The wolfhound charged, snarling and barking up a crescendo that could crush eardrums without even trying to. Bridget sprang up in a dreadful fright, hit her head against the deadwood bench, and collapsed.
The long-haired hound stopped hard.
“Scared her,” said a rat, lifting his head at the ledge above. “Yes, yesss. Scared her good.”
“Awlready scared she was,” put in another.
“Scared her good,” repeated the first.
”I did, didn’t I?” agreed the dog. His chest surged in pride. “That was one of my better ones, I think.”
“Oh, the poor dear,” said the squirrel, scampering down to Bridget’s side. As you might expect, the squirrel was quite cautious, for this wise little critter had lived in the park longer than all the others, and so she knew the humbled young cat would strike out with terror if she were in any way alert. But that, at least, the squirrel didn’t have to worry about. Bridget was sound asleep with a big bump atop her skull. So as the elder of the woods, the squirrel did what she had to do. Turning toward the giant golden retriever, she snapped, “Butch, how many times must I tell you not to treat strangers that way?”
The big hound melted under her scrutiny.
“Ah, but Edna, I’ve got to practice on somebody,” he pleaded. “You know I’d never have hurt her.”
“Yes, I know that,” the squirrel allowed.
“We awl know that,” squeaked a rat.
“Yes, yesss, we do,” agreed another. And the rest all chimed in.
“But you can’t just go around scaring things like that,” Edna the squirrel continued. “Look at her! She’s all cut up and hurting.”
“Old Snapper tried to ghet her!” said another rat.
“He did! He did! He did!” sang the rats.
Butch hung his head to the ground. “But Edna, no one’s scared of me.”
“Yes,” Edna sighed. “Yes, well. I know, Butch dear, I know. Don’t let it bother you. You’re a good, loving dog. That’s what’s important; remember that.”
“I know,” Butch moaned, “but once, just once….”
Edna wasn’t listening. “Now, this spotted one…. It looks to me like she was hurting long before Snapper. Yes, well. That doesn’t matter now, does it? She’s here now, and she needs our help.”
“Humph!” crowed the hawk, who landed on the upper ledge and let himself hang upside-down so he could better view the festivities. “Looks to me like she needs the Stumper.”
“The Stumper!” screamed the rats. “The Stumper!”
“Hates us, he does!” said one.
“Yes,” said Edna, considering. “Well, I don’t know if I’d say hate, but even so, you’ll just have to forgive him that. But I think you’re right; we’ll need him. But we’ve also got to do what we can now.”
Edna crawled up to Bridget, feeling her ear and listening to her breathing. Then she drew back to the hound, who still knelt in sadness at her feet.
“Butch, you lick her wounds up all you can, and keep her warm. Show her your food and water bowl if she feels up to it. Agnes,” she said to the largest rat, “you all keep an eye out for the Stumper.”
“Humph!” called the hawk. “I’ll see him before they do!”
“You’re often gone in the mornings,” Edna replied.
“Humph!” snapped the hawk. “Don’t trust me, huh?”
“And why should I? I saw you dive over this little one.”
“Humph! Maybe someday I’ll dive over you!”
The rats scolded him for that, though Edna only laughed. It was the hawk, after all, who kept the park free of all the ruffian dogs, cats, skunks, snakes, and other rogues who might prey on its citizens. Butch, on the other paw, couldn’t even harm a tick on his head. God bless him, the hound was too gentle in his soul for such tasks.
“But Edna,” Butch cut in, “can’t I be scary some time? Please?”