Webster Page 9

  Naturally, the dog didn’t respond, but he did spring effortlessly to his feet.

  Jake nodded. “I thought so. You’re a good actor, though.”

  Yes, down the road, that skill would help contribute to the Legend of the Bad Hat. In fact, he was probably going to need a theme song, too. Something catchy, and memorable. And maybe a viral video or two.

  In the meantime, Paste Kid was still sitting in the mud. So, the dog fastened his teeth into the kid’s shirt collar and yanked him up to his feet.

  There was a distinct ripping sound, and they both froze.

  “Don’t worry,” Jake said. “I always rip my shirts by accident. Mom’s used to it.”

  So, she was probably, reluctantly, used to him eating paste, too.

  “Let’s see your paw,” Jake said.

  The Bad Hat lifted his paw without thinking, and the boy examined his right front leg carefully. To the dog’s surprise, he seemed to know what he was doing—his hands felt like a veterinarian’s hands.

  “Okay, good,” Jake said, and put his paw down. “I was almost sure you were faking, but, just in case.”

  His other front paw did hurt, from getting scraped earlier, but the dog was much too self-reliant to show him that, of course. Although it was tempting.

  When the kid reached out to pat him, the Bad Hat instinctively flinched away.

  “Uh, sorry,” Jake said, and pulled his hand back. “I wonder if you live around here? Your owners are going to be worried.”

  As if. The Bad Hat was as free and independent as autumn leaves drifting in the evening breeze, by God. But, the important question was, did the kid have any more jerky hidden away? He sniffed carefully, but apparently, it was all gone.

  Which was so disappointing.

  “You must have gotten lost,” Jake said. “I need to find a way to get you home. Come on, I’ll take you down to the—”

  Again, with the rescuing? New Hampshire people were truly freaky. The dog turned abruptly and galloped towards the woods.

  “Hey, wait!” Jake called. “Come back!”

  The Bad Hat just kept running.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Two pieces of beef jerky did not a nutritious lunch make, but at least it had taken the edge off his appetite. So, maybe he wouldn’t collapse, or faint, or anything like that. Not for a while yet.

  Next time, he should probably figure out a way to bring snacks with him. Maybe Florence and the other cats could rig up some sort of saddlebag for him, or—well, not that he was going to see the cats ever again.

  Because he wasn’t ever going to go back there.

  Probably.

  Unless it was just to say hi.

  For a minute.

  Because he definitely did not miss anyone, especially not Jack, and he wasn’t homesick. He liked his solitary journey. It was his dream come true.

  Yep. That was his story, and he was sticking to it.

  As he walked along, he saw some shops constructed with old red bricks, a gas station, and a couple of homey-looking restaurants with curtains in the windows and geraniums on the porches. There was an old wooden bridge up ahead, and he crossed it carefully, seeing a fast-rushing river below. The water didn’t seem to be very deep, because there were lots of big granite rocks sticking out, with waves splashing and bubbling up against them. He peered down at the water, able to see small fish darting about in the less choppy areas.

  Could he catch fish to eat? More to the point, did he want to catch fish to eat? Not really. Yeah, he was hungry, but maybe not that hungry.

  So, the Bad Hat followed a curvy, tree-shaded road into what seemed to be the center of town. Wait, maybe this was the village green, where the adoption fairs were held? All of the buildings were painted white, and looked old, and were arranged neatly around a grassy common area. There was a church with a tall steeple, a quaint little post office, a general store combined with a small diner, a town hall, a library, and a public-safety building, with a fire truck and two police cars parked in front of it. Across the common, there were about six colonial-style white houses with black shutters. The common itself had trees, and park benches, a few war memorials and statues, a flagpole with an American flag snapping back and forth in the wind, and an old-fashioned bandstand.

  Yes, he was a proud Southern boy—but, he had to admit that New England was very scenic.

  It was warm and sunny, and he wanted to go roll in the grass for a while. Unfortunately, there were people around, strolling in the park and doing errands, and his being out in the open would not be at all inconspicuous.

  The little restaurant smelled good—bacon! hamburgers! fried chicken!—and he decided that he would explore behind the building. Maybe they would have some garbage cans sitting right there, full of tasty scraps, just waiting for him to wander by and help himself.

  He thought it might be fun to pretend that he was a spy, trying to escape from rogue agents and make his way to safe—or, at least, neutral—territory. So, the Bad Hat slunk around the side of the building, staying so low to the ground that he was almost crawling. He hid behind trees, and stayed in the shadows. Then, whenever he came to an open area, he would crouch down, count to three—and dash towards the next shadow.

  Oh, he was sly. Really sly. The CIA only wished that he would apply to join them.

  He bent down and prepared to knock the trash can over with admirable grace and efficiency. But, just as he was about to jump, he heard a noise behind him—and stopped in his tracks.

  Duke ran up to him, panting heavily. “Wow, I’m really glad I found you. It was awful—it took almost twenty minutes! I’m so tired.”

  Well, he wasn’t very good at hiding, if he could be discovered that quickly by yet another colleague. “Why did you come after me?” the Bad Hat asked. “I already sent Jack away.” Well, sort of. “I’m a renegade, off to strike my fortune and make my way in the world.”

  Duke looked puzzled. “What does that mean?”

  So much for German Shepherds supposedly being way smarter than all other dogs. “I’m like a fugitive, Duke,” the Bad Hat said. “So, no one’s supposed to be able to find me.”

  “Oh.” Duke frowned. “Sorry about that. But, Florence is really mad and says you need to come home right away.”

  That was predictable. Cats thought they were in charge of absolutely everything. “It’s an animal-rescue shelter,” the Bad Hat said. “Not a home.”

  “I don’t know about that. I like it there very much,” Duke said. “Anyway, she says that, um—well, you know, the people are very upset, and that she won’t stand for that.”

  Probably a direct quote, except for the vague part. And the lack of a stamping paw.

  “The people have been—” Duke paused. “I forget. What are their names again?”

  He had to be kidding. “Seriously?” the Bad Hat said.

  Duke nodded, his expression guileless and innocent.

  “Oh, dude, that is so sad,” the Bad Hat said.

  “Duke,” Duke corrected him. “It’s okay, it’s an easy mistake to make.”

  Very, very sad. Pathetic, even. And Duke was clearly an expert when it came to making mistakes. No wonder he had been downgraded. “Joan and Thomas are the main ones,” the Bad Hat said. “They live in the house. And Monica cooks for us. Sometimes, other volunteers come, too, to help out.”

  “Really?” Duke gave that some thought. “Okay, that sounds about right. Thanks, Webster.”

  Oh, so that name he remembered?

  “You’re going to come back now, right?” Duke said.

  The Bad Hat shook his head. “No. I’m too busy having adventures and stuff. But, say hi to everyone for me.”

  “I’m supposed to tell you how worried they all are,” Duke said. “There was another dog missing, too, this morning, but I think that one is home already.”

  The Bad Hat nodded. “Right. That’s Jack.”

  Duke looked baffled. “Which one is Jack? Does he take us out to the meadow
?”

  The Bad Hat wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. “Jack’s the Yorkshire Terrier. The little one everyone really likes, even though he barks a lot.”

  Duke thought some more. Then, his eyes brightened. “The brown one! Who hates to get his claws clipped! Oh, yes, I like him, too. He’s just swell.”

  Swell. He hadn’t heard that one recently. Gosh. Gee. Golly. “So, make sure to say a special hello for me, and tell him that I hope he had a good lunch, but he missed out on some beef jerky,” the Bad Hat said.

  “That’s a lot to remember,” Duke said, looking worried. “And Florence’ll be, you know, cross. You should really come with me, instead, so she can stop fretting about you.”

  How had he found himself in a world where it actually bothered him that some cat might be upset? The Bad Hat sighed. “Look, buddy,” he started.

  “Duke,” Duke said kindly. “It’s okay. Names are hard for me, too.”

  Duke might be a simple tool, but to his credit, he was sweet about it. “Duke, the problem is that I have more thrilling exploits planned for today,” the Bad Hat said. Not that he could think of any, at the moment, but he was positively sure that they would take place. “Tell her if she can leave a gate ajar, or a door or a window open, I’ll come by after midnight, and check in for a minute, okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Duke said doubtfully. “She’s going to be really mad at me, if I show up alone.”

  The Bad Hat shrugged. “It’s the best I can do, big fella.”

  “Duke,” Duke said. “If you think of something that begins with D, and picture it whenever you see me, that might make it easier.” He paused. “If you can think of something that begins with D, that is.”

  “Dog,” the Bad Hat said.

  Duke nodded happily. “Dog! Yes, that’s a good one! Thank you! Anyway, I’ll tell Florence to—what?”

  If only he had a pen and paper—and knew how to write—so that he could just send her a note directly. “Leave a door or something open,” the Bad Hat said. “So I can sneak in tonight.”

  “That’s right, now I remember,” Duke said. “All right, I’ll tell her, but if she yells at me, I’ll have to blame you completely, okay?”

  The idea of facing the Wrath of Florence was not appealing. “You could tell her you couldn’t find me?” the Bad Hat suggested.

  Duke gave him a scornful look. “No one would believe that, Webster. I’m a police dog.”

  Scary thought. Duke, with the power to detain, arrest, Mirandize, and interrogate. “Look, I promise I’ll show up tonight,” the Bad Hat said. “I won’t be able to stay long—you know, on account of my exhilarating shenanigans, and my vision quest—but, I will stop by.”

  “Vision quest,” Duke repeated, sounding uncertain. “Wow, this is so hard. And I’m very confused. I’m going home now, okay?”

  “Okay,” the Bad Hat said. Was it safe to let this poor guy walk anyplace by himself? “Be careful when you cross streets. Make sure to look both ways.”

  Duke nodded. “That’s what Florence told me, too. But, I forget why.”

  Sometimes, it was hard not to be speechless around Duke. “To see if any cars are coming,” the Bad Hat said. “So that you can avoid them, and you won’t get hurt.”

  Duke looked relieved. “Right! Now I remember. Thanks, Mad Cap!”

  Close enough. “Just be careful,” the Bad Hat said.

  “You, too,” Duke said. Then, he looked both ways—more than once, cautiously crossed the quiet street, and raced off.

  The Bad Hat’s plan was to have an insanely exciting afternoon, but in the end, he just tipped over a trash can and ate a bunch of leftovers from the restaurant. Cold scrambled eggs, part of a tuna fish sandwich, some limp French fries, discarded garden salad, and—best of all!—most of a piece of meat loaf.

  When he was finished, there was such a mess on the ground that he wondered whether he’d be breaking the Bad Hat code, if he cleaned it up. Although it would be better not to leave any clues behind, right? So, he used his muzzle to shove most of the nonedible trash back into the can. Then, with a strong flip of his paw, he pushed the can upright again, exactly where it had been. Now, there would be no obvious forensic evidence remaining to reveal his antisocial criminal act.

  Oh, he was an excellent spy. So furtive, so clever.

  Pleasantly full of the remains of people’s lunches, he took a long nap on the floor of the bandstand. The weathered wooden floor wasn’t incredibly comfortable, but he was less visible to the outside world than he would have been if he had flopped down on the grass in the late-afternoon sun.

  Even though it was dark now, it had to be at least several hours until midnight, and so, unless some new and glorious experiences came his way, he had a lot of time to kill. Fortunately, he was equipped with vast inner resources, and knew exactly what to do: curl up and take another nap.

  When he woke up, he had no idea what time it was. But, he yawned and stretched in a nice, leisurely way. It was maybe too cold outside, but other than that, he had had a very comfortable rest.

  Whew, he sure hoped they were having a viewing party tonight. He was hungry.

  Was it midnight yet? Close enough. Besides, it would take him a while to find his way back to the rescue farm.

  He made a couple of wrong turns—which he would never, ever admit to anyone—but soon, he was standing in the woods, observing the house, the kennels, the barn, and the meadow. It was too cloudy for there to be any moonlight, but the house was dark and quiet, and he assumed that Joan and Thomas were asleep.

  Maybe it was later than midnight? And he had wasted some prime snacking and viewing time? That would be terrible.

  He tried to leap over the fence into the meadow. Unfortunately, he mistimed his jump and fell a little short. But, he was able to scrabble over the top, and landed in the grass with a thump.

  Ow.

  Good thing he was alone, and no one had seen that happen, or he would be mortified.

  “Nice one, dog,” a voice above him said. “Really smooth.”

  The Bad Hat looked up, and saw an owl sitting on a branch in a nearby maple tree, laughing his round head off.

  “Just trying to entertain you,” the Bad Hat said, attempting to recover his dignity.

  “Great job!” the owl said, and laughed some more. Then, he scrutinized the dog carefully. “You probably weigh about seventy-five pounds, right?”

  Thereabouts. More like ninety, if he was getting regular meals. “Yeah,” the dog said.

  The owl sighed. “Too bad. Even if the hawks came and helped, you’re too big for us to carry off for supper.”

  What? The dog’s mouth fell open in total horror.

  The owl laughed even harder. “Just kidding. I went vegetarian a couple of years ago.” He frowned. “Getting kind of tired of nuts and seeds, I have to say.”

  It would take a huge flock of owls and hawks to have any hope of hauling him away, but the dog still wanted to throw up. Especially because he didn’t care for heights, and the idea of flying held no appeal at all. “Sounds like a good lifestyle change, though,” the Bad Hat said.

  The owl shrugged. “I was cruising around, and I ended up hanging out near a monastery for a few weeks. So, now it’s all ‘do no harm’ and ‘be considerate’ for me.” He let out another sigh. “But sometimes, I miss being a predator.”

  An owl with angst, of all things.

  The owl flew down to perch on top of the fence. “My sister says it would be okay just to eat insects and worms. What do you think?”

  This conversation was way over his head. Outlaws didn’t spend much time studying philosophy or ethics. “Um, well,” the dog said, “I don’t know. I guess it’s better than chomping on things like baby bunnies. But, insects and worms are alive, too, even though they aren’t, you know, cute, and possibly not, um, sentient. So, maybe it’s—complicated?”

  The owl blinked slowly. “Unlike the average canine, you seem to be a little bit wise.”r />
  The Bad Hat really hated being patronized by random wildlife. “Yeah. Me smart for dog,” he said stiffly.

  The owl laughed. “Oooh, he’s touchy.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. “Enjoy your nuts and seeds,” the Bad Hat said. “Maybe you can have some roots and tubers, too.”

  “Yum,” the owl said, without much enthusiasm.

  After saying good night, the dog galloped across the meadow. As always, it felt good to stretch his legs. And, with no Greyhound mixes or other ringers around, he could tell himself that he was unusually speedy, with fabulous first-step acceleration, which was the envy of all other dogs.

  He could see that the damaged part of his former kennel had been repaired, and that the fallen tree had been cleared away. Apparently, the remains were being chopped up for winter firewood, based upon the pile of newly split logs next to what was left of the tree.

  The main door leading out to the meadow was probably going to be the one left open for him, although there was no guarantee that Duke had managed to remember any of his instructions correctly. But, he could see a sliver of light, so apparently, some version of the message had gotten through.

  Just as he started to nose the door open, it crossed his mind that it might be a trap, and he would be lured back into his kennel and never have a chance to escape again.

  And that would be bad.

  So, he backed off and paced nervously inside the meadow for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. Should he just dash away? It would certainly be safer. He could go back into the woods, make a bed on some pine needles, and get a chilly night’s rest.

  On the other hand, it wasn’t like they were all missing him so much that life was no longer worth living, and they would be desperate to have him stay. They would probably just be happy to have him stop by to say hello, eat some kibble, and be on his jolly way.

  Kibble. Having some kibble would be so completely excellent right about now.

  And if they were going to watch more Masterpiece Classic, he really didn’t want to miss it.

  Okay. That tipped the balance.

  He pushed tentatively at the door with his nose, and nudged his way inside.