Poison Ivy by Cynthia Riggs Page B

away.
    Brownie yelped again. Walter reattached the clothesline leash and held him back.
    Victoria leaned over the dark hole. “Something is moving down there.” She could just make out a wad of some cottony stuff with seven or eight, or maybe nine, wriggling pink creatures the size of the last joint on her little finger.
    â€œMice?” asked Walter.
    â€œI don’t believe mice would nest underground. These are probably voles.” Victoria stood up and patted Brownie. “Good boy,” she said. “That was clever of you.”
    â€œI hope you don’t plan to charge Dr. Killdeer for Brownie’s latest discovery,” said Thackery, turning back to the scene of the dig.
    â€œAt least they’re not dead mice, ” said Walter, “if you know what I mean.”
    â€œVoles are harmless,” said Victoria.
    Killdeer peered into the hole. “Look like mice to me.”
    Walter was holding Brownie back with the clothesline. “They’re mice.”
    â€œThey’re called meadow mice,” admitted Victoria.
    â€œDrown’em,” said Killdeer.
    Victoria leaned over the hole in the ground. “We’ll cover their nest and leave them alone.”
    Brownie whined, and tugged at his leash.
    â€œBetter encourage that dog to look elsewhere,” said Killdeer.
    Victoria gathered up a handful of fallen leaves and placed them over the tiny pink creatures, then gently mounded dirt back over them.
    Brownie looked up at her and wagged his tail.
    Thackery, who’d been silently glaring at the goings-on, grunted. “I have business to attend to.” He strode back to Woodbine Hall.
    Walter led Brownie away from the voles and removed the clothesline from the dog’s neck. “C’mon. Get to work!”
    Brownie sat down and scratched his ear.
    â€œGood job, Brownie.” Victoria leaned down to pat him.
    â€œHe’s got fleas,” warned Walter.
    Brownie stood and yawned, then began circling again.
    Victoria moved the lawn chair she used for class away from the former magic circle, set it back up in the late afternoon shade of the oaks, and sat down.
    Brownie circled. He stopped. He sat and scratched himself again. He looked over at Victoria.
    â€œGo on,” said Walter. “What’ve you got?”
    Brownie dug for several minutes, kicking dirt behind him until he’d excavated a shallow ditch.
    The katydids stopped singing for a second, then started up again.
    â€œWhat the hell was that?” asked Killdeer.
    â€œKatydids,” said Victoria. “That’s their mating song.”
    â€œMating song.” Killdeer rubbed the back of his neck. “Wonder if my babygirl would mate if I chirped like that.”
    â€œThey start calling right around now, late afternoon. They’re nocturnal.” Victoria glanced up. “They live in trees and look like large grasshoppers.”
    â€œThanks,” said Killdeer.
    A breeze blew through the tall oaks, and a few leaves drifted down. On the side of Woodbine Hall, the poison ivy vine blazed with color as the low rays of the afternoon sun struck the house. A V of Canada geese flew overhead, and their continuous honking faded into the distance.
    Brownie stopped digging, yawned, and lay down in his ditch. He lowered his head onto his paws. His tail thumped.
    â€œFor cryin’ out loud. Get up!” Walter demanded.
    Brownie opened his eyes and looked up.
    Walter grunted, turned his back, and shuffled toward the road in front of Woodbine Hall.
    Victoria stood up and leaned over, hands on her knees. “That was hard work, wasn’t it, Brownie?”
    The tail thumped.
    â€œYou haven’t finished, have you?”
    Brownie staggered to his feet, stretched, his rear end up, his front paws out straight, yawned with a sort of groan, moved a foot or so to the right, and recommenced his digging. After a few minutes, as though he’d simply been warming up, he began