What the Dog Knows

Sylvia McNicoll

What the Dog knows

SYLVIA McNICOLL

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All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Publisher: Scott Fraser | Acquiring editor: Kathryn Lane | Editor: Susan Fitzgerald

Cover design and illustration: Laura Boyle

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: What the dog knows / Sylvia McNicoll.

Names: McNicoll, Sylvia, 1954- author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 2021039708X | Canadiana (ebook) 20210397101 | ISBN 9781459749894 (softcover) | ISBN 9781459749900 (PDF) | ISBN 9781459749917 (EPUB)

Classification: LCC PS8575.N52 W53 2022 | DDC jC813/.54—dc23

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and Ontario Creates, and the Government of Canada.

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High paws to all the dogs who walked through my head as I wrote this story. Mortie the Jackapoo, Worf the Australian cattle dog–boxer cross, Soji the Australian golden retriever, Piper the Bascottie, and Rosie the Bernedoodle. And to my grandchildren who walk them: William, Jadzia, Violet, Desmond, Scarlett, Hunter, Fletcher, Finley, and Ophelia.

1 – Thursday, July 1: Waiting for Relief

2 – Thursday, July 1: The Accident

3 – Friday, June 25: Waking Up Last Week

4 – Friday, June 25: The Here and Now

5 – Friday, June 25: Playing It Safe

6 – Friday, June 25: The Secret

7 – Friday, June 25: Waiting for the Accident to Happen

8 – Friday, June 25: Training Failure

9 – Saturday, June 26: The First Swimming Lesson

10 – Saturday, June 26: Gathering New Pack Members

11 – Saturday, June 26: Dad’s Weekend

12 – Sunday, June 27: Bleach Bath

13 – Monday, June 28: Morgan’s Scheme

14 – Monday, June 28: Bikini Shopping

15 – Monday, June 28: With Strings Attached

16 – Monday, June 28: Life Counter

17 – Tuesday, June 29: Knock-’Em-Dead Red

18 – Tuesday, June 29: Using Up Our Good Luck

19 – Tuesday, June 29: Lies Between Sisters

20 – Tuesday, June 29: Pool Party

21 – Tuesday, June 29: Wrong Place, Wrong Time

22 – Tuesday, June 29: Consequences

23 – Tuesday, June 29: The Vet Bill

24 – Wednesday, June 30: The Nightmare

25 – Thursday, July 1: Disaster Picnic

26 – Thursday, July 1: Losing Diesel

Acknowledgements

About the Author

1 Thursday, July 1:

Waiting for Relief

Do you ever regret something so hard that you play it over in your head a million times, with a million different endings except for the one that actually happened? Last week a car killed my dog, Diesel. My fault. I should have taken him babysitting with me — he loved my cousin, Luanne. I see myself making sure the gate latches properly behind me and that there are no holes under the fence Diesel can dig through to escape. I picture the Smart Car that hit him braking or scooting around him, and I see Diesel bounding after me, safe, ears flying behind him like flags in the wind.

Instead, here I sit on my aunt’s stoop holding my fifteen-month-old cousin, rocking her back and forth, hoping the milk in her bottle will last till her mom comes home. July 1, Canada Day. We won’t be picnicking at the beach like in other years. Everyone’s working — “Service industry, what are you going to do?” Mom says — and it’s too hot, same as every day since the beginning of June.

“Hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk,” Dad used to say. Then last month he decided to prove it.

“Scientifically impossible,” Mom said as she reached for the carton of eggs on the counter. “Besides, I’m the only one around here who ever fries any eggs.”

Dad, teasing her and trying to make her laugh, I suppose, scooped the carton away from her and ran outside.

“You bring that back! I’m making breakfast.”

Too late. The door slammed behind him. Diesel and I ran to watch as he knelt down on our walkway, removed one egg, and cracked it on the cement.

“You’re wasting food!” Mom hollered from the window.

The egg collected dirt as it pooled into a groove. Dad cracked another on the driveway. That one ran down into the street.

“Stop it!” Mom yelled.

Diesel barked.

“Sunny side up,” Dad called and broke open a couple more on the hood of the car. Those slid off.

The edges of one egg on the roof of our old Neon clunker finally turned white. “It’s working!” I cheered.

“We don’t have money for this!” Mom cried as that one slid down the windshield.

Dad should have stopped then and made pancakes for us all with the last two in the carton. Maybe then we could have just had a laugh together. But instead he went inside for tinfoil and a magnifying glass. That method might have worked in a couple of hours. But Diesel quickly licked those up as Dad scrubbed the rest off the car. Meanwhile, Mom packed Dad’s clothes in a suitcase, which she pitched out the door.

“When you learn to act like a grown-up, you can come back.”

If only he had made her breakfast instead. She would have forgiven the big screen Dad gave her for their anniversary earlier that morning — heck, she loves watching movies. We would still be together. Even Diesel, ’cause I wouldn’t have had to babysit Luanne. Mom wouldn’t have found that job at Donut Time, and she’d have been minding Luanne instead of me.

That’s me imagining everything that month going a different way. I regret it all.

• • •

Today the sky looks as if one of those egg yolks is poaching right behind the cast-iron clouds. You can see the yellow through the cracks. Feels like a thunderstorm is coming, same as yesterday and the day before. The clouds grumble but they don’t cry.

And I sure want to keep Luanne from crying, too.

“Shh, shh, Mommy’s on her way.” I stroke her damp forehead. Mostly she’s a happy toddler, cooing and laughing, but with the heat she hasn’t been able to nap all day. She’s growing crabbier by the minute. Her skin feels feverish to the touch. The bottle’s my last resort. She should be drinking from a sippy cup, but because she was born with a hole in her heart, we baby her a lot to keep her from getting too excited. Her mom’s shift ended at two, and the watch Dad bought me now shows THU July 01 3:30.

“Everyone else uses a cellphone to tell time,” I complained when Dad gave it to me on my last birthday. A red digital antique.

“This watch is water-resistant to two hundred metres,” he answered. “You show me a phone like that.”

“Yeah, well, you show me a watch I can use to text a friend. Besides, I’m not ever gonna go diving. I can’t even swim.” I acted as crabby as Mom. I regret that, too.

Today I smile at the watch. It makes me feel like a piece of Dad’s dorkiness comes with me everywhere. I sure miss him living with us. Things are way too grown-up without him. The seconds spin by: 51, 52, 53 … Aunt Cathie should have been here half an hour ago.

Luanne’s thick black hair lies flat and wet across her forehead. Her skin clams against my arms as her lips pucker out and in with a loud pft, pft sound. The milk is going down fast, and when it disappears, I’ll be in for it. C’mon, Aunt Cathie. Where are you?

The road in front of Aunt Cathie’s house steams. Maybe we can’t fry eggs on the sidewalk like Dad says, but we can cook wieners on the street. Dog days of summer, Dad calls them. That’s when Sirius, the Dog Star, rises in the sky with the sun. Can’t see the star, just like I can’t see my dog anymore.

Diesel was another birthday present from Dad. A surprise present for my tenth. Another thing that hadn’t impressed Mom. “One more thing to look after,” she complained. But who could resist a big-eyed, wobbly-pawed puppy? Not even Mom. Until he chewed socks, underwear, shoes, and even the door of the kitchen cupboard where we kept his treats. He upchucked on the couch and dug up the yard. Diesel grew big and strong and never stopped jumping on people. Mom blamed all that on Dad.

Seven days ago, my big teddy-bear dog lay at my feet, panting, ready to leap up if I even spelled the word walk. But then I left Diesel behind so I could babysit Luanne. Too much trouble to take him along. At least I should have put him inside where it was cooler, given him something to drink. Dad would have done that if he’d still been living with us.

Instead, Diesel took off out of the backyard. He was just coming after me. If only I hadn’t left him behind. If only, if only …

Even Mom misses him. Her anger seems to have leaked out of her like air from a balloon. No reason for her to nag anymore. I can hear her in my mind: Are you gonna walk that animal? Do I have to feed your dog? Why don’t you brush him? His hair is all over the place. Just like I can imagine the snuffling noises, the toenails clicking on the floor, the barks, the whimpers. Mostly our house just sounds quiet, angry turned sad. Why didn’t I take him that day? Why, why?

Shifting Luanne in my arms, I lift my bare feet, ready to lower them onto Diesel’s warm fur, and I swear I can feel the heaving of his chest beneath them and the thump, thump of his big heart beating Everything is fine. Everything is fine.

But that’s my imagination acting up. The heat beneath my feet comes directly from the hard cement sidewalk.

Pft, pft, psht, psht! Luanne sounds like she’s sucking on air now. Her brown eyes widen. I tip the bottle and prop up her hot body. “Hold on, hold on. She’ll be here any minute.” I shield my eyes to watch the corner bus stop. Come on, come on, come on! “Where’s Mommy’s bus?”

“There’s a detour on Main Street.” Morgan Hanson’s razor-edged words cut the heavy air. Baby Luanne struggles to sit up.

Morgan Hanson, the tree-tall girl who lives across from Aunt Cathie, has snuck up on me. We’ve been not-friends since she moved to our block last year. We have nothing in common except the neighbourhood we live in and all the group projects we’ve had to do together. “You babysitting on a holiday?”

“What’s it look like? It may be Canada Day but all my family is broke.”

Morgan shrugs her twig-thin shoulders, looks around, and sighs. “Wanna come swimming with me after you’re done?”

“That’s okay. You go on ahead.” Morgan knows from gym class that I can’t swim. Yet all week she’s been ragging at me to come with her to the pool, like she suddenly wants us to be besties.

“You’re sad about the dog. I get it.” Morgan tries again. “And you’re cheap. But we’re not even going to the pool. It won’t cost anything at Hamilton Beach.” Her pale eyes narrow like she’s trying to read inside my head. She folds her long, branchy arms across her chest. “Wouldn’t want you to wear the shine off your debit card.”

I squint at her. “Diesel. My dog’s name was Diesel.” I swear Morgan just hangs around to make fun of me. “For your information, I don’t even carry my debit card on me. All my money goes straight into the bank for my education.” My parents can’t save for anything, let alone medical school. Someday I’m going to be a heart surgeon and patch up a little kid’s heart. A kid like Luanne.

“Whatever. The beach is free. And I heard they’re giving away ice cream to the first two hundred fifty people. We should hurry.”

“You don’t have to wait for me. Not if there’s a detour and Aunt Cathie’s tied up for a long time.” Part of me wants Morgan to hold back. Like a real friend would. Her parents are split up, so maybe we do have something in common, something she could help me with. Plus I imagine the beach at the lake, the white-winged sailboats skimming across blue waves. The sand will scorch my feet, but I can hop to the cool water and let it lap at my toes.

Imagination can sometimes be my biggest flaw. Probably I get that from Dad.

Morgan made fun of me enough in gym, windmilling her arms like mine when I tried the front crawl, snorting out water. But I can wade in as high as my waist without looking too stupid.

I squeeze my eyes closed, and I can see Diesel running and biting at the waves. Clunk — my heart hits my ribs so hard it hurts. I can’t breathe.

“Lookie, lookie. Here comes Mama!” Morgan calls suddenly.

I open my eyes.

Morgan smirks. The large flecks of gold across her cheeks lift.

Luanne sits upright in my arms.

I haven’t heard or seen the bus. But sure enough, there’s Aunt Cathie strolling our way, big hips swinging beneath a plain aqua dress, her uniform for Maples Manor. Round and soft, she looks a lot like Mom. Except Mom always complains about needing to go on a diet. Aunt Cathie eats what she likes.

Luanne squirms, holding open her chubby arms and wailing. I set her down, and she toddles toward her mother.

Aunt Cathie waves as she draws closer.

Luanne steps faster. “Ma, ma!” For a kid who just learned to walk last month, she is lightning on legs.

Her face glowing from the heat, Aunt Cathie still manages to grin at her little girl. As soon as Luanne comes within arm’s length, Aunt Cathie swallows her in a big hug, kissing her cheeks. “Mommy loves you,” she coos into Luanne’s ear. Then she turns to me. “Thank you, Naomi. Keeping Luanne at home with someone who loves her gives me such peace of mind.”

I nod. “She didn’t like the heat today.” I hold up Luanne’s empty bottle. “And that was the last of your milk.”

“Wish I’d known.” My aunt pats Luanne’s back. “I could have picked some up on the way home.”

What the Dog Knows