the LoneDogs of Scrabble (eBook)

Chapter 9

The Bonding

Toothless dogs can’t chew hard bones.

Fall would be ushering a new school year and a new decision by Roy. Before the close of junior high for the summer, Roy had decided that he was tired of being the tallest in his class. He pondered on why his size hadn’t been noticeable in Mexoma. It wasn’t like everybody was taller there. They were just bigger in their thinking, he concluded.

In Mexoma, age was no matter either. He’d been friendly with lots of horse people and their kids. Kids were more like adults —not like Pinetown, where the kids were as helpful as a box of bent nails.

Now it was time to move on. It was summer already, and Roy was resolute to get himself skipped a grade for the next year. His age was borderline– nearly to the day. He talked to the counselor, took some “achievement tests,” got his father’s signature, and was successfully approved to move into to the tenth grade in the coming fall. Then he’d be the youngest; but he didn’t look young and the kids were still, from his perspective, infantile anyway.

Jonas really was a kid too, but at least he had a mind of his own`, Roy thought. But it tickled him the way Jonas looked up to him. It warmed his frozen feelings, having a friend to laugh with. He hated when the only person he could crack on was his pa (Mrs. Sorrenson didn’t count). But time brought changes– and since he and Jonas would begin high school in separate grades, that was one of them. It had been well past a year since Roy’s first visit to Jonas’ house, and looking back to his first visit, it had felt like a different planet.

But Sundays with Jonas and his Aunt Syd and the two dogs stayed the routine. Syd reserved the time in her schedule and the place in her heart for the boys. And she had grown quite fond of Roy. Since the evolving friendship between the boys, she had seen Jonas open up; his Cancer crab was coming out of its shell a little, looking the world over. So Sundays were like family day, of which Roy had become a major part.

Syd chuckled to herself. The Cracker and the Hacker! They even named their friendship! They are both such a trip!.

The foremost agenda Sunday mornings revolved around Syd bringing bagels from town and listening to Lise’s gripes and concerns about Jonas. It was what they mainly talked about while her sister grumpily brewed the coffee. It was part of their Sunday routine.

They sat around the table on the porch or the breakfast room, where Lise would light her morning cigarette while Syd flagrantly fanned the air. Then Syd would initiate a new sarcastic hit on her sister’s smoking, after which they would have their cigarette-long Sunday chat. For Lise, Sundays had become like her sister’s custody visitations to Jonas.

“So, where’s Jonas?” soon became “So, wher’re the boys?” Syd usually asked the Sunday question before Lise had flicked off her last ash. Often, she followed the Sunday question with, “You know, Elissa. You smoke entirely too much. Can’t you at least cut down?” This would prompt the sarcastic invitation for Syd to go and mother the boys, and to leave her alone.

Sometimes, the Sunday conversation would head into a second cigarette and a second round.

“Do you really think Roy’s such a good influence? He’s so bizarre himself!”

“You don’t give him a chance, Lise. His head’s screwed on tight. Normal’s just another name for average,” Syd argued, reiterating that Jonas was fine, and that since his friendship with Roy, Jonas had noticeably more self-confidence – and a sense of humor.

And so on.

It was what it was. Elissa had resigned herself to Syd’s being the key adult in her son’s life – for better or worse. She would just have to do whatever damage control was necessary to counteract Syd’s runaway indulgence of Jonas.

It was a balmy day for May, and Syd carried a home-baked blueberry pie, along with her copy of Seven Arrows. The mother in her loved feeding them food, and the teacher in her loved feeding them new ideas. They talked about Native American folklore, and about the trickster coyote. The two boys would focus on any little thing she’d talk about and run away with it — make it big. Whether it was about how she made her pie, or how the Indians chose their animals. They were both ravenous for food and information, Syd mused appreciatively.

Then, there was her budding idea.

“It’s Golda’s heat soon − time to talk to the boys about spreading some canine cheer. Just once. One litter of puppies to make Golda less temperamental. For the experience. Then I’ll fix her. Fargus’ll be a happy camper– that’s for sure. One big family. And the pups’ll be beautiful!

“And, Jonas’s done well with Fargus. A pup would be a great experience. And Roy could probably take one. I could talk to his folks. Then there’s Lise. Ah, well. I wish I had the space to take them all myself.”

Syd had done her homework. Four puppies could have good homes with contacts from her college, if she needed that many. Two had been social friends from when she was a couple, when she and John were both teaching at the college. Syd assumed they felt guilty for not having stayed in touch with her since the tragedy, but that worked in both directions. Anyway, she felt no compunction about putting them on the spot.

Syd sat lazily by the stream with the boys and dogs, and Golda was too hot to keep running away from Fargus. Fargus looked like he was attached to Golda’s tail by an invisible wire. She’d been snapping at him all day, and she seemed to enjoy it as much as Fargus seemed to enjoy the opportunity to be snapped at.

OL-DA was being her usual snappy self. But Fargus understood gyps. He knew Golda liked pretending not to like him. Lately, she seemed to be really RedLuning, though. She wasn’t her usual snappy-with-a-SnoutSmile self. He couldn’t see any sneaking SnoutSmiles at all. OL-DA seemed serious. So was the scent she wore – the call of the gyp – ride at your own risk.

Fargus peed every tree and stump. He wanted her to know he was everywhere. They had barely left the yard and leg-lifting was purely useless. He was already running on empty – powerless to mark– not even droplets. Fargus BlueMooned for a ride on his gyp. He knew she really wanted him.

OL-DA BlueMooned. It hurt her just to move certain ways. She didn’t lune like fighting with Ar-Gis. She wanted to be left alone. He was constantly sticking his big head into her snout and her business. If she didn’t snap at him fast enough, he would have his big nose in her business before she could move.

Then his silly SnoutSmile − like he was being sorry, even though he was going to badger her anyway, which made her really RedLune. If he wasn’t lifting his leg he was nosing between hers.

Golda luned different than she had before. Fargus was an enticing Alpha, and she couldn’t shake the effects of his smell everywhere. He hadn’t missed a tree. And if she tried to relieve herself, he was there before she could finish. Constantly. She RedLuned again.

Her lunes were making her run crazy. She didn’t know what she was luning.

Ar-Gis was her Alpha, maybe her mate, but she didn’t need him to know it. She was sure of that!

A lit punk dangled comfortably from Roy’s mouth. His cowboy hat had a pencil, a fishing lure, several punks and matches on its wide leather band. Syd smiled at Roy. Roy smiled back at Jonas’ aunt, feeling a little odd for noticing how pretty she was. Sydney Kendall was the bucket that carried the cement of the boys’ friendship

Roy had a fondness for Jonas’ aunt something like he’d had for Carolanne. He still sometimes thought about Carolanne and their rides together with his mom in Oklahoma.

He had even comfortably opted for his own title of endearment for Sydney Kendall.

“Aunt jes feels a mite presumptuous,” Roy announced to the air.

“And Mrs. MISSES the mark,” Jonas punned.

“Miss Syd stands fer like a good ’ole gal,” he told Jonas, “and thet’s jes what Ah’ll call ’er.” Jonas face asked what he was talking about, but his Aunt Syd grinned in pleased acceptance of the familiarity.

The three lazy fishers watched Golda continue to snap at Fargus. A loud whimper affirmed that Golda had successfully caught a bite of Fargus’ shoulder. Fargus tightened the corners of his mouth in an amusing apology, as he continued on back for more, following the magic smell of his deepest instincts.

“Goll dern! She’s meaner then a rained-on rooster!”

“Or a nagging mother,” Jonas added grinning.

How do you guys think of things so fast?” Syd...