Six

Dinner is a noisy event at the Coolidge table. Dr. Annie quizzes us during the whole meal. I think she’s afraid that while she was in town doing surgery, she may have missed something really important on the farm.

“Hank,” Annie prods, “how are the two young horses coming along?” She’s sitting so close to Popeye that I don’t know how either of them can eat. But they do. Dr. Annie isn’t skinny. She’s shaped kinda like a bowling pin.

Once Annie and Popeye dragged Kat and me to a carnival. The whole scene was pretty lame, except for this loud dude who guessed people’s weight or what they did for a living. Annie wouldn’t let the guy weigh her, so he tried to guess her line of work. He examined her hands, studied her up and down. Then he took a stab at what Annie Coolidge did for a living. He guessed grocery store clerk, elementary school teacher, and homemaker before Popeye proudly told the little crowd that had gathered that his wife was a surgeon.

The guy busted out laughing. He turned to Popeye and said, “And I’ll bet you’re a rocket scientist.”

Annie was the one who set him straight. “Much more important than that,” she told the guy. “My husband is a fireman.”

When Annie talks, Popeye stares at her, like every word matters. He hands her the butter for her third biscuit the instant she finishes her second.

Hank takes another bite of the tuna casserole Popeye threw together. “I saddled both of the new horses, but I haven’t mounted either of them yet. They’re too skittish. Starlight and I went for a long ride instead. I almost missed Doc Jim.”

All eyes zero in on Dakota, who hasn’t said two words during the meal. Neither have I, although I don’t think anybody noticed. Kat didn’t come down for dinner, so it’s pretty much been a Coolidge conversation so far.

“Dakota,” Popeye says, “tell my Annie about the doc’s visit.”

Dakota twists the napkin in her lap. I don’t think she’s eaten anything. “The vet didn’t really do much. Blackfire’s got an abscess in his hoof, and Doc Jim couldn’t get it out. He couldn’t even get it to drain. He just kept cutting and cutting, but it didn’t do any good.” She stops and swallows, but I’m pretty sure she’s swallowing tears and not casserole.

Hank jumps to the vet’s defense. “Doc Jim did everything he could. He cut into the hoof until he couldn’t go deeper. He thinks soaking Blackfire’s hoof will make the abscess drain. And the penicillin should keep the infection down.”

“That makes sense,” Popeye says. Then, just like he’s talking to one of us, he prays, eyes open, no change in his voice. “Father, we ask You to take care of Blackfire for us. Help Dakota know what to do. Comfort both of them. Thanks for that horse and the way he’s been coming around. Pass the biscuits, please.”

The last part he aims at me. I pass the biscuits.

Annie and Popeye keep the conversation going. But I concentrate on getting dinner down so I can walk the dogs before it gets too dark.

“Wes,” Annie says, scooping up another helping of casserole, “I stopped at Nice Manor today, and George was there. She said the residents can’t wait to see the dogs you’ve got for them.”

I’ve never heard anybody except Annie call Georgette Coolidge “George.”

“I’ve got a lot of training to do with the dogs before they’re ready for the nursing home,” I say, finishing off my last green bean. It’s not going to be easy to teach that bulldog not to jump up on people.

“Assisted living,” Annie corrects. “Better not let the residents hear you calling Nice Manor a nursing home. There’s a big difference. Nobody will be bedridden or needing constant nursing care. Then again, George was saying that if this pet program works for the hardier residents, she thinks it will work at Nice Nursing Home. Those people would love having animals around.”

Annie takes a bite, chews, and dabs her lips with her napkin. “I do hope someone will like the dog with three legs.” Before dinner Annie gave each dog a checkup, and I knew she took to the Pom. “All four dogs are really quite fit, considering where they come from. They could stand to put on weight, except for that peculiar-looking dog that kept jumping on me.”

“I’ll fatten ’em up in no time,” I promise.

Above us, the Pomeranian’s toenails click-click as he walk-hops, pacing my bedroom floor.

“Can I go walk the dogs now?” I ask, getting up from the table.

“I suppose,” Annie says.

“Wait!” Dakota tosses her napkin on her plate, covering her uneaten food. “What about dishes? It’s Wes’s turn to wash.”

“It’s going to be dark if I wait any longer,” I explain.

Beside me, Rex, who’s been lying at my feet, sits up.

“You should have thought of that before dinner,” Dakota says.

“Thought of what?” I snap. “When they gotta go, they gotta go. Nothing to think about. Since nobody’s going to help me walk the dogs, what am I supposed to do?”

“The dishes.” Dakota leans back in her chair and folds her arms in front of her. “I’m sure not doing them.”

“Because you have so much to do?” I shove my chair in, but it slides too hard and slams the table. Rex starts barking.

“I’m e-mailing Winnie to ask her how to soak Blackfire’s hoof, not that it’s any of your business. And I have to check on my horse. So, yeah. I do have a lot to do.”

“Yeah. Must be rough taking care of one animal,” I say, pouring on the sarcasm. “One. And you don’t even have to walk him.”

“Well, you don’t—”

“That’s enough,” Popeye says.

Dakota stops, but if looks had volume, hers would be earsplitting.

“Say, my love,” Annie says, as she stands up and gathers their plates, “how would you like to cuddle with me over a sink of dirty dishes?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Popeye answers.

“Fine,” Dakota mumbles. “Do Wes’s job for him.” She gets up, drops her dishes into the sink, and heads outside.

I start with the littlest dog first. After 20 minutes with the Pom, I’ve learned two facts about him: (1) He can get around better on three legs than some dogs do on four. And (2) he takes his sweet time doing his business.

The terrier isn’t much better. Every little sound throws her off. Just when I think she’s finally going to do what we’re out here for, she hears Dakota slamming things in the barn or Annie and Popeye laughing from the kitchen or a cricket chirping. And it’s a no go.

By the time I get done with all the dogs, it’s dark. Popeye, Annie, Hank, and Dakota are stretched out on the grass for a moon check. Almost every night, unless it’s raining, we check out the night sky. I thought it was pretty lame at first, but it’s okay. Popeye knows the names of the stars, and he can point out a million constellations.

“Hurry, Wes!” Popeye hollers. “You don’t want to miss the show tonight.”

“Be out in a minute,” I answer.

I kennel the Blab and the bulldog but leave the kennel doors open. Then I dash upstairs to check on the Pom and the terrier. I find them curled up together in the dog bed.

I ease the door shut so I don’t disturb them. Then I head back toward the stairway.

Dakota’s bedroom door is open, and the light’s on. Annie hates it when we leave the lights on. Besides, Dakota’s room faces the front of the house. Even the little bit of light from her window can cut down on our sky view.

I step into her room and start to turn off her light when I see something that gets my attention. My name. There’s a piece of paper on Dakota’s dresser, and my name is on it. From where I’m standing, still in the doorway, it looks like some kind of list.

Dakota is famous for her lists. Sometimes she writes down “to do” lists or “to get” lists. Mostly, she lists things in her journal. But this one’s lying out in plain sight. And that’s my name I’m looking at.

It’s not like this is her private journal. I’d never touch one of her real journals. This is definitely different. This list is out in the open for anybody to read. I mean, her door was open. The light was on. Plus, Wes is on that list.

In two strides, I’m at Dakota’s dresser. I don’t touch her list, but I read:

Top 10 Tips for Taking Care of Blackfire

1. Use an old feed bucket for the water.

2. Make the water warm, not too cold or too hot.

3. Play music while you soak the hoof.

4. Scratch his withers during the process.

5. Start and finish with a handful of oats.

6. Don’t soak the hoof the same time he gets his shot.

7. Keep the stall clean and dry.

8. Hang out with him after the soaking.

9. Pray.

10. WES—Keep him as far away from my horse, and me, as possible.

Real nice. I turn off the light and go downstairs.