Winter Moon

years old and used to it now. I hear from Paul Youngblood you're in

the market for just such an animal as Falstaff here." Toby gasped. He

gaped at Travis. "Hold your mouth open that wide," Travis warned him,

"and some critter is going to run in there and build a nest."

He smiled at Heather and Jack. "Was this what you had in mind?"

"Just about exactly," Jack said. Heather said, "Except, we thought a

puppy . . ."

"With Falstaff, you get all the joy of a good dog and none of that

puppy mess. He's two years old, mature, housebroken, well behaved.

Won't spot the carpet or chew up the furniture. But he's still a young

dog, lots of years ahead of him.

Interested?" Toby looked up worriedly, as if it was beyond conception

that such an enormous great good thing as this could befall him without

his parents objecting or the ground opening and swallowing him alive.

Heather glanced up at Jack, and he said, "Why not?" Looking at Travis,

Heather said, "Why not?"

"Yes!" Toby made it a one-word expression of explosive ecstasy.

They went to the back of the wagon, and Travis opened the tailgate.

Falstaff bounded out of the wagon to the ground and immediately began

excitedly sniffing everyone's feet, turning in circles, one way and

then the other, slapping their legs with his tail, licking their hands

when they tried to pet him, a jubilation of fur and warm tongue and

cold nose and heart-melting brown eyes. When he calmed down, he chose

to sit in front of Toby, to whom he offered a raised paw.

"He can shake hands!" Toby exclaimed, and proceeded to take the paw

and pump it.

"He knows a lot of tricks," Travis said. "Where'd he come from?" Jack

asked. "A couple in town, Leona and Harry Seaquist. They had goldens

all their lives.

Falstaff here was the latest."

"He seems too nice to just be given up." Travis nodded.

"Sad case. A year ago, Leona got cancer, was gone in three months.

Few weeks back, Harry suffered a stroke, lost the use of his left

arm.

Speech is slurred, and his memory isn't so good. Had to go to Denver

to live with his son, but they didn't want the dog. Harry cried like a

baby when he said goodbye to Falstaff. I promised him I'd find a good

home for the pooch."

Toby was on his knees, hugging the golden around the neck, and it was

licking the side of his face. "We'll give him the best home any dog

ever had anywhere anytime ever, won't we, Mom, won't we, Dad?"

To Travis, Heather said, "How sweet of Paul Youngblood to call you

about us."

"Well, he heard mention your boy wanted a dog. And this isn't the

city, everyone living in a rat race. We have plenty of time around

here to meddle in other people's business." He had a broad, engaging

smile.

The chilling breeze had grown stronger as they talked. Suddenly it

gusted into a whistling wind, flattened the brown grass, whipped

Heather's hair across her face, and drove needles of cold into her.

"Travis," she said, shaking hands with him again, "when can you come

for dinner?"

"Well, maybe Sunday a week."

"A week from Sunday it is," she said. "Six o'clock."

To Toby, she said, "Come on, peanut, let's get inside."

"I want to play with Falstaff."

"You can get to know him in the house," she insisted. "It's too cold

out here."

"He's got fur," Toby protested. "It's you I'm worried about,

dummkopf.

You're going to get a frostbitten nose, and then it'll be as black as

Falstaff's."

Halfway to the house, padding along between Heather and Toby, the dog

stopped and looked back at Travis Potter. The vet made a go-ahead wave

with one hand, and that seemed sufficient permission for Falstaff. He

accompanied them up the steps and into the warm front hall.

Travis Potter had brought a fifty-pound bag of dry dog food with him.

He hefted it out of the back of his Range Rover and put it on the

ground against a rear tire. "Figured you wouldn't have dog chow on

hand just in case someone happened by with a golden retriever." He

explained what and how much to feed a dog Falstaff's size.

"What do we owe you?" Jack asked. "Zip. He didn't cost me. Just

doing a favor for poor Harry."

"That's nice of you. Thanks. But for the dog food?"

"Don't worry about it. In years to come, Falstaff's going to need his

regular shots, general looking after. When you bring him to me, I'll

soak you plenty."

Grinning, he slammed the tailgate. They went around to the side of the

Rover farthest from the house, using it as shelter from the worst of

the biting wind.

Travis said, "Understand Paul told you in private bout Eduardo and his

raccoons. Didn't want to alarm your wife."

"She doesn't alarm easy."

"You tell her then?"

"No. Not sure why, either. Except ... we've all got a lot on our

minds already, a year of trouble, a lot of change. Anyway, wasn't much

Paul told me. Just that the coons were behaving oddly, out in broad

daylight, running in circles, and then they just dropped dead."

"I don't think that was all of it."

Travis hesitated. He leaned back at an angle against the side of the

Rover bent his knees, slouching a little to get his head down out of