Life with Fred and Sadie
by
D. V. Stone
A whorl of white resembling a surfer’s wave blew past the window as Dee Booker peered through the circle she’d made in the frosted glass. Snow piled up against the window, falling in sheets of white. In the distance, she spotted the yellow lights of the township snowplows. They’d be struggling to keep up with this blizzard.
Up and down the Northeast, the forecast had been the normal warning of anywhere from the usual three to thirty inches. The newscasters were so accurate. She harrumphed. Looked like it was going to be at least twenty-four here in Lake Unami. Up further north, they’d be getting even more.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Dee turned from the window.
Over on the couch, the basset hounds lay sprawled. Fred on his back, legs akimbo. Sadie draped over the armrest. It was her tail beating a tempo. She was the first alert system.
The front door opened, and in came Peter, looking like a snowman. His hat had an icicle dangling, and his beard glistened with frozen droplets.
Stomp. Stomp.
The hounds leaped—okay—and bumbled to their feet.
Fred let loose an ahrooooo that tickled her eardrums.
“Stay there, and I’ll grab you a towel.” Dee hurried down the hallway to the laundry room, grabbed a maroon terrycloth towel, and returned to her husband, who stood chatting with the dogs.
“The snow is over your heads.”
Fred whined.
Sadie stared at Peter with sorrowful eyes.
“No way. You both went out before this started.” He took the towel offered by Dee. “It’s supposed to blow over before long.”
“Are you trying to reason with them?” Dee rolled her eyes.
“They understand every word I say. Watch. Who wants a cookie?”
Fred barked, but Sadie looked unimpressed.
“Okay,” he continued. “Who wants a big cookie?”
Both of them tried to get traction on the tile floor as they ran for the kitchen. Low to the ground and long, Fred looked like the little kids’ toy, the dog one with the spring in the middle, going around the corner. It took a second for the back to catch up with the front.
Sadie, more compact, trotted with more decorum after him.
“See.” Peter toed off his boot and put on the waiting slippers. “I’m going to get changed out of these wet clothes.”
“How is Mrs. Chasen?” Checking on their elderly neighbor was the reason he’d been out in this weather. “Does she need anything?”
“Cranky as ever.” Peter shrugged. “She says she’s got heat, food, and books that we overcharged her.”
“Ha, we gave her a discount.” Dee shook her head. “Boardwalk Books needs to make a little money. I’m making a late lunch.”
Howling from the kitchen interrupted the conversation.
“See what you started?”
“Well, you’re taking too long.” Peter scuffed his way down the same hall to get changed.
“Be careful, my dear husband, or you’ll get peas with the steak I’m making.” Dee sauntered off to the kitchen.
“Ugh,” his voice faded. “I hate peas.”
In the kitchen, instead of patiently waiting, Fred stood on his hindlegs counter surfing and spotted fudge, a gift from a friend from the Jersey Shore. While he may appear short when on all fours, Dee had learned that when on his two rear legs, the hound could not only reach, but experience showed he could knock the cake saver onto the floor and eat an entire homemade pumpkin pie given to them by their neighbor, Desi.
“You get away from there.” She swiped the plate of fudge out of his reach. “That’s not good for you.”
Sadie sat waiting, pretending she wouldn’t think of sharing anything Fred stole.
Dee opened the child/dog proof latch and pulled out the container of treats. “Here you go.”
Both dogs, now with slobber-chops hanging from their mouths, grabbed the goodies and went to the area rug to munch away.
“That smells delicious.” Peter sauntered into the kitchen wearing his flannel pants and cardigan sweater. “I’m starving.”
“The bones or the steak?”
Dee carried the loaded plates over to the table in the four season’s greenhouse.
The dogs took positions on either side of her husband’s chair. Tongues hung out, and big brown eyes implored him for a taste. Or an accidental dropping of food.
“You guys aren’t getting any of this.” He glanced out the window. “Looks like a snowplow heading this way.”
Seeing an opportunity, Fred jumped up on Peter’s lap with his forepaws, slapped his face sideways, and grabbed the forbidden steak. He bolted as fast as his short legs would carry him.
“Hey, that’s mine!” Peter shouted.
“Take that from him,” Dee ordered.
“I don’t want it now.” Her husband watched as, in two gulps, his steak disappeared. “I’ll have a PB&J.”
“That” —Dee pointed her fork with a perfectly done piece of beef at him— “is rewarding bad behavior.”
Dinner was all cleaned up and everyone was hanging out in the living room a bit later.
Bong. Bong. Bong.
The banjo-shaped clock on the wall toned four o’clock.
“I better go snow plow again before it gets dark.” Peter set down his sudoku puzzle and got up from his favorite recliner to look out the window. “The snow is stopping.”
Fred and Sadie lifted their heads expectantly from their personal corners of the couch. “I know, guys. You need to go out before dark, too. I’ll shovel a spot, then come get you.”
“You talk to those hounds more than you do me.” Dee peered at him over her e-reader.
“Do you want me to talk to you more?” He knew she was a woman of few words.
“That’s okay. I’ll live.” She blew him a kiss and returned to reading her book.
About 15 minutes later, the door opened. “Come on, you guys, I’ve made a spot for you.”
The dogs ran for the door, and shortly after, the soothing sound of the snow blower grated the peace and quiet.
“Hey, get back here!” Peter’s lilting voice trilled through the window.
Dee jumped up and ran to the door. Peering out she couldn’t help the laughter erupting. All she could see was the tip of Fred’s tail moving at a quick pace between the snowbanks, running in the tracks the snow plow made with Peter scrambling after him.
By the time she’d controlled herself, got boots and a coat from the closet, and grabbed a leash, Peter, hefting a sixty-five-pound basset, came trudging up the road.
Sadie, who couldn’t be bothered to make a break for it, sat on the welcome mat in front of the door.
Dee sat down on the step next to her. “You guys are a handful, but I wouldn’t trade either of you for the world.
The End.
by
D. V. Stone
A whorl of white resembling a surfer’s wave blew past the window as Dee Booker peered through the circle she’d made in the frosted glass. Snow piled up against the window, falling in sheets of white. In the distance, she spotted the yellow lights of the township snowplows. They’d be struggling to keep up with this blizzard.
Up and down the Northeast, the forecast had been the normal warning of anywhere from the usual three to thirty inches. The newscasters were so accurate. She harrumphed. Looked like it was going to be at least twenty-four here in Lake Unami. Up further north, they’d be getting even more.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Dee turned from the window.
Over on the couch, the basset hounds lay sprawled. Fred on his back, legs akimbo. Sadie draped over the armrest. It was her tail beating a tempo. She was the first alert system.
The front door opened, and in came Peter, looking like a snowman. His hat had an icicle dangling, and his beard glistened with frozen droplets.
Stomp. Stomp.
The hounds leaped—okay—and bumbled to their feet.
Fred let loose an ahrooooo that tickled her eardrums.
“Stay there, and I’ll grab you a towel.” Dee hurried down the hallway to the laundry room, grabbed a maroon terrycloth towel, and returned to her husband, who stood chatting with the dogs.
“The snow is over your heads.”
Fred whined.
Sadie stared at Peter with sorrowful eyes.
“No way. You both went out before this started.” He took the towel offered by Dee. “It’s supposed to blow over before long.”
“Are you trying to reason with them?” Dee rolled her eyes.
“They understand every word I say. Watch. Who wants a cookie?”
Fred barked, but Sadie looked unimpressed.
“Okay,” he continued. “Who wants a big cookie?”
Both of them tried to get traction on the tile floor as they ran for the kitchen. Low to the ground and long, Fred looked like the little kids’ toy, the dog one with the spring in the middle, going around the corner. It took a second for the back to catch up with the front.
Sadie, more compact, trotted with more decorum after him.
“See.” Peter toed off his boot and put on the waiting slippers. “I’m going to get changed out of these wet clothes.”
“How is Mrs. Chasen?” Checking on their elderly neighbor was the reason he’d been out in this weather. “Does she need anything?”
“Cranky as ever.” Peter shrugged. “She says she’s got heat, food, and books that we overcharged her.”
“Ha, we gave her a discount.” Dee shook her head. “Boardwalk Books needs to make a little money. I’m making a late lunch.”
Howling from the kitchen interrupted the conversation.
“See what you started?”
“Well, you’re taking too long.” Peter scuffed his way down the same hall to get changed.
“Be careful, my dear husband, or you’ll get peas with the steak I’m making.” Dee sauntered off to the kitchen.
“Ugh,” his voice faded. “I hate peas.”
In the kitchen, instead of patiently waiting, Fred stood on his hindlegs counter surfing and spotted fudge, a gift from a friend from the Jersey Shore. While he may appear short when on all fours, Dee had learned that when on his two rear legs, the hound could not only reach, but experience showed he could knock the cake saver onto the floor and eat an entire homemade pumpkin pie given to them by their neighbor, Desi.
“You get away from there.” She swiped the plate of fudge out of his reach. “That’s not good for you.”
Sadie sat waiting, pretending she wouldn’t think of sharing anything Fred stole.
Dee opened the child/dog proof latch and pulled out the container of treats. “Here you go.”
Both dogs, now with slobber-chops hanging from their mouths, grabbed the goodies and went to the area rug to munch away.
“That smells delicious.” Peter sauntered into the kitchen wearing his flannel pants and cardigan sweater. “I’m starving.”
“The bones or the steak?”
Dee carried the loaded plates over to the table in the four season’s greenhouse.
The dogs took positions on either side of her husband’s chair. Tongues hung out, and big brown eyes implored him for a taste. Or an accidental dropping of food.
“You guys aren’t getting any of this.” He glanced out the window. “Looks like a snowplow heading this way.”
Seeing an opportunity, Fred jumped up on Peter’s lap with his forepaws, slapped his face sideways, and grabbed the forbidden steak. He bolted as fast as his short legs would carry him.
“Hey, that’s mine!” Peter shouted.
“Take that from him,” Dee ordered.
“I don’t want it now.” Her husband watched as, in two gulps, his steak disappeared. “I’ll have a PB&J.”
“That” —Dee pointed her fork with a perfectly done piece of beef at him— “is rewarding bad behavior.”
Dinner was all cleaned up and everyone was hanging out in the living room a bit later.
Bong. Bong. Bong.
The banjo-shaped clock on the wall toned four o’clock.
“I better go snow plow again before it gets dark.” Peter set down his sudoku puzzle and got up from his favorite recliner to look out the window. “The snow is stopping.”
Fred and Sadie lifted their heads expectantly from their personal corners of the couch. “I know, guys. You need to go out before dark, too. I’ll shovel a spot, then come get you.”
“You talk to those hounds more than you do me.” Dee peered at him over her e-reader.
“Do you want me to talk to you more?” He knew she was a woman of few words.
“That’s okay. I’ll live.” She blew him a kiss and returned to reading her book.
About 15 minutes later, the door opened. “Come on, you guys, I’ve made a spot for you.”
The dogs ran for the door, and shortly after, the soothing sound of the snow blower grated the peace and quiet.
“Hey, get back here!” Peter’s lilting voice trilled through the window.
Dee jumped up and ran to the door. Peering out she couldn’t help the laughter erupting. All she could see was the tip of Fred’s tail moving at a quick pace between the snowbanks, running in the tracks the snow plow made with Peter scrambling after him.
By the time she’d controlled herself, got boots and a coat from the closet, and grabbed a leash, Peter, hefting a sixty-five-pound basset, came trudging up the road.
Sadie, who couldn’t be bothered to make a break for it, sat on the welcome mat in front of the door.
Dee sat down on the step next to her. “You guys are a handful, but I wouldn’t trade either of you for the world.
The End.
And here's a teaser for something I've been working on for a while.
Deep inside Athair’s Semora Geasa, his room of knowledge, the wizard was startled awake by a flash of light. He shielded his eyes as the blaze of An Tsolais burst across the chamber from the living map of Aimhirghin, lighting up the cavernous room where he’d nodded off while poring over scrolls. The circlet banding his arm snapped open, and he caught it as it assumed the shape of his birchwood staff with the top carved with the likeness of a great seilg owl.
A Wise Old Owl
by Anonymous
A wise old owl lived in an oak
The more he saw the less he spoke
The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why can't we all be like that wise old bird?
Deep inside Athair’s Semora Geasa, his room of knowledge, the wizard was startled awake by a flash of light. He shielded his eyes as the blaze of An Tsolais burst across the chamber from the living map of Aimhirghin, lighting up the cavernous room where he’d nodded off while poring over scrolls. The circlet banding his arm snapped open, and he caught it as it assumed the shape of his birchwood staff with the top carved with the likeness of a great seilg owl.
A Wise Old Owl
by Anonymous
A wise old owl lived in an oak
The more he saw the less he spoke
The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why can't we all be like that wise old bird?