A Tail Told by Shiroi

I must have been dozing after placing the gifts under the tree with Trouble Boy's "assistance." The floor was cold but it wasn't the chill that roused me. Trouble Boy was woo-ing, muttering softly to himself. When he heard my eyes open, he punched with the shiv paw and cocked his head in the "There's a mouse in the house, Daddy!" stance -- a look I knew well.

The screen door had come ajar. As I closed it, Shiroi began nuzzling a leaf that had blown up against the base of the little balsam. Or so I thought. Closer examination revealed a tightly wound parchment secured by sinew. Sitting tailor-fashion, I lit a candle and carefully unrolled the scroll. On it was inscribed a spidery script, cramped and hurried, as if the writer were not of customary stature. Lacking a scanner that you might see for yourself, I repeat verbatim that for which I have no explanation. "Please deliver this to Sheri," it began . . .

You have wondered what happened, and why. Let me tell you what I know.

Pepper was not at all settled into the Big Kennel; no, not at all settled. He was wandering all over the place, very unhappy. He spent his days searching, his nights restless, beset by -- not dreams so much as a longing. He, of course, knew what the trouble was but would not speak of it.

Pepper was ripping idly at a cloud one afternoon when an imposing Akita placed herself before him. "Follow me, please." Now this Aussie was not one to go with anybody but his mistress. There was something about this Akita, though, that brooked no denial so Pepper shagged himself to his feet and walked with her. Eventually, they came to a grassy glen. The Head Trainer dismissed the Akita with a nod, turned, and addressed the little Aussie.

"It's about time we had a chat, son. You've been avoiding me since you arrived. You don't like it here much, do you?"

What could he say? It was all true.

The Head Trainer began strolling; Pepper paced with him. They passed a host of dogs engaged in various entertainments and stopped at a snow-covered hollow.

"Son, I wish I could make things as they were, I purely do. But I can't. I realize . . ."

"You realize!" Pepper exploded. "I had a job to do! My vocation! And I was damn good at it --"

"You sure were," the Head Trainer chuckled.

"I was, and Sheri needed me and I was glad to be there and now I have no reason!" Pepper was practically shrieking at the Head Trainer. (That must have been why they had gone to this isolated area.)

The Head Trainer took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Of all the best dogs here, you seem to be taking this the hardest. Wrapped up in yourself, that's what you are. You need a job, son!"

That's where I came in.

I found myself in a familiar place I'd never been before with two strangers, a man and a dog. Good dog, too, I thought to myself. I could use the help of a pup like this.

The stranger spoke. "This here's Pepper. He's a fine Aussie who was the heart and soul of a beautiful companionship. He needs a job; something only he can do and that will make a difference for people. Now, I happen to know it's not getting any easier for you. Lots more people and the world seems a lot bigger. More difficult, too. Too many folks have alarms nowadays -- electric and animal. Getting a bit tough to sneak in, isn't it?"

What could I say? I wasn't certain how to keep up the pace or if I'd be able to make all my stops.

"Whaddya say, son? It's a good position with plenty of growth potential. Fella here's a good boss, too. Ask around. Gentle, kind, looks out for folks, good with children. Say, he sounds like you!"

"Yeah, yeah, tell it walking," the dog snarled disdainfully. "I wasn't born yesterday." The dog fixed his gaze on me, spoke to me directly: "What's the real deal?"

"I need someone to help me," I said. "Bypassing the electric alarms is a cakewalk. Getting past the adults, too. The kids are harder to fool since they haven't learned to doubt yet but I manage. The animals, though -- especially the dogs! They live in a different sensibility, they see on a different plane . . .but you know that. I must make my rounds, and they must not make a racket. A little fussing is okay. But a glimpse of me makes them so gosh-all fired up!" I bent down close to the dog, so close I could feel its panting on my nose. "You're an Aussie. A very special Aussie, I gather. If anyone can keep the cats, and especially the dogs, in line if they see me, you're the one. Would you help me, please?"

The little Aussie shuffled, backfilling, silently working his jaws. I held my breath. The little one looked to the man. "Will I see her? Will she see me?"

Who's her, I wondered?

"Yes," he answered. "But only once a year. I mean, like you used to. You can see her and watch out for her all the time, otherwise, back at the Kennel as the rest do. Sheri might not recognize you right off, but she'll see all right, if she knows how to look."

"Done, then," the Aussie declared, turning to me. "Shake, partner." Then we were home in my home. Our home, now.

That's what we've been doing, he and I. I spent my seasons getting ready, and so did he. Pepper's a quick study. He's been great tonight, and actually seems happy. Perhaps fulfilled is a better term. He loves what we're doing, and especially one stop. It's our last so we can dally there before going back.

Me? I'm known by lots of names, none of them really mine. Closest anyone has gotten was in an ancient Welsh tune -- sounds like Falalalala, which isn't really too bad for an English tongue. Some others pronounce one name like Sami-nicht-klaus, which is fairly close and literally true. Nicolaeus in another tongue . . . you get the idea. You've always known me, Sheri.

We'll be seeing you. Promise. That man, the one who brought the Aussie to the hollow? I understand that he was the Head Trainer. He said, there are no mysteries, simply more to be revealed. And there is always a reason.

*shrug* I'm just a simple laborer, myself.

P.S. Thank you for letting that young fellow help me.

That's what was on the parchment. I sat there until the candle burned down. Shiroi banged me with his paw again. "What's it mean, Daddy?" "It means," I told him, "We should go out to the field, play a while, gaze at the stars through the steam of our breath, then come home and go to sleep. And no barking!"

Copyright © 1998, 2001 by Shiroi Doma. Reprinted with permission of the author.