Vivian wanted a dog. It was the only thing she asked for—for her birthday. A quiet, studious child, she never asked for much, so when she voiced her request in that strong, smooth voice, Leta was moved.
Truthfully, Leta was not a fan of the animal—of dogs of any kind. That spring, her younger son Dale had taken up with a stray in the neighborhood, which concerned her quite a bit. Every evening when he came home, he smelled, as she put it, like a pig farmer. With diligence, she scrubbed him and his clothes to get the stench out. Although it wore on her, she accepted the situation, as long as the relationship didn’t go any further. One afternoon, however, she returned home from the market later than she had intended (she liked to be there when he children arrived home from school) to find Dale attempting to lure the animal through the front door. And he was still in his school clothes!
“Dale Louis Chetister, don’t you dare let that filthy mongrel into my house!” she shouted from three houses down the street.
Dale jumped, but more importantly, she startled the dog. Upon feeling the authority of her voice, it ran away defensively. Now, Leta never kicked or harmed a dog, but she definitely didn’t care for them, and she most definitely did not want one in her house.
After the dog ran off, Dale simply stood with his mouth agape and a piece of raw beef in his hand. That he had dared to pull a chunk of their supper out of the icebox for such a task infuriated Leta even more. As she reached the walk to their front door, she continued her angry charge:
“Don’t just stand there with your mouth hanging open,” she ordered. “Close the door and change your clothes. I don’t want every fly in the neighborhood moving in!”
Dale obeyed immediately, and as he ran up the stairs, she could hear the sobs. She sighed with frustration. While children crying never moved her, her son’s obsession with that foul beast caused her tremendous dismay. That it had gone so far as to encourage the boy to bring it into her home as a companion vexed her. It was not the kind of relationship she encouraged, and only accepted under duress, hoping her general attitude combined with Dale’s childish fascination would wear away in short order. Still, he persisted and had obviously become more enamored of the dog than she expected. Enough to try to bring it home.
She had arrived home just in time to thwart it, and as far as she knew, end the relationship. The dog disappeared, and Dale never brought up the notion of having a dog again.
Vivian’s request was another story. As a winter storm raged outside that mid-December afternoon, and they were baking together, the girl’s nonchalant answer to the standard request of what she wanted for her birthday yielded such surprise in the mother that Leta overcracked her egg, dropping chips of the shell into the batter.
“A dog?” Leta questioned when her wits returned. “Why in the world do you want a dog? I thought you didn’t like them.”
“No, I like them, mother,” Vivian answered. She was standing beside Leta, measuring the flour. “My friend Elizabeth has three, and they all seem to like me, too. Whenever I go to their house, they run up and welcome me.”
Leta winced subtly, so her daughter wouldn’t notice. The thought of having three dogs running at her brought back a terrifying childhood memory.
TO BE CONTINUED.
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