Einstein Dog (7 page)

Lying on her side, she panted with the discomfort of labour, a discomfort that intensified into spikes of pain. Libra accepted this. There was nothing she would not do for her unborn pups.

“How are you, girl?” Elaine stroked her fur.

Although the gentle ministration did nothing to reduce the pangs, Libra was grateful. She raised her head and licked Elaine's arm.

“Soon now,” her friend consoled.

How often had Libra heard that reassuring word, only to be disappointed by its promise? No matter how many times it had been repeated, she would still see her pups born into captivity.

Gripped by a contraction, Libra groaned and shifted on her mat.

“Everything's going to be okay, girl,” Elaine soothed.

That was another word Libra distrusted. Humans seemed to believe that thinking things were all right actually made them so. They did not accept grim realities the same way dogs did. Libra did not think everything was okay. Lately the very air she breathed seemed ominous and heavy. She couldn't say why, but she was haunted by a sense of dread.

It all had to do with that horrible man Frank Hindquist.

She'd been troubled by strange dreams during her pregnancy. One in particular unnerved her. Professor Smith had let her out into the pound. A crisp breeze ruffled her fur and the pale, autumn sun warmed her with its brittle light. Campus Green stretched out before her to the forest beyond, backed by a vibrant, rose-tinted sky. Suddenly the gate sprang open, as if a wizard had flung it wide with a powerful spell. She stood at the threshold a moment, sniffing the bright air. A tendril of sweetness she'd never smelled before streamed over the delicate sensors in her nostrils, rippling all the way down her spine. She tottered on the brink, eager to hunt down the source of that exquisite aroma.

Behind her Bertrand called in a low, anxious voice. “Libra,” he warned. “Come girl. Please come.”

She could not obey.

“Please!” Bertrand pleaded.

She wanted him to understand, but the sensations that whirled inside her could not be expressed. So she howled, the deep, sorrowful moan of farewell torn out of her and carried away on the breeze. She howled again to be certain he would know her sadness.

Then she ran.

“Libra!” Bertrand shouted.

But she couldn't stop.

Her paws pattered on the dew-damp grass. Faster, faster, faster. Faster, faster, faster. Her body felt so light, her muscles so lean and strong, coiling and uncoiling perfectly.

Another contraction pulsed through her.

“It's all right, girl,” Elaine soothed.

At that moment, Libra loved Elaine most. m If you've never known light, there's no such thing as darkness. The entire universe, from the most distant glitter on the fringe of the galaxies to the glints of sub-atomic matter, remains shrouded, waiting for your knowing, your awakening.

The unborn certainly feel the paws of their siblings against them, and their own paws touching. They hear the muffled sounds of their mother, too: the thump, thump of her heart; a growl rumbling through her ribcage; the expansions and contractions of her breathing, a timeless surf on a distant shore. Perhaps they have some inkling of light, too, a hint of dawn at the very rim of consciousness.

But none of that prepares them for the sudden sensation of being expelled, thrust out of the twilight warmth that is their only world. The pups know fear for the very first time . . . utter terror. The walls of their world constrict and they are forced inch by relentless inch toward what has suddenly become a future.

We do not come into this world joyfully. Perhaps it's best that we have no recollection whatever of the moment of birth. Only
after
we've breathed the open air for a while do we acquire a taste for it.

Bertrand fumbled with the lock, cursing its clumsy mechanisms. “Come on!” he muttered, lining up the tumbler numerals. He finally got it right and yanked the bolt loose. “Airee!” he shouted.

She lingered, gabbing with a bunch of friends over by the school entrance. Girl talk drove him crazy.

“I'm going!” he hollered, wrapping the bicycle lock around his seat post and wrestling the bike out of the rack. He pointed it down the path, jumped on and started pedaling. If Ariel wanted to yak, he wasn't hanging around.

“Hey!” she protested. “Wait up!”

He almost didn't. Almost kept right on pumping, getting the hum of the tires up to speed with his racing heart. But Bertrand did skid to a stop.

Ariel ran down the sidewalk after him, red hair flying, eyes burning with indignation. “What's up with you?” she asked, climbing onto the foot pegs and gripping his shoulder. Was she digging in her nails on purpose? He didn't care. Standing on the pedals, he set off again.

“Whoa!” Ariel shrieked. “Slow down!”

Bertrand caught some air going over the curb, then zoomed around the schoolyard fence and into the Nicomekl trail system. “Yahoo!” Ariel whooped. The Nicomekl parkway cut cross-country toward Triumph University, avoiding traffic lights, and interfering pedestrians.

“Hey! Take it easy!” Ariel advised. “You're going to burn out.”

“We've got to get there, Airee,” he panted. “There's no time.”

All afternoon he'd twitched and squirmed in his seat.

Elaine had reported at lunch break that the pups hadn't been born yet. “Any time now,” she'd said. “There's no telling when, exactly . . . Libra's doing fine . . . She'll be okay, Birdman.”

“Why don't you phone again?” Ariel had suggested after class.

But Bertrand just wanted to get to his father's lab as quickly as possible. He wanted to see Libra with his own eyes, not hear another update.

“Have you ever seen anything being born?”

“No,” Ariel answered. “Except on the Knowledge Network. Purr's fixed, so she can't have kittens, and Squawk's a male, thank goodness.” Purr was the Krieger's ancient cat, Squawk their cockatoo.

“I'm scared, Airee,” Bertrand admitted.

She squeezed his shoulders. “Libra's fine,” she said.

“How do you know?”

Ariel didn't answer, but he could feel her shrug. She just knew, that was all. Bertrand wished he could be so sure. He and his dad had talked a lot about how pups are conceived, how they form in the womb, how they're born. Still, the whole process remained a mystery. “It seems like a stupid way for things to come into the world,” he'd complained.

“It's a miracle, son,” Professor Smith corrected.

“But you're a scientist, Dad! You're not supposed to believe in miracles.”

“The more we discover, the more miraculous everything becomes,” The professor explained patiently. “Science hasn't taken a single
wow
out of life's mysteries. It's just made the picture more complex and wonderful.”

Was that what his dad researched? Miracles?

His bike lurched forward and rattled down the hill into Campus Green. “Eyeee!” Ariel shrieked. Bertrand let out a yell, too, urging his metal charger across the lawn. Sensing catastrophe, Ariel leapt off the pegs and came to a running stop at the pound gate; Bertrand kicked out the back wheel and laid the bike down in the grass. Before the wheels stopped spinning he'd fumbled open the latch and stormed across the yard through the kennel door.

“Elaine!”

“Shhhh.” Her admonition came from inside Libra's pen.

“How is she?” Bertrand whispered.

“Fine. But exhausted.”

“Is she? Have they?”

“Yes.” Elaine beamed. “Libra's a mom.”

What did
that
mean? His own reaction to the news startled Bertrand. Would Libra be changed? Would she be as much fun? Would she even talk to him anymore? For a second — a second he'd remember for the rest of his life — Bertrand felt the sting of jealousy. He heard the whimpering of Libra's pups and, instead of the elation he'd planned, a tide of bitterness surged. Hot and flushed, he scolded himself for a thought that dishonoured him and Libra.

Then she was with him. He felt the warmth of her affection glowing inside. She knew! She sensed his confusion and had sent a thought to comfort him. His momentary doubt gave way to astounding joy.

Elaine gestured them forward with a nod. “Come on,” she laughed. “They won't bite.”

Bertrand stepped into the kennel.

“Aw!” Ariel gasped, overwhelmed at the sight of the pups.

“They're so tiny!”

They
were
tiny. They
were
cute. Now his emotions swung from doubt to utter love. Libra encircled the pups with her body and legs. They whimpered and yawned, but for the most part slept, their plump bodies pressed together for warmth. The result was an indeterminate being made up of button noses, miniature paws, stumpy tails, and round bellies. He laughed joyfully.

It's okay,
Libra signaled. She'd been studying him the whole time with her gentle, knowing eyes.

“Libra!” he gasped. “They're beautiful!”

Stooping, he stroked the fur behind her ears. Libra smiled, grateful for his affection.

“May I?” he asked, glancing at her pups.

Her answer amazed him.
They are yours as much as mine,
she said.

Surely he'd misunderstood. He looked directly into her eyes, but she didn't flinch. Her meaning was inescapable.
Yours,
she repeated, determined that he know this.
Until they're grown and can fend for themselves. Then they must choose their human life-companions.

She had never communicated such complex thoughts and emotions before, but Bertrand was certain these strange messages came from her.

But . . .

It is so with every dog, excepting our wild ancestors, like the wolves and coyotes. Our pups are not our own. If one human does not lay claim to them, another will, and I want you to claim these pups as your own . . . as your family.

But I'm only a kid!
he objected.

You are their older brother. You must be there for them when I'm not
.

What do you mean?

The day may come when these pups of mine will need a human protector. Promise you will be that human, that you will not forsake them. Ever.

Libra!

Promise!

The gravity of her command permeated his soul. From jubilation he sank almost into despair, for she'd shown him the wisdom of her kind, with its inevitable tincture of sadness. Dogs know too much of the world's undercurrent. They smell things and hear things outside the range of human senses. Theirs is a world troubled by shadows people never see, and it was from those shadows that Libra sought protection, not for herself but for her pups.

Promise me,
she insisted.

I promise,
he vowed, holding her gaze
. I will never let anything happen to your pups, Libra.

She lay her head down and sighed.

“It's okay,” Elaine was saying.

“Huh?”

“You can touch them. Libra knows you. She won't mind.”

She and Ariel were both staring. How long had he been communicating with Libra? Long enough for them to notice, obviously. He laughed nervously. “Oh yeah,” he said, reaching down and stroking the downy fur of one of Libra's pups. How indescribably soft! The dog yelped, but after sniffing his finger, settled back into sleep, nuzzling its littermate to get comfortable.