Webster (10 page)

“Where are your owners?” the woman asked.

The Bad Hat looked at Jack. “She's not very smart.”

Jack shrugged. “Mostly, people aren't, as far as I know. We'll have to keep trying.”

It felt like a waste of time, but because the Bad Hat had the steely-eyed patience of a saint, he kept running back and forth with Jack until the lady
finally
got the idea. She put down the spatula, took off her slippers, and stepped into a pair of untied hiking boots. Then, she followed them past two cottages, to the driveway where the man was still wheezing and trying to get up.

“Oh, no!” she said. “Vern, what happened?”

“Got a cramp while I was doing my swim,” the man groaned. “But, your dogs saved me.” Then, he paused. “You don't have a dog, Margie.”

“No, I don't,” the woman agreed, fishing a cell phone out of the pocket of her sweatpants.

“No, please, I'm fine,” the man protested, as she called for an ambulance.

“Hush, Vern,” she said. “We need to have the paramedics come and check you out, to be sure.”

“We saved him!” Jack barked proudly to the Bad Hat. “We're like heroes!”

“What ‘we,' little man?” the Bad Hat asked.

Jack just strutted around, giving the man an encouraging pat with his paw every so often.

“Whose dogs are these?” Vern asked. He was sitting up now, but still looking pale. “I can't think of anyone on Whittemore Point who owns dogs like these.”

No one was
ever
going to
own
the Bad Hat. Oh, no. Not happening.

“See if you can catch them,” Vern said. “We need to make sure that they get home safely.”

Margie nodded and reached for the Bad Hat—who dodged adroitly out of the way. Then, she tried to pick up Jack, who leaped gracefully and spun away from her. She kept trying to corral them, and the dogs found it childishly easy to elude her—repeatedly. In fact, it was an
entertaining game, and the Bad Hat was enjoying himself.

“This is fun!” Jack said.

The Bad Hat totally agreed.

The chase went on for a little while longer, until Margie finally stopped, out of breath.

“Come here, boys,” Margie said, holding out a friendly hand for them to sniff. “No one's going to hurt you. We just want to get you home.”

Never happen. Although the Bad Hat thought of a possible backup plan. “She smells like breakfast meat,” he said. “Maybe we should let her catch us, just long enough to have some food, and then we can escape again.”

Jack hesitated—which gave Margie a chance to scoop him up into her arms.

“Oh, wow,” Jack said, as she swooped him into the air. “That wasn't supposed to happen.”

“Want me to knock her down?” the Bad Hat asked, poised to leap.

Jack frowned. “I don't know. Maybe she would be a good owner for us. This could be our new home.”

When was he going to grasp that the Bad Hat didn't want a home? He was his
own
home. Complete independence was like, the hallmark of his creed.

“What a good boy,” Margie said, stroking Jack's head. “Can you help me catch your friend?”

Jack grinned wickedly at the Bad Hat, who gave him a very evil look in return.

Just then, they heard sirens, and an ambulance and a police car showed up.

“That's our cue, little man,” the Bad Hat said.

“To do what?” Jack asked.

“To get out of here already,” the Bad Hat said. “We're lawless creatures, who run with the wind.”

“She has
ham
in that house, with our names on it,” Jack said.

Which was a good point, but it was still time to go. “Sorry, I'm out of here,” the Bad Hat said. “You'd better pitch a fit or something, or else I'm going to leave you behind.”

Jack sighed, but then began writhing and shrieking and twisting, until Margie had no
choice
, but to drop him.

“You owe me some ham,” he said, when he landed on the driveway.

“Put it on my tab,” the Bad Hat said.

They wagged their tails at Margie and Vern, and then darted into the woods and out of sight.

“Thank you!” Vern called after them.

“You're welcome!” Jack barked back.

That was all well and good, but the dog was the
Bad Hat
. He did not require thanks. Freedom was his only reward.

Was there a song in that? Or, at least, an epic poem? Probably.

“We were so brave,” Jack said.

“Yeah, it was amazing, the way you gave instructions,” the Bad Hat said.

Jack puffed his chest out. “No need to thank me. I was happy to help.”

The Bad Hat was a little tired from his swim, but the water had been refreshing. Maybe he would have to make a point of stopping by the lake every day for a quick dip, and then, a long rest on one of the rocky beaches.

“Let's go around the whole lake, and get the lay of the land,” the Bad Hat said, as they trotted down a mostly deserted dirt road.

Jack shook his head. “My paws are pretty tired. Could we just go back now, and maybe take naps? I'm sort of weary.”

Naturally. “Hey, you can go back whenever you want,” the Bad Hat said.

“Not me,” Jack said.
“We.”

The Bad Hat paid no attention to that, ranging away from the lake, and onto paved roads, while Jack did his best to keep up.

Some of the houses were occupied, while others were closed up for the season. The town seemed to be a combination of farms, rental cabins, fancy houses, vacation homes, and cottages. It was already September, so most of the tourists must have gone home, because things seemed pretty quiet.

Jack let out a wistful sigh. “I bet everyone's running in the meadow, while Monica gets our lunch ready.”

Probably, yeah. And some lunch would be nice. Too bad the Bad Hat was never going to go back there.

At a house up ahead, he could see a man and a woman fondly saying good-bye to each other. That was unusual, in his world. There hadn't been too many hugs at any of the homes where he had lived.

“Check it out,” he said. “Those people
like
each other.”

Jack's eyes lit up. “They look nice. Maybe they would make us some lunch!”

In the front yard, a toddler was playing around on the grass with a brightly colored plastic beach ball.

“Oooh, a toy!” Jack said, and scampered over to join the child.

The Bad Hat wasn't about to interact with any more people, but he
loved
to play with balls. Jack pushed the ball towards the girl with his nose—and then, she pushed it back. It looked fun! Really fun!

Once, the mean family who had adopted him had had a ball that looked like that. The dog had been so excited that he jumped on it—and it popped. Loudly.

The noise scared him, and the mother yelled at him for wrecking the ball—and, well, it had been another terrible day, in a long series of terrible days.

So, the dog had learned his lesson and would leave this ball alone. But, that didn't mean that he couldn't stand here, and watch, and imagine that he was being allowed to play, too. Seemed like a harmless little fantasy.

The woman was waving as she got into a white minivan, and the man waved back at her, as he headed towards the lawn. But, just as she started to back out of the driveway, the ball rolled away from Jack and the toddler, who both chased after it.

Right behind the moving car!

There was no time to make a plan or hesitate, so the
Bad Hat just sprang into action and tore across the road.

“Wendy, no!” the man said, sounding terrified. “Rhoda, stop the car!”

He was running towards the child, but the Bad Hat could see that he wasn't going to make it in time. So, the dog ran even faster.

“What's going on?” Jack asked, looking confused.

The dog head-butted him as hard as he could, and Jack catapulted through the air, away from the car. Then, the Bad Hat focused on the little girl. He was going to grab her arm, but was afraid he might bite her, by mistake. So, he dug his teeth into the back of the little girl's waistband and jerked her up off the driveway in one clean motion.

It was hard to leap with about thirty pounds hanging from his muzzle, but the dog did his best. He felt the metal bumper of the car scrape painfully across his sore ribs—ow!—as he sailed over to the safety of the grass.

They landed hard, but the dog twisted at the last second, so that the little girl would fall on top of him, instead of the ground.

There was a frightening explosive sound as the back wheels of the car ran over the beach ball, and the dog cringed instinctively. Then, there was the screech of
brakes, and the car stopped, a couple of inches away from his tail and left hind leg.

Whew. That had been
close
.

“Wow,” Jack gasped. “Are you all right?”

It had all happened so quickly, that the Bad Hat wasn't even sure how he felt. Shaken up, mostly.

But, was the little girl okay? Well, probably, since she was laughing and clapping her hands and shouting, “Funny! Funny!”

The grown-ups were both yelling, their voices so frantic that he couldn't quite understand what they were saying, and the dog swiftly boosted the toddler up to her feet. Then, he warily sidled away, in case the parents were going to kick him or something. But, instead, they started hugging the little girl, everyone jabbering at once, and no one even seemed to notice him.

Okay, good. It was better that way.

He retreated back across the road, and sat down for a moment, to catch his breath. Wow, he had never run that fast before. It felt like he had maybe scraped the pads on one of his front paws, which hurt. But, he would wait until he was sure he was out of public view to lick the injury mournfully, and feel very, very sorry for himself.

In the meantime, Jack was nuzzling the little girl's face, and she gave him a big kiss in return.

“Whose dog is that?” the woman asked.

“I don't know,” the man said. “But, he saved Wendy's life.”

Seriously?
The Bad Hat wasn't sure whether to laugh—or be outraged.

The parents patted Jack lavishly, and the Bad Hat couldn't help being amused, as he watched him enjoying all of the attention and affection.

“Thank God. I'm so sorry. I—I'll never—” The woman stopped, shaking her head. Then, she stood up, and snapped her fingers invitingly. “Come here, boy. Let's get you home.”

Jack wagged his tail enthusiastically, but stayed just out of reach. “Should I let her? To see if we can get some lunch out of it?”

Was every single person they ever met in New Hampshire going to be determined to rescue them? He was the Bad Hat. Bad Hats never needed rescuing, or intervention. A simple nod of respect, and perhaps a brief wave, was all he requested.

“Up to you, little man,” he said. “But, I'm hitting the road.”

Jack sighed, but then ran after him. “Wait for me!”

They traveled down the road at a steady trot. Sometimes, they were on damp dirt roads; sometimes, they were on pavement. The dirt roads certainly felt a lot better on the Bad Hat's paws—one of which
was
scraped, and he was planning to allow himself a solid ten minutes of glum self-pity and moping about the small wound, as soon as he got a chance.

“Thank you for helping out,” Jack said.

Helping out?
The Bad Hat just looked at him.

“Okay,” Jack said, and grinned at him. “Thank you for saving me.”

Better. Much better. “You're welcome,” the Bad Hat said.

T
hey ran around unfamiliar roads for what seemed like a long time.

“This is nice and all,” Jack said, after a while, “but I'm really tired.”

That made two of them.

“Can we go home?” Jack asked. “And sneak out again, after we eat, and maybe rest a little?”

No, no, and
no
. This was supposed to be a nonstop, glorious, wildly eventful series of adventures. So, the Bad Hat shook his head.

Jack sighed. “Okay. I love you like a brother, Bad Hat, but I'm
starving
. I'll try to come back later.”

With that, he turned to go.

Wait, just like that? “Um, you're going to leave me?” the Bad Hat said. “By myself?”

“It's lunchtime,” Jack said. “I need my nourishment. See you soon!”

As he galloped away, the Bad Hat could hear him shouting at the top of his lungs, “Gravy, gravy, gravy! Lots and lots of gravy! I can't wait to have some very delicious gravy!”

When Jack disappeared around a curve in the road, the Bad Hat couldn't help feeling a little sad and lonely. But, even though the compatriot system was sort of nice, it wasn't like he didn't know how to be by himself. And he preferred it that way!

So, the dog continued down the road, trying not to let his tail drag on the ground. Because he wasn't sad. Nope. He was happy. He
loved
being a loner. Every single moment of his life was magical!

He was only trudging because he had hurt his foot, and didn't want to put too much weight on it, that's all.

And he
wasn't
upset about not getting to have any gravy.

As he limped along,
enjoying every single second
of his total isolation from the rest of the world, his delightful silence was suddenly broken by about a trillion voices all shouting at once.

Or, anyway, at least a couple of hundred.

All he knew for sure was that it was a school of some kind. Children often looked alike to him—mostly because not many kids had ever been nice to him, and so, he had learned to ignore them as much as possible.

These particular children seemed to be about twelve years old, maybe. The playground was crowded, and noisy, and there were balls of various kinds being hurled around. Footballs, baseballs, soccer balls, basketballs, red kickballs, and even two girls playing catch with lacrosse sticks and a tiny hard rubber ball.