Gemini Summer by Iain Lawrence Page B

the door with one hand, and the dog jumped in. It found the little hollow that had been made by Beau’s weight, and it turned a quick circle and settled there, as though in a nest. It was asleep before Mrs. River got the car turned around.
    Danny kept looking back at it as they drove through the Hollow, up the hill and over the big bridge. This was the first time a dog had ever ridden in the car, and he was glad that he hadn’t sat there with it. He didn’t want to start liking a dog that would be gone in ten minutes.
    The dog stayed asleep until Mrs. River stopped the car at the pound. There were muffled barks coming from the building; when the engine shut off they could hear them. Then the dog stood up and looked out, and made the strangest, saddest sounds Danny had ever heard. It had a peculiar way of whining and grunting and howling all at once.
    “It’s like he’s trying to talk,” said Mrs. River.
    “I think he knows where we are, Mom,” said Danny.
    “Well, he hears the dogs,” she said. “He probably smells them.”
    “It’s a sad smell, I guess,” said Danny. There was a look of misery on the little dog’s face. It turned away from the window and stared at him, then suddenly bounded up at the back of his seat. It clawed at the upholstery, yelping and whining. It seemed to be pleading with Danny; then it turned and pleaded to Mrs. River. It jumped up and down, scrabbling frantically at the seat.
    “Oh, Danny, this is horrible,” said Mrs. River. “Even I don’t want to leave him here. Your father’s going to have to deal with this.”
    She started the car again and backed it up. The dog stopped whining but didn’t sit down. Its paws on the back of the seat, its eyes just peeking over the top, it looked out through the windshield.
    “We’ll go to the vet,” said Mrs. River. “We’ll get the vet to look at those paws.”

thirty-two
    The veterinarian was Dr. Dennison. In his waiting room, among the potted plants and the magazines, sat a frail old lady with a birdcage, and a budgie that had no tail. She looked toward the door as Mrs. River came in, and then at Danny with the black-and-white dog in his arms.
    She had a pointed face, and a beak of a nose. “I hope that dog’s not a bird-eater,” she said, her voice a near twitter. “That’s what happened to my Timothy; a bird-eater got ahold of him. You keep that dog of yours under control, young man.”
    “He isn’t my dog,” said Danny.
    “He should be on a leash,” she said with a sniff.
    “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, he can barely walk,” said Mrs. River. “So I scarcely think he’ll leap at your silly little bird.”
    Mrs. River and Danny sat on a black bench, below a plastic tree. The dog curled between them, resting its chin on Danny’s lap until Danny nudged it away.
    They could hear a cat howling in the examining room. With each howl the budgie twitched and the old lady frowned more deeply. Then out from the room came an enormous man with a tiny kitten in his hands. The man was crying.
    The bird lady picked up her cage. “Hang on, Timothy,” she told the budgie, and went into the room. Just moments later she came out again, not looking happy at all. Dr. Dennison stood in the doorway, telling her, “Look, I’m sorry, but there’s no such thing as artificial feathers. You’ll see; they’ll grow back soon enough.”
    But the old lady didn’t answer, and Dr. Dennison closed his eyes and shook his head. Then he smiled at Danny. “You can bring your dog in now, son.”
    “He isn’t mine,” said Danny.
    Mrs. River had to carry the dog. She set it down on a metal-topped table, in a room that was white and hospital-smelling. Dr. Dennison patted its head. “What’s your name, buddy?” he asked.
    “He doesn’t have a name,” said Mrs. River. “He’s a stray.”
    The vet nodded, then beamed at Danny. “He followed you home, did he, son?”
    “No, he didn’t,” said Danny. “If he’d tried, I wouldn’t have let