“Humans,” said Max, “are bad enough, but human children are the absolute worst.”
Dooley listened carefully, for when Max spoke, he often allowed nuggets of pure gold to roll from his lips, which Dooley absorbed without delay. He knew from experience that he still had much to learn, and felt fortunate and grateful that he got to do so at the feet of the master, a wise cat like his best friend Max.
“Looks like she’s okay,” said Dooley when the kid emerged from the undergrowth, and grinned infectiously. Her dress looked like it might need urgent repair, but she was fine.
The older kid, who presumably was her brother and had managed to instigate his sister’s spectacular liftoff, looked less than excited when she immediately said, “Again!”
“No, Lisa,” said the boy. “We need to go. Mom will wonder what’s taking us so long.”
“Again!” the little tyke demanded, and stomped the ground for good measure.
The brother sighed, and said,“Okay, one more time, but this is the last one, okay? After this we’re going home, before Mom and Dad come looking for us.”
The girl screeched a happy screech, which was painful to Dooley’s sensitive ears.
“That’s what I heard!” he said, happy that the mystery was finally solved.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Max.
They watched as the girl mounted the swing, and moments later the game resumed.
“She’s going to break her neck one of these days,” said Max, and judging from the small measure of glee with which he spoke these words, the prospect was not disagreeable to him.
And they were just about to turn back and resume their homeward trek, when from that same undergrowth suddenly a small creature emerged. It looked very familiar, and when it spoke up, Dooley was happy to discover it was their friend Fifi from next door.
“Fifi!” said Dooley happily. Even though by all rights he should return home and discover what Hern?n Cort?s was up to, he was a sweet and garrulous cat, and never more happy than when chewing the fat with his friends, whether they be cats or, as in this case, a small and friendly Yorkshire terrier.
“Hey, Max, Dooley,” said Fifi as she came tripping up to them. She was licking her lips, a clear sign she’d just taken nourishment.
“So what’s going on with you?” asked Max indulgently. He might not like kids, but he was clearly fond of Fifi. “Shouldn’t you be in your own backyard instead of wandering around in this jungle?”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Fifi. “Kurt doesn’t know I’m out.”
Kurt Mayfield was Fifi’s owner, a retired music teacher and something of a grouch. If it’s true that dogs take after their owners, Fifi’s sunny disposition certainly blew that theory out of the water.
“I buried a bone,” Fifi announced now, looking slightly shamefaced, as if confessing some major transgression.
“Good for you,” said Dooley. He’d heard of this strange habit of burying bones. He had no idea why dogs did this, but he was a broad-minded cat, so he decided not to comment.
“And as I was burying it, I discovered something pretty cool,” the Yorkie continued, her shamefacedness quickly replaced by pretty excitement. “Wanna see?”
“Oh, why not?” said Max. “My perfect nap is ruined now anyway.”
They followed Fifi further afield, and soon came upon what looked like the wreck of an old car. A couple of tires had been dumped there, and also an old fuel tank, rusted through and quite devoid of fuel now.
“An old car,” said Max. “Nice find, Fifi.” He didn’t sound all that impressed, and Dooley didn’t blame him. He wasn’t really into car wrecks himself either. Hard to see the attraction.
“No, not the car,” said Fifi. “Come on. It’s right over there.”
And that’s when they came upon what looked like a pile of bones that just lay there, surrounded by old rags and such.
“Look at this,” said Fifi happily. “A treasure trove of bones! And they’re all mine!”
“Um…” said Max as he took in the scene. “Did you put these here, Fifi?”
“Oh, no. They were right there when I got here. Some other dog must have dug them up and then forgot all about them. Lucky me!”
“Have you touched them?”
“I touched the one I just buried.” She hesitated, then pointed to a spot where the earth had recently been disturbed and said shyly: “Over there. But don’t tell anyone, will you?”
“Of course not,” said Dooley, who had no interest whatsoever in old bones.
“I’m going to bury the rest, but it’s a big job, so I was trying to come up with a plan of campaign,” Fifi happily prattled on. “I think I’ll bury each bone separately, or maybe I could dig a big hole and bury all of them together at once. What do you think, Max?”
“I think you better leave everything exactly the way you found it, Fifi.”
Fifi’s face sagged. “But why?”
“Because I think these bones are human bones, and humans usually don’t appreciate it when someone messes with their remains. They’re very touchy about that sort of thing.”
At this, both Dooley and Fifi subjected the pile of bones to a little more scrutiny than before, and that’s when Dooley saw it: “You mean these bones…”
“Used to be a human being—when that human being was still alive, that is.”
“And those rags…”
“Their clothes—or what’s left of them.”
Dooley gulped a little, and suddenly he thought he had a good idea how that whole Aztecs versus Hern?n Cort?s story had ended: with a pile of bones!
2
Tex was looking in the bathroom mirror and inspecting his mop of white hair with a frown. “Honey,” he said when his wife Marge came walking in from the bedroom.
“Mh?” said Marge distractedly as she picked up a wet towel and gave it a sniff.
“Do you think I’m getting thinner on top?”
Marge glanced over to the mirror.“I don’t think so. Why? Have you been losing hair?”
“I’m not sure,” said Tex as he took a handheld mirror and held it behind him so he could inspect the back of his head. “It looks thinner to me. Or it could just be the light.”
“Let me see,” said Marge, coming up behind her husband and taking a random pluck of hair and inspecting it. “Looks fine to me, hon.”
“But on top?” Tex insisted. “Doesn’t it look a lot thinner on top all of a sudden?”
Marge stood on tippy-toes for a moment, but didn’t seem to share her husband’s concern. “Nope,” she said, tousling his hair affectionately. “Nothing to worry about.”
And then she went on her way, leaving him with a lingering doubt that not everything was okay up there. He sighed as he studied his face in the mirror. Getting old wasn’t a lot of fun. First his hair had gone all white in the space of only a couple of months, and now he was losing it? And then there were all those wrinkles, which hadn’t been there five years ago. Soon he’d be an old guy, and then what? He’d be Ol’ Doc Poole, and even as he imagined himself shuffling to his doctor’s office, and people greeting him with a mixture of respect and compassion, he felt sick to the stomach. And so when his mother-in-law came walking in five minutes later she encountered a noticeably glum-looking Tex.
“Don’t forget to eat the strawberries, Tex,” said Vesta. “They’re in the fridge.”
Tex grumbled something by way of response, and proceeded into the bedroom, where he put on his clothes and resigned himself for another day spent at the office advising people on how to stay fit and healthy. Maybe, he thought as he glanced out the window, it was time that he took some of that advice himself, and took better care of his own health.
And as he idly took in the scenery, he suddenly wondered what Max and Dooley and that small dog belonging to Kurt Mayfield were doing in the field behind the house. Looked to him as if they were holding some kind of meeting, standing near that old car wreck he’d told the town council to get rid of ages ago and which was still very much in evidence.