11
That night, it rained so hard it felt like the town was trapped under a waterfall. Gales of wind and water and who knew what else came pouring out of the sky. Truman had never seen such a deluge, but Cousin Jenny wouldn’t let him stand out on the porch to watch. “You’ll catch your death from it!” she said.
So he sat in his room in the dark, watching the rain come down. Lightning lit up the yard from time to time, followed by a low rumbling that grew louder and louder till it shook the glass windows around him.
It was in between lightning strikes that Truman heard a strange whimpering sound. “Do you hear that, Sook?”
Sook was trying to sleep. “Thought that was you being scared of the lightning.”
He heard it again. It was coming from outside. “No, that sounds like somebody’s crying.”
Sook came over to the window and they both pressed their faces against the glass. A huge crack of lightning cut across the sky—and that’s when they saw it: a black and white puppy, wet and shivering, in the backyard.
“Oh my!” she cried out.
“It’s a dog. It looks lost,” he said. “I’m going outside.”
“But, Tru—”
Truman grabbed a towel and headed through the kitchen, tiptoeing so that Jenny wouldn’t hear him. He peeked out the back door and over the edge of the porch. The wind was howling and he couldn’t see a thing through the downpour. When the sky lit up again, he spotted the puppy sitting in the mud off the back steps.
Truman was barefoot, but he threw the towel over his head and ran quickly out to the dog. He hated getting wet, especially in his pajamas. He wasn’t sure if the dog would bite but it seemed so helpless, shivering, with those big brown eyes staring up at him. Truman looked around but there was no one else in sight.
The bedroom window cracked open and Sook peered out into the rain. “Well, don’t just stand there, Truman. Bring it in.”
Truman gazed down at the puppy. The dog was sopping wet and looked like it hadn’t eaten in a while. It had been a long time since Truman had felt sorry for anyone other than himself. He quickly took the towel off and wrapped it around the dog. “I’m gonna call you Queenie,” he said.
Queenie wagged its tail.
He struggled to pick up the dog and managed to kind of drag it up onto the porch, where Sook was waiting with another towel and a piece of chicken.
He put the dog down and dried it off as it wolfed down the snack. “She’s hungry,” he said. The dog started licking Truman’s face. “Stop it now, Queenie.” He giggled.
“He likes you,” said Sook.
Truman kissed the dog on the nose. “She. Her name is Queenie.”
Sook bent down and peeked under the towel. “He. And you can’t name a he Queenie. Call him Rover or some boy’s name.”
Truman didn’t care. He’d always wanted a dog. Arch had promised him one long ago and he’d picked out the name Queenie because it came to him in a dream about Queen Mary.
“The dog’s name is Queenie and that’s all there is to it.” He hugged the dog and the dog licked his ear. “Oh, Queenie, I’m so glad you showed up.”
“Looks like some kind of rat terrier,” said Sook.
Truman petted his spotted fur. Sook put another piece of chicken down on the porch and Queenie sniffed around for it, then gobbled it right up.
“Just as I thought, a bloodhound,” said Truman. “Perfect for Sherlock’s next case.”
The light in Jenny’s room clicked on and Truman could see her shadow approaching the window. “Quick, Sook, let’s get him inside, before Jenny finds out.”
They picked Queenie up in the towel and brought the dog inside. Queenie started to whimper until Truman leaned into his ear and whispered, “Shhh, everything will be aaallll right.”
Once they were secure in their bedroom and Sook brought in some food and a bowl of water, Queenie settled in just fine. Truman made the dog a little bed next to the Tri-Motor plane he kept in the corner. Queenie was tuckered out, so he just plopped down and started snoring.
“We can keep Queenie, right, Sook?” he asked.
Truman could tell Sook was taken by the dog. “Well, we can keep it in here till Jenny finds out. Then you’ll have to deal with him . . . I mean her—it.”
“Don’t worry. Jenny would never throw out a homeless dog,” said Truman. “Least not one as cute as Queenie.”
It took only a few days for Jenny to find the source of the mysterious noises coming from Sook and Tru’s room. Truman came home from Nelle’s one day to find Jenny waiting on the front porch with Queenie on a rope leash. Sook sat behind them, looking mighty sorrowful.
Before she could even open her mouth, Truman jumped into action.
“Queenie!”
Queenie bounded off the porch, the leash slipping through Jenny’s hands. Truman fell to his knees and Queenie came running up to him. He hugged the dog and Queenie licked him all over his face. “Oh, Queenie, what would I do without you? You’ll never abandon me like my parents, right?” He buried his face in the dog’s neck, knowing full well that Jenny would never toss Queenie out now.
Jenny sighed. “Fine. But you must promise to take care of the dog and feed it all the leftover scraps we have and be mindful that it never bother anyone—except for a burglar.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Truman ran over and hugged Jenny. She stiffened for a moment but Truman could feel her melt in his arms.
Callie, of course, disapproved. “I do hope you plan on keeping this mutt outside.”
“No, ma’am. He’s staying in our room, ain’t that right, Sook?”
Sook nodded.
Bud was clearly in favor of Queenie. “Never had a proper coon-huntin’ dog before,” he said, petting the mutt.
“Please. Queenie’s a bloodhound and must save his nose for more important things, like solving cases.”
“Ain’t nothin’ more important than hunting coon, Little Chappie,” said Bud. Still, he liked having Queenie around, and the dog became a member of their family of misfits.
Soon, Callie took to practicing her school lessons on the dog. Queenie was the only one who would listen to her.