Gemini Summer by Iain Lawrence Page A

down the wood. “Great balls of fire, do something for him, Danny,” said Mrs. River. When he didn’t move, she went to the door herself. With the sound of the latch the clawing stopped, and when Mrs. River opened the door the dog was just sitting there, looking up, its head at a tilt and the tip of its tail tapping on the porch.
    “My goodness,” she said. “He’s just a puppy, Danny.”
    He had to lean out from the sofa to see the door. Mrs. River was down on one knee, and the dog was nuzzling against her. It was true, he saw now; the dog had walked like an old-timer, but it was really very young.
    “He’s all ragged,” she said. “The fur’s all matted, and his ribs are sticking out. He’s starved half to death, Danny. Gracious, his little paws are worn away. Danny, he’s been walking for days, the poor thing.”
    He watched her hands rubbing the dog’s back. They slid over the dark saddle and over the white, and the dog was gazing up at her, quiet and happy. The fingers circled under the neck.
    “He’s got no collar. No tag,” she said.
    “Don’t let him in,” said Danny as she stood up.
    “I don’t believe my ears,” she said. “Danny, for heaven’s sake, don’t you care?”
    “If you let him come in, he’ll never go home,” he said. He heard in his voice an exact echo of his mother. How many times had she said that to him?
    “Danny, we have to at least take him to the pound,” she said. “We can’t let him keep wandering; he won’t last very long. You watch him for a minute until I get my purse and keys.”
    “Just close the door,” said Danny.
    “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, you do what I tell you,” she said.
    So Danny rolled off the sofa and slouched to the door. His mother came away and he took her place, blocking the entrance like a security guard. He tried not to look down, but couldn’t help it, and saw the dog’s huge eyes staring back.
    “Don’t look at me like that,” said Danny. “Man, you’re an ugly dog.” It had huge, sticking-up ears and a short nose.
    It whimpered at him. Then it held one little foot in the air, and Danny saw blood matted in the white hair around the claws.
    His heart softened a bit. He felt it sag in his chest, and he blew out a long breath, the way his father would do. He crouched on the floor, in the doorway, and took the dog’s paw in his hand. Gently he turned it so that he could see the pad.
    It looked tender and sore, just the way his own knees had looked after Creepy Colvig had made him pick up the broken bottle. He could feel it trembling, and the dog was looking at him with eyes so big and brown that Danny had to turn away. Then the dog put down its head and licked the back of his hand, from the knuckles to the wrist.
    “Quit it!” said Danny, pulling his hand away. The warm tickle of the dog’s tongue had made him shiver.
    The dog whined. It flopped onto its belly, then rolled upside down with its little white legs splayed out. Danny could see that all four of the pads were worn away, as though someone had taken a belt sander to them. He could see the dog’s ribs, and the pink skin on its stomach, as tight as a drum.
    He heard his mother coming up behind him. “Now, that’s more like it,” she said.
    “Maybe you should put iodine on his paws,” said Danny.
    “Well, I don’t know about that,” said Mrs. River. “I don’t know what’s best for dogs. Pick him up and take him to the car, Danny, please.”
    “If he’s walked so far, he can walk to the car,” said Danny.
    “Please?”
    “Oh, okay!” said Danny. He stood up, and the dog stood, too. It leapt into his arms as soon as he reached toward it, then wriggled against him, trying to lick his face.
    “Quit it!” he said again. But he couldn’t stop himself from giggling.
    “I don’t want him in the front,” said Mrs. River. “He might cause an accident. Maybe you should sit with him in the back.”
    But Danny said the dog would be fine on its own, and he opened