Chapter 11

Rhoda fell asleep after breakfast, and Freckles decided that a nap wasn’t a bad idea and joined her on a fleece dog bed they dragged into a sunny spot under the window.

Vivian went downstairs, skipping her morning workout to clatter away at the sewing machine.

Marty had other plans. After all, Leggo hadn’t shown up for breakfast.

He trotted through the house, trying to pick up a recent scent, but it was difficult since they lived there and traveled through the house all the time. Leggo wasn’t at the toy box with his favorite chew, he wasn’t next to Frank, snoring in his recliner, and he wasn’t anywhere in the yard.

Where could that wrinklebrow be?

Marty had just come up from the dungeon when he caught the brown flash of his brother’s pelt. Marty galloped after him into the kitchen.

Daylight lay in squares across the floor, but Leggo was nosing his food bowl into a shadow underneath the island where the barstools stood.

Marty had perfected his kitchen sneak-walk long before he was a witch’s dog. He used it now to walk across the tile without clicking his nails.

“Hey!”

Leggo skittered on the floor, looking every which way.

“What gives?” said Marty.

Seeing his brother alone, Leggo scowled. “Cat-footed tail-chewer.”

“What are you doing?”

“Eating breakfast.”

“Breakfast was twenty minutes ago, man. Unless you were in the garage, I know you heard the microwave.”

“Maybe I was.”

“In the garage? Whatever! Dad was finishing up his tai chi tape, so you couldn’ta been out there.”

Marty bounded between Leggo and his bowl. He jutted his white chest out. “Why weren’t you at breakfast? Was it ‘cuz of Rhooooooda?”

“No,” said Leggo, hanging his head. “Freckles.”

“Freckles?! What’d that guy ever do to you?”

Without moving his head, Leggo gave his brother a baleful glare. Marty huffed, puzzled for a moment, then his ears perked in realization. “Oooh! Jealous of the hero, are we?”

Leggo mumbled something.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you over your mope-face.”

“RrrROWF!” Leggo barked, and Marty jumped back, stepping into the cold breakfast meat.

“Whatever,” he said. “I’m your brother. I know you’re all bark and no bite. Listen, I’m sure Rhoda’s great, but‌—‌she’s like, nine times taller than you, and a looker.”

“So?”

Marty sighed, then dropped his voice. “It ain’t like we ever been in the biz of making puppies, bro. The vet got us when we were pups!”

“But she smells like‌—‌and her fur! What a lady! And now she likes Freckles!”

“Well, he did keep her from being killer kitty chow.”

Leggo gave him another Look.

Marty groaned. “OK, OK, took it too far, my bad.”

He looked over his brother’s face. Gravity seemed to be pulling all of his wrinkles into heavy frowns.

“All right little bro. I’ll help you out with Rhoda.”

Leggo’s tail stub went upright. “Really?”

“Yeah…‌yeah…‌ You like her enough to give her onna your antlers to chew, that’s sayin’ something. Just get that sad sack look off your face, you’re clouding my fabulosity!”

Leggo slurped him on the face. “What do I have to do next?”

Marty stepped away. “Eat your breakfast. I’ll come up with a plan.”

The slow cooker’s lid rattled on the pot.