there were twenty clerics and marronniers living in the hospice with eight dogs. Day in, day out, a steady stream of travelers passed through. Travelers who came to the hospice received cheese and bread to eat and wine to drink.They were able to hang up their wet clothes to dry. Wrapped in blankets, they sat and toasted themselves before a roaring fire in the refectory. If they stayed the night, they could sleep in a small, private room or in the dormitory on a bed with cleansheets and warm blankets. And if they needed it, they got a dog and a marronnier to guide them through the pass, which followed along the ridge that lay between two of the highest mountains of the Alps: Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa. It was a busy, lively place—a good place for a dog. There were always new people to meet, new scents to sniff, and important jobs to do.
I was born one late spring day in a big room in the cellar of the hospice where the clerics kept the casks of wine. It was dark and damp down there, but it was home to us. It’s the place where we dogs slept and ate and had pups. I had a brother, Jupiter, and a sister, Phoebe. Mother was very proud of us. In those first few weeks, we stayed with Mother in the cellar. Father was gone much of the time, and when he did come back, he flopped into the corner and slept.
My legs were still shaky and my eyes were barely open when I first started making my move toward the door. I had watched the big dogs as they opened the door with their muzzles and disappeared. I wanted to sneak out behind them and see what was on the other side. But before I ever had a chance, Mother would pick me up in her mouth by the scruff of my neck and bring me back to the corner, next to the casks. The corner was where she kept us in a nice clean bed of straw and rags.
But I want to go out and see the world
, I told Mother as I squirmed to free myself from her gentle jaws.
You will get to do that soon enough
, Mother said, plopping me down next to my brother and sister.
When you’re bigger
.
I am big enough now
, I grumbled. I was threeweeks old and already too big to fit in Michel’s hat. Michel was the marronnier in charge of taking care of us.
I like it here
, said Jupiter, snuggling up to Mother’s teat.
We get to snuggle and drink warm milk whenever we want it
.
And we also get to listen to the clerics sing
, said Phoebe.
Phoebe was right. From where we were in the cellar, we could hear the clerics singing every day, once in the morning and again in the evening. Their voices drifted down from the chapel. It was a sound to stir a dog’s heart. But I wanted more. I wanted to be like the big dogs. I wanted to go where they went and do what they did.
One early morning, I woke up blinking and shivering. Even with the warm bodies of all the sleeping dogs, it had gotten cold in the cellar. Therewere chinks in the wooden door. I lifted my nose to them. My nostrils quivered. Somewhere beyond the door, I smelled something cold and dry and very big. What was it?
Mother was dozing while Jupiter and Phoebe suckled.
I butted Mother’s big head softly with my nose.
Mother?
I whispered.
Mother lifted her muzzle and yawned. She had a big, wide mouth and a long pink tongue.
What is it, my puppy one?
she said, nuzzling me.
I smell something
, I said. And my nose twitched almost as if it had a will all its own.
That is dog and straw and milk and mud that you smell, my darling puppy boy
.
I shook my head.
No, it’s something else
. I lifted my nose to the door again.
Then the clerics began to sing, and the sweetsound made me sleepy. I dropped my head onto my paws and drifted off. When next I lifted my head, I heard a roaring, whistling sound.
I wagged my tail and said to Mother,
What is happening?
Mother twitched her nose and sniffed.
It is a blizzard
, she said.
You smelled it even before it came. That’s a very promising sign
.
Jupiter and Phoebe stood up and shook out their
Similar Books
