drooped.
"Anyway," said Connie. "When that bullet-head man put his hand in the broken-in door and spoke gently to Wagsie—who I know, I just know, was barking her head off—and probably said, 'Nice feller. You remember me, don't you?' Well, he probably had the bone in his hand then—it is the sort of bone that Wagsie loves; and probably then Wagsie, not knowing what else to do, just stopped barking and took the bone to the kitchen, crawled way, way under the table, close to the wall, and gnawed. It probably was like a friend to her—this bone. No family around, but at least—a bone. She tried to let the bone take her mind off the people in the house who did not belong here and had made such an awful noise coming in. It's like bad people giving a lollipop to a little child when all the while they are going to kidnap it..."
"Do you think, oh, you don't think they were planning to kidnap Wagsie, do you?" asked Judy, her beautiful gray-blue eyes wide with horror. Judy loved Wagsie and all dogs and animals—all. She owned hamsters, two parakeets, and a found dog. "Would they have planned to kidnap Wags?" she repeated.
Now, this was something that had not occurred to Connie at all. Tears of terror sprang into her eyes. "Perhaps," she said. "Who knows? She is a wonderful dog. Has a long genealogy."
All eyes turned to Wags, who knew she was being talked about. She was embarrassed and ashamed, and she looked aimlessly here and there, at her paws, behind her, at nothing. She dug at her itchy ear. With an enormous sigh, she raised herself—she was rather stout—ambled over to the iris, and lowered herself with an even deeper sigh to the ground. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.
"She doesn't seem poisoned," said Hugsy.
"Can't tell," said Billy. "Not yet." Judy lay down beside Wags and crooned to her. "Poor Wagsie," she said.
All eyes turned back to Connie, who went on, "Afterwards," she said "when we finally had time to pay a little attention to Wagsie, who kept looking at us as though she had so much to tell—imagine how terrified she must have been when they broke down the door, with none of us home to save her ... well, we thought she was all right, only just scared."
"Still," June Arp spoke again, "I don't understand why she wouldn't bite them. Such a big dog!"
Judy defended Wags. "Because she is timid, that's why, very, very shy and timid."
"Yes," said Connie. "She is shy and timid, and she is a coward. She can't help it. She is even afraid of the minister's dog, though he is always on his leash. She hides behind the green door, in the vestibule, when the minister comes along ... is dragged along, I should say instead, by his big black Doberman pinches. Wagsie peeks out at them, and she does not bark or growl at all-—not to attract their attention—and she does not go back outside to sit on the top stoop and wait for Papa until the minister and his dog are way up the street. But what we wonder is—why no one, not one of the neighbors, heard Wagsie barking? She must have barked in the beginning, before the bone."
"Don't let me forget to get the bone, by the way," said Billy.
"I won't," said Connie. "But we wonder why nobody heard her barking. We know she would bark that deep, wonderful bark that means danger. June, didn't you hear Wags? Were you home? Living right next door, I'd think you would have heard Wagsie."
"Yes," said June. "Ray and I were home. My mother and father were out. But we were in the basement, we were all—Ray, Laura, Katy—all in the basement playing ping-pong. You know ... I remember now ... I
did
hear Wags. But I didn't think anything about it. 'Wags is barking,' that's all I thought. I don't remember anything else."
Billy reproached her. He said, "You should always think something when you hear Wags bark, because Wags is a thoughtful, quiet, silent dog, not like Atlas; and she barks only when something is really wrong."
"Well, I didn't know," said June, rather irritated.
"Anyway," said Connie. "When that bullet-head man put his hand in the broken-in door and spoke gently to Wagsie—who I know, I just know, was barking her head off—and probably said, 'Nice feller. You remember me, don't you?' Well, he probably had the bone in his hand then—it is the sort of bone that Wagsie loves; and probably then Wagsie, not knowing what else to do, just stopped barking and took the bone to the kitchen, crawled way, way under the table, close to the wall, and gnawed. It probably was like a friend to her—this bone. No family around, but at least—a bone. She tried to let the bone take her mind off the people in the house who did not belong here and had made such an awful noise coming in. It's like bad people giving a lollipop to a little child when all the while they are going to kidnap it..."
"Do you think, oh, you don't think they were planning to kidnap Wagsie, do you?" asked Judy, her beautiful gray-blue eyes wide with horror. Judy loved Wagsie and all dogs and animals—all. She owned hamsters, two parakeets, and a found dog. "Would they have planned to kidnap Wags?" she repeated.
Now, this was something that had not occurred to Connie at all. Tears of terror sprang into her eyes. "Perhaps," she said. "Who knows? She is a wonderful dog. Has a long genealogy."
All eyes turned to Wags, who knew she was being talked about. She was embarrassed and ashamed, and she looked aimlessly here and there, at her paws, behind her, at nothing. She dug at her itchy ear. With an enormous sigh, she raised herself—she was rather stout—ambled over to the iris, and lowered herself with an even deeper sigh to the ground. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.
"She doesn't seem poisoned," said Hugsy.
"Can't tell," said Billy. "Not yet." Judy lay down beside Wags and crooned to her. "Poor Wagsie," she said.
All eyes turned back to Connie, who went on, "Afterwards," she said "when we finally had time to pay a little attention to Wagsie, who kept looking at us as though she had so much to tell—imagine how terrified she must have been when they broke down the door, with none of us home to save her ... well, we thought she was all right, only just scared."
"Still," June Arp spoke again, "I don't understand why she wouldn't bite them. Such a big dog!"
Judy defended Wags. "Because she is timid, that's why, very, very shy and timid."
"Yes," said Connie. "She is shy and timid, and she is a coward. She can't help it. She is even afraid of the minister's dog, though he is always on his leash. She hides behind the green door, in the vestibule, when the minister comes along ... is dragged along, I should say instead, by his big black Doberman pinches. Wagsie peeks out at them, and she does not bark or growl at all-—not to attract their attention—and she does not go back outside to sit on the top stoop and wait for Papa until the minister and his dog are way up the street. But what we wonder is—why no one, not one of the neighbors, heard Wagsie barking? She must have barked in the beginning, before the bone."
"Don't let me forget to get the bone, by the way," said Billy.
"I won't," said Connie. "But we wonder why nobody heard her barking. We know she would bark that deep, wonderful bark that means danger. June, didn't you hear Wags? Were you home? Living right next door, I'd think you would have heard Wagsie."
"Yes," said June. "Ray and I were home. My mother and father were out. But we were in the basement, we were all—Ray, Laura, Katy—all in the basement playing ping-pong. You know ... I remember now ... I
did
hear Wags. But I didn't think anything about it. 'Wags is barking,' that's all I thought. I don't remember anything else."
Billy reproached her. He said, "You should always think something when you hear Wags bark, because Wags is a thoughtful, quiet, silent dog, not like Atlas; and she barks only when something is really wrong."
"Well, I didn't know," said June, rather irritated.
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