The devil amongst us

 

Several years ago, I wrote a young-adult mystery set at Arlington Downs Rracetrack during the Depression. Callie Shaw, a young girl, disguised herself as a boy to get a job as a stableboy, but the aunt with whom she lived cautioned, “The devil will be amongst us if racing comes to North Texas.” I loved the history behind the story and thought the aunt’s words made a perfect title. The publisher balked at “devil” and the book was published as Callie Shaw, Stableboy. Unimaginative.

While I don’t believe in the devil, I have to say some kind of demon occasionally gets into Sophie. It happened this morning. Our routine is that she wakes me when starvation is about to overcome her. If it’s 5:30 I gently tell her to go back to bed; if it’s 6:30, I let her out, feed her, and go back to bed—I’ve got it down so I can do all that in six minutes. We both go to sleep.

This morning, she didn’t want to sleep. Once fed, she barked and danced to go outside. Thinking it was a bathroom emergency I let her out and watched a blue/black streak across the yard to the hidden area between our house and the neighbors. Sophie was in full squirrel-hunting frenzy, racing around the yard, barking frantically. Not wanting to leave her unsupervised, I busied myself with morning chores—putting away last night’s dishes, checking emails, and so on. I sat at my desk with a piece of cheese handy and an eye out for when she came close. It took half an hour, but I got her in. Went back to bed.

Sophie has this usually cute thing she does when her metal water bowl is empty. She knocks it off the shelf onto the floor, it clatters, and I know to refill. It wasn’t cute this morning—the bowl still had water in it. She created a small lake in my tiny kitchen and proceeded to walk in it, so that she made muddy footprints everywhere. I mopped it up with a towel, refilled the water, and went back to bed.

Sophie was not content. I could hear her wandering around the bedroom. Then she decided it was time to go out, and she pawed at the bed. When that didn’t work, she began to throw herself at the bed, barking wildly. This went on for slightly over ten minutes. I want to tell you it takes self-discipline—or a lack of brains—to lie still during all this. I finally sat up and, in my sternest low voice, explained to her that she was being very naughty. She knew exactly what was going on—looked away but stole a glance at me every once in a while, wagged her tail hopefully. I had to repeat the performance once, and then, blessedly, peace came to the cottage. By then, it really was time for me to get up. I kept her in for a long while to be sure the exorcism had worked.

I remind myself that I often say I could not live without a dog. And now, excuse me. I need a nap.

Calm Sophie