"Want to go get the poor doggie, now that he's all better?" Clark grinned, and at a loss for words, grabbed Martha's leg and squeezed. The vet had let them come visit the recovering animal, who was growing fast, and Clark had already named him Rusty.
There had been a debate when Jonathan and he came back from one visit and Jonathan told him to go wash his hands, Clark responding that Rusty had already washed them for him. That aside, Clark had agreed solemnly to all the new responsibilities that would come with having a dog of his very own: feeding him and making sure he always had water, taking him outside when needed, and cleaning up any accidents.
Jonathan watched, grinning, as they left. Before taking Clark to the vet to visit that first time, he'd spelled out a full case for adopting the dog. It would teach Clark responsibility, Clark had fully developed a sense of how much an animal or person could be hugged without hurting it, and some of the dog's tendons might not heal completely, so Clark would learn more about how to slow down to accommodate somebody moving slower, and Clark had already become attached to it, from the first time he laid eyes on it. Martha listened with an abstracted, pondering expression on her face, and then said that of course, she agreed entirely, and had from the words, "I think it would be a good idea." It had just been too much to resist, letting Jonathan marshall out the points like an attorney.
He'd actually left one out. A boy just plain shouldn't grow up without a dog any more than parents should have to go through parenting without giving their boy a dog. That was simple fact.
Reminding himself that a working farmer doesn't have time to sit around daydreaming, he started that day's projects, sawing down unproductive branches on the fruit trees and chopping them to size for the fireplace. Apple wood had the perfect scent when it burned, warm and sweet but with just a hint of a tang to it. The leaves he added to the compost pile, together with most of the breakfast scraps. As he finished fixing the hole in the big feed bucket, he heard the truck pull in.
Clark was carrying the puppy, who was wriggling and licking any bare skin he found. Martha trailed after them, eyes glinting in amusement. "I'll show him where his dishes are and let him get used to the house," Clark said, clearly having memorized the vet's instructions, right down to the intonation, as he waited for Martha to open the screen door.
Jonathan shook his head, remembering the dogs from his own childhood. If he thought enough, as he went through the rest of the morning's tasks, there wasn't a corner of the farm that didn't have some memory of games or work together.
When he went inside, Martha greeted him with a finger over her lips, and pointed upstairs. He tiptoed up the stairs and looked in Clark's bedroom. Rusty was sprawled, sound asleep, on the bed with the air of a dog who knows that he's at home, and Clark was just as deeply asleep, his head pillowed on the dog's side.
There had been a debate when Jonathan and he came back from one visit and Jonathan told him to go wash his hands, Clark responding that Rusty had already washed them for him. That aside, Clark had agreed solemnly to all the new responsibilities that would come with having a dog of his very own: feeding him and making sure he always had water, taking him outside when needed, and cleaning up any accidents.
Jonathan watched, grinning, as they left. Before taking Clark to the vet to visit that first time, he'd spelled out a full case for adopting the dog. It would teach Clark responsibility, Clark had fully developed a sense of how much an animal or person could be hugged without hurting it, and some of the dog's tendons might not heal completely, so Clark would learn more about how to slow down to accommodate somebody moving slower, and Clark had already become attached to it, from the first time he laid eyes on it. Martha listened with an abstracted, pondering expression on her face, and then said that of course, she agreed entirely, and had from the words, "I think it would be a good idea." It had just been too much to resist, letting Jonathan marshall out the points like an attorney.
He'd actually left one out. A boy just plain shouldn't grow up without a dog any more than parents should have to go through parenting without giving their boy a dog. That was simple fact.
Reminding himself that a working farmer doesn't have time to sit around daydreaming, he started that day's projects, sawing down unproductive branches on the fruit trees and chopping them to size for the fireplace. Apple wood had the perfect scent when it burned, warm and sweet but with just a hint of a tang to it. The leaves he added to the compost pile, together with most of the breakfast scraps. As he finished fixing the hole in the big feed bucket, he heard the truck pull in.
Clark was carrying the puppy, who was wriggling and licking any bare skin he found. Martha trailed after them, eyes glinting in amusement. "I'll show him where his dishes are and let him get used to the house," Clark said, clearly having memorized the vet's instructions, right down to the intonation, as he waited for Martha to open the screen door.
Jonathan shook his head, remembering the dogs from his own childhood. If he thought enough, as he went through the rest of the morning's tasks, there wasn't a corner of the farm that didn't have some memory of games or work together.
When he went inside, Martha greeted him with a finger over her lips, and pointed upstairs. He tiptoed up the stairs and looked in Clark's bedroom. Rusty was sprawled, sound asleep, on the bed with the air of a dog who knows that he's at home, and Clark was just as deeply asleep, his head pillowed on the dog's side.