Greyhound Laughing
Published by:
Greyhound Books
2000 Stock Creek Road
Knoxville, TN 37920
865-405-3002
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the authors, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in reviews.
Copyright 2009 by Cyn Mobley
ISBN trade paperback: 1-59677-090-2
First printing, February 2009
I want to thank Lee Minardi for permission to quote her haiku below. It’s been misquoted often, but here’s the original version.
Some may say too lean
But the Greyhound understands
To lean is a verb
Lee Minardi
In honor of Tweeter, The Grey Queen, now at the Rainbow Bridge and being attended by Her Consort, Abe the Magnificent. Both are deeply missed by their pack.
One
Karroo dreamed. Feet and snout twitching, eyes moving rapidly behind her closed lids, she dreamed of places she’d never been and races she’d never run.
For the most part, Karroo was happy. Her people were well-trained and compliant. Occasionally, they were negligent about bringing her snacks and new toys, but they were generally attentive to Karroo’s needs. Months ago, she’d finally gotten them trained to fix her a raw diet (though occasionally she had a little kibbie snack) and she’d noticed that she really felt excellent with the right food.
Karroo’s pack was composed of five Greyhounds. It was a peaceful and stable pack – or, at least it had been until last month, when Duke, a shiny black brat of a pup, had arrived. Duke the Brat was only five months old so allowances had to be made. (Karroo constantly reminded him that he was just a puppy although at two years old, she was not all that grown up herself.)
From the first moment they met, Karroo adored and ruled over the Black Brat. The saddest day of her short life so far was the day Duke ran into a tree and had to go to the hospital for a while. But his recovery had been fast and he’d soon returned to being an enormous pest.
Fortunately, there were enough adult dogs around to keep him worn out check. Prince, who’d raced as Prairie Prince, was the pack loudmouth, always running his snout about something or other. He came from a dark and dangerous past, arriving at his currently pack twenty pounds underweight, and that was the only thing he didn’t talk about. He seemed determined to make up for lost time by cozying up to every person he met.
Prince’s constant talking irritated his sometimes-best-friend Fritzie, who was a bit of a fusspot. Fritzie very much liked having everything in order and regulated and Prince’s uncontrolled bursts of vocalizations sometimes drove him nuts.
The last member of the pack was Tess the Fair. Tess, though not the oldest member of the pack, was the Alpha. The previous Alpha, Courtney, had taught her a good deal about dealing with young pups. At the time, Tess had felt that Courtney was a bit hard on pups joining the pack, particularly Pixie, who’d raced for a while as “Steve’s Dog”. Pixie had been an unabated hellion and racing her had been hard on Courtney, though she never let it show. But now, years later, with Pixie in a forever home not far away and Courtney gone, Tess understood just how hard Courtney had worked.
The Alpha of a pack – Tess, now – was responsible for making sure the youngsters Black Brat and Karroo were properly educated and behaved reasonably well, that Fritzie felt like he was appreciated and considered in all decisions, and that no one chicken-choked Prince just to shut him up. She was also the senior Alpha in the neighborhood, and that brought with it numerous other responsibilities, including training the junior Alphas in the area.
That last responsibility was taking up more and more of her time. The newest Alpha was a Dobie known as Jumping Jack Flash (usually known just as Jack). Jack was an older rescue Doberman Pinscher who was built like a tank. He had no concept of his own strength, either physical or Alpha-wise, and Tess was constantly making sure he hadn’t hurt anyone.
Jack faced pack integrity issues that Tess found challenging. For starters, his pack was not homogenous. It included a variety of breeds and mixes, and the resultant personalities kept his life interesting.
Jack’s pack included Truman the Doberdude (permanent fixation on wiggly gigglies!), Motley, a black and rust Doberman/Great Dean cross who was sweetness and light, Sedona, a Shepherd/Chow cross rescued from the edge of death in the desert, and Shoney aka SpottyDog aka Shoshone, a Australian Shepherd/Springer Spaniel mix. All were rescues and all had faced serious hardships, including death, before joining Jack’s pack. Maybe it was a good thing Jack was such a big, bluff fellow. He seemed oblivious to other dogs’ “issues” as long as they kept the peace, and that gave the others a great sense of peace and security. They never had to be strong around him. He was the sheer embodiment of it.
Karroo, of course, was oblivious to many of the challenges Tess faced. Even with five dogs in the house (and that was just counting the regular members, not the constant turnover of fosters), and even though she wasn’t Alpha, Karroo was fairly well satisfied. She alone had sleep-on-the-bed privileges and was allowed to do pouncies and twirlies on the bed when playing with her people, Robin and Laze. She was allowed to sleep late if she wanted to. Sure, she did get muzzled when the people were gone, but so did Duke and Fritzie, so that was okay. (Prince was all talk and no nip, so he was exempt from wearing the face of shame. Tess, naturally, as Alpha, was exempt.)
All in all, from Karroo’s perspective, things were just about perfect. It was just exactly the sort of life a princess should lead.
But someday it would all change. Karroo – her full name was Karroo Karroo Diddly Do – was not just the second to the youngest member of Tess’s pack, the focus of entirely too much attention from Duke and perhaps the best bed twirler in the universe. She was also a Greyhound of royal lineage and the designated Grey Princess, part of a lineage that ran through her veins to Tweeter and Flo and Dolly and beyond into the mists of time. Someday, she would have to pick up the reins of Greydom and rule – as much as any Grey Queen ever ruled. Tweeter said it was more like maintaining the balance and controlling the power and that someday Karroo would understand.
Karroo knew that she was the Grey Princess. She’d known it since the day she was born as had everyone else in Greydom. It was no big deal. It was simply part of who she was, as much a part of her as the delicate spray of red freckles on her snout and the white stripes running up the back of her hind legs.
Yes, life was very good right now and someday things would change. When that day came, she would deal with it. She supposed there would be papers to sign and procedures to learn, but surely becoming the Grey Queen eventually couldn’t be that difficult.
Little did she know that the day would come far too soon.
Tweeter padded silently into Karroo’s room and jumped up on the bed. She settled down in a sphinx position and regarded Karroo gravely. Good morning, little one.
Karroo looked just to the side of Tweeter, careful not to be rude by staring directly at the Grey Queen. “Good morning, Tweeter. I didn’t know you were coming to visit.”
Tweeter cocked her head to the side, a slight smile in her eyes. Neither did I, little one. But sometimes things don’t always work out as we plan.
“I’m not really all that little,” Karroo said, just ever so slightly peeved. “Fifty pounds is not little.”
It shall have to be big enough.
“What do you mean?”
Tweeter put one paw on the side of Karroo’s head. You only think you’re awake. You’re not really. You’re still asleep and dreaming. And it’s because you are that I’m able to reach you now. She stroked the side of Karroo’s head, placing her paw finally over Karroo’s mouth. No, don’t talk. There is not time. Just listen. For once. For one last time.
Karroo’s heart beat faster. An awful feeling swept over her. For all that she was a flibberty-gibbet, Karroo was no fool. She started to speak, then, as her throat closed up, she stopped.
You are no longer the Grey Princess, Tweeter said. You know why, don’t you?
Unable to speak, Karroo nodded. Her heart stuttered in her chest and pain ripped through her being.
Now stop that, Tweeter said firmly. I simply won’t have it. As you surmise, I am now at the Rainbow Bridge – or rather, I am on my way there. I stopped by to see you one last time to give you my blessing. It’s a tradition, you know. Someday you, too, will tarry on your way to the Rainbow Bridge to tell some other youngster that she is no longer a pup.
“I can’t – can’t —,” Karroo began, her voiced choking. “I’m not ready.”
Neither was I, Tweeter said gently. But such is life. We do what we’re called to do. Not what we think we can do.
“But I don’t WANNA be the Grey Queen!” Karroo wailed.
Tweeter’s image blurred. You’re going to wake up in a minute. When you do, there are certain things you must do immediately. First, you must tell Tess I was here. Like this. Tess, and no one else. Listen to her advice. She is a good, strong Alpha and will be there for you when you need her.
Second, you must do one last thing before you truly become the Grey Queen. You must go on a Quest. With a capital Q.
“No! Seriously? I’ve always wanted to go on a Quest!”
This isn’t about fun and games and a silly adventure, Karroo. It’s far more important than that. Before you can become the Grey Queen, you must know where all your littermates are. If you can’t care for your littermates, you can’t care for the Kingdom.
Karroo snorted. “That’s all? There were seven of us and I know where everyone else is. They’re either racing or adopted.”
Karroo shut her eyes, seeing the rest of her litter as though they were with her still. Six needle-nosed snouts seemed to poke at her.
There had been six girls and one boy in her litter. The boy was Tipperary, a big black fellow, a thinking dog who loved to run (well, who didn’t!) Then Tip Top, a petite brindle, perfectly tiger-striped, who loved children and everyone else. Kirby, the sweet fawn diva, who loved to dress up. From her youngest days, Kirby was fashioning hats from bits of wood shavings. Lady Arwen of Rivendale, the brilliant red, who had inherited the same shyness gene that Tipperary had, second only to Karroo in her ability to do twirlies. Then there was Miss Maggie Mae, a white and dark red brindle, ticked in her white areas, as outgoing and exuberant as Lady Arwen was shy. She’d been the litter Alpha from the beginning. And last but not least, Miss Sassy, marked like Lady Arwen, midnight black with white toes and a white tip on her tail, with an indomitable spirit. The last Karroo had heard, Sassy had bounced out of yet another placement, determined to get back to the foster home she loved. And then the seventh, Karroo herself.
“Four are still racing, you know. We’re all very fast. Faster than most. That’s probably why I’m the Grey Princess. That last race, by the way – I was almost about to pull ahead when the track spit at me. You know how they are sometimes.”
Karroo, stop. You mustn’t get distracted.
“I’m not distracted. I was just trying to explain that there were seven of us and – .”
There were eight.
Karroo stopped talking. The wind blew gently over her fur, ruffling it like a caress. Finally she managed to squeak. “That’s not possible.”
Oh, it’s quite possible. There were eight of you originally. You’ve got a brother you don’t remember and you must find him. He cannot remain lost to you if you are to be the Grey Queen.
“Eight. And I have a missing brother?” Karroo asked, shocked. “How can that be?”
Tweeter shook her head. The pixels of her being drifted further apart. He was separated from the litter at a very early age. Go back through your memories. You will find him, if you look carefully. Find him, Karroo. Find him and bring him home.
“Wait! Tweeter, don’t leave me! I can’t do what you do!” Karroo wailed.
Silly little one. You are of my blood, of my bones. I will always be with you, in your memories and in every cell of your being. When you want my advice, just ask.
“I don’t want your memory! I want YOU.”
Tweeter smiled. And what are we all to each other except memories of each moment that passes? You have my blessing, Karroo Karroo Diddly Do. You’ll do well. Now go find your brother. As to Tess: she can be a stick in the mud at times, but she’s a very good Greyhound in the finest sense of the word and loyal to a fault. Listen to her advice but make your own decisions. You alone will be the Grey Queen. The last pixel of Tweeter’s image disappeared with an odd little pop.
Karroo opened her eyes, now awake. She was alone.
Two
Karroo hopped down off of the bed and onto the soft, cushy rug just next to it. She immediately went into a stretch, first her back legs and then the front, feeling the muscles and tendons and ligaments loosen up and lengthen. It was always so uncomfortable to walk around when one was tight. Stretching was the foundation of every good athlete’s regime, even if it was only for running around the yard.
She paused at the doorway to the bedroom as was her habit, listening to the house, figuring out where everyone was based on the noises she heard. Two rooms away, Tess the Alpha was on the couch, her soft deep breathing giving her away. Prince was curled up into a small ball on the ottoman next to her, muttering quietly in his sleep. There was no trace of Duke the Brat, so he was probably outside. Fritzie the Fusspot was probably with him. Although Fritzie was eight, he still managed to enjoy a good romp with the youngster, which was a good thing. Duke had far too much energy for just one dog to wear him out.
Karroo was up earlier than usual and her people were still in the house. She could hear them moving around between kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, going through their morning routines. It was far more complicated than hers, of course.
For starters, they wore doggy coats all the time, not just in the winter. And they seem to have some obsession for bathing, getting in the rain locker at least once or twice every day. It seemed odd to her, but she couldn't fault them for it. They were, of course, excellent hunters, bringing home large chunks of meats and other goodies almost every other day. Messy work, that, catching all that food out in the wilderness and bringing it home. No wonder they needed more frequent baths than their Greyhounds.
But even with more bathes, they did manage to get awfully stinky for creatures with so little hair.
The phone rang, cutting through the normal bustle of the morning. Karroo walked out of the bedroom, down the hallway and into the kitchen. Tess lifted her head and languidly waved a paw in greeting, then flopped her head back down on the arm of the couch. It was her regular early morning nap, and she didn't like to be disturbed.
"Hello?" Robin, one of Karroo’s female humans, answered the phone. "Nancy Catherine, what's wrong?"
Far off in the distance, over the phone line, Karroo could hear Tweeter's human crying.
Within a few moments her own human joined in, leaking tears down her cheeks. "Had she been ill? No? I see, I see." Her human made more murmuring, comforting sounds, ones that Karroo was quite familiar with. "Sixteen years," she said. "Such a wonderful girl she was."
Tess appeared beside Karroo, shaking her head as she woke up. "Sounds like bad news."
"Tweeter's gone," Karroo said.
Tess stopped breathing and turned to look at her. The silence was marked. "For sure." It wasn't really question.
Karroo nodded. "She came to visit me before she laughed. She said…." Karroo stopped, unable to continue. She took a deep breath, feeling the sadness flood her body. "She said I was no longer the Grey Princess."
Tess took a deep breath, held it for a moment then let it out slowly. “I knew this day would come. I knew it when I agreed to take you into the pack. But I thought we'd have more time. More time to get you ready."
"I know. It's like I knew all along, but now that it's here … it's not the way I thought it would be. Not if it means Tweeter goes away."
Tess gave her sharp poke with her nose. "She's not really gone. She's just not here. You know that."
"You make it sound like the fosters," Karroo said, a touch more sharpness in her voice than she would have liked. "They're here, and they go away.
"Exactly." Tess nodded. "Tweeter is as far away and as close as the former fosters are."
"But she's not here," Karroo said, her voice climbing into almost a howl. "She's gone."
"Stop that. Stop it immediately," Tess said firmly. "You know that's not true. She's just as close as she's ever been. More so, even. And part of your job is to make sure that everyone understands that. To do that, you have to believe it. Just ask Tweeter.”
"I can't ask Tweeter."
And why not. Other than the fact that you never like to ask anybody anything, Tweeter's voice said tartly.
Karroo's jaw dropped. Tess snorted, amusement playing on her face. "You know all about this, Karroo. You’re acting like going to the Rainbow Bridge is the end. Now you’re starting to understand. You know how things are."
"Tweeter?" Karroo asked, her eyes wide.
"Inside voice, Karroo," Tess said. "No need for all of us to listen to the conversation of Queens.”
Tweeter, hi. I didn't realize it would work like this!
Well, it does. But enough of that. What have you done about finding your brother?
Well — nothing yet. It's only been a couple of minutes since — since —.
Oh, very well, Tweeter said, a touch of exasperation in her voice. I'm not yet good at keeping track of time. You’ll just have to deal with it, that's all. Now, tell Tess about your brother. Then get busy. I can't spend every minute keeping you on track, you know.
You can't? What else do you have to do?
At the moment, Melody is pestering me about attending an Orientation class, Freddie the Federal Agent wants to share a Greenie with me, and Dolly, Brandi, and Brigid want me to be a fourth. It's almost lunch time and I suspect we're having rabbit as the main course, and Cleopatra wants me to share a lunch blankie with her.
Rabbit? What does it taste like?
There was a long silence, so long that Karroo thought Tweeter had gone. Then, very faintly, she heard, Chicken. It tastes a lot like chicken.
Karroo had the sense that she was now alone inside her head. She reflected for moment about what it would be like to actually eat a rabbit. She was just about to get permanently distracted when another sharp poke on her butt brought her back to the present. "We need to go check on Robin," Tess said. "She’s upset."
Karroo walked into the kitchen. Her human was just hanging up the telephone. Her face was wet, her eyes tragic. She slumped down in the kitchen chair.
Karroo recognized her cue. She padded over quietly, rose on her hind legs and put her front paws on the woman's shoulder. With the human immobilized against the chair, Karroo planted a firm sideways lick right on her lips. She followed with two to the cheeks and one to the nose.
Just as she’d known it would, the kisses seem to comfort her human. Her human threw her arms around Karroo and pulled her close, holding Karroo to her chests and burying her odd little short snout in Karroo’s neck. "Karroo, Karroo, what a comfort you are. Tweeter's gone, Karroo. Such a loss."
From somewhere in the back of her mind, Karroo heard Tweeter squealing in delight, sounding younger than Karroo had ever known her to be. Volleyball, of course. I love volleyball. Copperkettle Gal, it’s your serve!
Concentrating very hard, Karroo tried to send the mind picture of Tweeter playing volleyball to her human. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. In this case, perhaps because human was thinking of Tweeter anyway, the thought seem to penetrate. A puzzled smile crossed her face. The human pulled back from Karroo and looked at her, astonishment in her eyes. "Volleyball? Tweeter plays volleyball?"
“Karroo. Get down from there. And stop that. You know you're not allowed to tell them everything. It's not part of their path.” Tess trotted over and shoved Karroo off her human's lap. The human started to object, but Tess cradled her finely-chiseled head in the human’s lap and looked up with adoring eyes. "Forget she said anything," Tess said firmly.
"Greyhound don’t play volleyball," the woman said finally. The sadness seeped back into her eyes.
That angered Karroo. She’d put a lot of effort into trying to cheer Robin up. Why couldn't she know what the Greyhounds knew?
"I think I know what our people need," Karroo said tartly. “In the future, please don't do that.”
Tess ignored Karroo and continued to gaze up adoringly at the woman, love filling her dark brown eyes. The moment went on for long time. Finally the woman sighed. "I'd better get ready for work." She wiped her face. "Nancy Catherine will want to talk later."
Tess let her up without objecting, and watched as she tromped out of the kitchen. Then Tess turned to Karroo. "You know the rules. Don't go to getting too big for your britches yet, Missy."
"I don't wear pants. And my name is Karroo, not Missy.”
“You know exactly what I mean. Besides, technically, you're not Queen yet. Are you?”
Karroo frowned. "I’m not?"
Tess chuckled. "Oh, I can tell someone has not done her homework. Why don’t you just ramble through those memories again, little one, and see exactly what's involved. And isn’t there something you’re supposed to tell me?”
"How did you know about that?"
Tess gave her another look of tolerance. "I'm almost ten years old, Karroo. There's lots I know that you don't. Grey Queen or not, I'm still your Alpha. And I will be, in some matters, even after you assume your birthright. Not in all things, of course. But you'll be too busy with your duties to worry much about that. Now, what did Tweeter tell you? There's always one last visit from the Queen to the Princess and usually a specific mission assigned."
Karroo gulped. "Is this a test?"
Tess shrugged. "I don't know. But there's always something. Now, quit wasting my time."
Karroo told her about the last visit with Tweeter, finishing with Tweeter’s insistence that she find her brother. "But I don't know where he is. I don't even know his name. How am I supposed to find him?"
"That's a tough one," Tess said slowly. "Tweeter wouldn't tell you to do it if it were impossible. Not unless there was a reason to have you do something impossible, but I don’t think that’s it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You're going to have to try to find him anyway. There are bound to be clues."
"Clues?"
Tess nodded. "Like when you smell bacon out back around the barn and you know that there’s an elf’s tunnel nearby. The smell is a clue. It tells you where something is."
"I think if my brother were around here anywhere I would have smelled him by now," Karroo said. She narrowed her eyes, staring at Tess suspiciously. "Are you playing a joke on me?"
"Don't be so literal. I don't mean that you could smell your brother. I just mean that there are clues around somewhere. Some memories, if you can reach back that far. Maybe in the papers that the people have. Maybe they even know about him. It could even be in a database.”
"And how am I supposed to access databases?" Karroo said. "I can barely type."
"That's something I can help you with," Tess said. She held out one paw, putting her big pads right up in Karroo’s face. "I have to use my nails. My toes are too big. I'm slow, but I spell really well."
"Spelling is stupid."
"Only if you can't do it. But that's not the point. I'm fairly certain that the clues are in your memories. Have you tried to think about your littermates? Do you see anyone you don't remember?"
"I haven't tried to do anything," Karroo said, starting to howl again. "Tweeter came to see me, and then I come out and you yell at me and I haven't had a minute to myself. And all I know is that Tweeter is gone and I'm supposed to find a littermate I don't even remember."
Tess looked at her sternly, staring right into her eyes. Karroo started to look away and found she was unable to. "Life is tough, Karroo. It's time to put your puppy ways aside and step up to the plate, little one. Go, sit with your memories. See what you remember about your littermates. Then we’ll decide what to do. Now, I'm going to do tell the rest of the pack. An official howl will be coming in later, but there are preparations to make. There’ll be a lot of activity around here. Everyone knows you’re the Grey Princess. They're going to be wondering what happens now."
"Maybe they can help me find my brother," Karroo said. She stopped, wondering when the anonymous Greyhound had made the transition from littermate to brother.
Tess shook her head. "I don't think so. If Tweeter had wanted you to do it that way, she would have told you that. I think she wants to use this to teach you something you'll need to know as Grey Queens. Not that I’d try to second-guess her."
"Tess," Karroo said hesitantly. "The other thing she told me was to listen to you. To take your advice, but to remember that in the end I was the Grey Queen and I had to decide. I'm not sure how all that works, Tess. But will you help me?"
Tess sidled over to her and bumped her with her own shoulder. Then Tess slapped her across the butt with her tail. "Of course I'll help you. I'm your Alpha, aren’t I?"
Karroo sighed. "Thanks. It's an awful lot to take in, isn't it? That I’m going to be the Grey Queen."
"Maybe," Tess said solemnly. "You've got to deal with a littermates issue first. Let’s see how that turns out, then we’ll figure out everything else. Now get out of here. Start remembering. I'll deal with the world for little while longer.
Karroo walked off. She thought about what Tess had said. Up until that moment, it had not occurred to her that her life would change for good. The idea that the world would be coming to see her, the full impact of her new duties as Grey Queen, was something she now understood she didn't understand. She had a lot to think about.
Suddenly grateful for Tess’s help, Karroo headed out back to the garden. Her people believed that the fence around the vegetable patch kept the Greyhounds out of it. The Greyhounds let them believe it worked. Little did the people know how much Greyhounds enjoyed tomato plants.
Karroo took a look around, making sure nobody was watching, and hopped over the fence easily. She ambled down the row, stopping occasionally to sniff the plants. Finally, she came to the tomato plants.
What could match the scent of a growing tomato plant? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Karroo slid in between two plants loaded with blossoms, careful not to disturb them. She lay down, completely concealed from view, and let the rich, heady odor of growing tomato plants fill her nostrils. She shut her eyes and wiggled just a tiny bit, very careful not to hurt the tomato plants, and luxuriated in the feel of cool damp dirt on her chest. She flexed her foot ever so slightly. Her nails dug into the dirt and cooler soil brushed against her toes.
The massive tomato plant provided a good deal of shade from the sun and there was a light breeze playing around her. Aside from the fact that Tweeter was gone, the day was absolutely perfect.
What a luxury, to have some time to sort things out before the world came crashing in. Tess was right, as was Tweeter. She would have to go back in her memories and look at the process of becoming Grey Queen as well as examine her own early memories of her littermates. The answers were in her, she was certain. It was just a matter of whether or not she had the skill to unlock the clues.
All Greyhound could unlock the memories of their ancestors. They were encoded in their bones, the spirit of their ancestors living on with them, strong and weak as they had been in life, bonded by bloodlines and DNA to the bones and muscles of the latest generation. All Greyhounds had ancestral memories to draw on. But, just like with running, some were better at it than others. And some boasted more illustrious relatives than others.
Karroo's lineage, for instance, had a great deal in common with Tweeter's in that they both had generation upon generation of Grey Queens in their ancestries. Tweeter was, in fact, one of Karroo's aunties on her mother's side. Karroo's mother, Epika Lea, a chatty light brindle, had at one time, been a Grey Princess herself but she had gone to the Rainbow Bridge shortly after Karroo was weaned. Not every Greyhound made it into adoption.
It was from Epika Lea that Karroo had gotten her speed and power. When other Greyhounds seem to jump, Karroo simply floated. Some peculiar combination of muscle, sinew and spirit made it seemed like the girls of her lineage could fly. They ran effortlessly for hours.
I would think you could try a little harder, a familiar voice said.
“Hey, Tweeter. Are you going to be doing this popping in all at once a lot?” Karroo asked. “Because I have to say, it's a bit disruptive. I was just getting started.”
Don't be rude, little one. You need my help to work this out. You're not nearly as skilled on memory retrieval as you should be.
“I seem to do all right with retrieving you.”
Silence greeted that presumptuous little statement for a moment, then evidently Tweeter chose to ignore it. Go back to very earliest memories of your littermates. Cross your paws at the ankle, roll on your side, then try to go back just a little bit further. Think about puppy piles, about when you were all so close that you couldn't tell where one started and the next began. If you can get back that far, you'll see your brother.
“I'm not sure I see the point, quite honestly. Say I do see him as a puppy. How can that help me now? As I understand the rules, I have to know where he is now. Not then.”
Odd things happen, Tweeter said after moment. For one thing, you may find out that he turns up in your memories. And that's so....
Karroo felt an unfamiliar rush of emotion. “He can't be in my memories. Not if he’s still alive.”
Exactly so. And if he is, you know where he is.
“With you. So why can't you just tell me?”
Can't. It's in the rules.
“And if he's not with you, how am I supposed to find him in this life? What could I possibly remember from back then that would help me now?”
You don't know until you try, do you? Which is the whole point. Instead of sitting here in a bit of a snit — and you know you are, don't deny it — you should be trying to do just that. He must've left before he was five months old. You'd have a clear picture if you'd been that old.
“I can remember back that far easily.”
Of course you can. Every Greyhound can. That's the age at which you become distinct individuals instead of a litter. Before that, it's hardly possible to tell one from another.
“OK, OK. I’ll give it a try. And if I need your help, I'll call.”
Good. I’ll leave you to it, then. In a way that Karroo could never describe, she had a sense of Tweeter moving farther off. Then there was a tiny pop in her mind and Karroo was alone.
Well. At least she leaves when I ask. I'm not sure I could stand Tweeter always looking over my shoulder. But I’ll try what she suggested. That way, she’ll never be able to say I didn't.
Karroo wiggled a bit more, getting completely comfortable in the dirt. She resisted the impulse to do twirlies. Not only would twirlies distract her from her task but they would damage the tomato plants as well. Twirlies were never appropriate in the garden.
She crossed her paws and shut her eyes, concentrating on her earliest memories of her litter, seeing again the seven of them. Try as she might, she had no sense that someone was missing.
Exactly how was she supposed to go back further? She tried thinking of earlier days and didn't get anywhere. She studied her own younger form carefully, marveling at just how very attractive she had been even at a young age. Already she had been able to float in a way that her brothers could not. And how tiny she been then! Far smaller than Lady Arwen and Sassy. Tipperary was almost twice her size.
Then she tried to imagine herself ever so slightly shorter. She saw herself standing against the mesh of their litter’s pen and tried to imagine that the bar behind her back was now over her back. With an odd, mental twist, she shrunk.
To her surprise, the image in her mind shrank as well. So did the images of the pups around her. The brindles got slightly darker. Tipperary lost the tuck that he’d started to get and looked very much like any other puppy. Everyone’s snouts seemed slightly shorter and blunter. The girls blurred and lost the delicate bone structure that they were already starting to develop. They all started to look less like Greyhounds and more like plain old puppies.
She concentrated again, this time imagining her own snout even shorter. As she watched in her own mind, her memory self shrank again, and the darkened, luxurious grass outside the pan shrank back down in the ground. The pups weren’t the only things getting younger – the year was, too.
She knew she been born on December 15th. For moment, she wondered what would happen if she shrank herself down to the earliest time she could, and then went one step further. The idea spooked her just a little bit. She decided to ask Tweeter what would happen before she experimented with it.
Millimeter by millimeter, Karroo methodically shrank herself and her pack. She was back to a time when they were just barely weaned, she thought, when suddenly another dog appeared. Another puppy.
Karroo's jaw dropped. She reeled slightly and almost lost the picture in her mind. She tried concentrating, and found that was fairly difficult. Well, that made sense, since she was a pup of about eight weeks at the time.
The new male puppy who appeared in the litter was colored as she was. His brindle patches were larger, and his face was brindle was a white streak running precisely down the middle of his snout rather than the very attractive white with freckles she herself sported. He was actually larger than the largest black male she remembered, and he moved with a slow, portly grace unusual in a puppy that age. He had a sense of gravitas about him, something she couldn't quite put her paw on, but a quality that struck her nonetheless.
In her memories, she pushed the very young Karroo over toward him. She shoved her snout up to his neck and took a good, long sniff. Her older self, watching, mentally filed away the scent, certain she would remember her brother if she ever ran across the scent again.
A she watched, her long-lost brother turned his gaze on her. His lips moved and he stared at her with an odd, intense look in his eyes. He was speaking to her into her alone, and whatever was on his mind was terribly important.
Is he talking to me then? Or me today? Cold chills ran down Karroo’s spine. The pup’s eyes looked far older than the rest of her littermates and she had a sense that he was far older than he possibly could be.
What is real? What isn’t? Karroo struggled to get a sense of what was happening.
What are you doing? A voice said very near to her. Doing, doing, doing? The words circled around her, coming at her from odd angles. First in her ear the in her left, then from the very tip of her snout.
The sound distracted her. The mental picture shivered and dissolved.
“Why did you do that?” Karroo demanded. “Who are you? What you want? Can’t you tell I’m busy?”
No.
“No, what?”
No, I can’t tell you’re busy. You aren’t moving.
“I don't have to be moving to be thinking!”
Really? Odd.
Karroo stopped. She’d thought another of her ancestors had been intruding, preparing to offer her more unsolicited advice. Tweeter had said Karroo needed to have better control of her memories, and Tweeter was right. Karroo was not going to have every retired racer in her lineage popping up to bother her whenever they saw fit.
How do you do that? A breeze wafted across her face.
Karroo sighed.
Yes, the voice said. I do.
“You’re a Wind, aren't you?” Karroo said aloud. “Not one of my memories.”
One of who? The Wind sounded surprise. I don't see anyone else around here.
Karroo started to explain about ancestral memories then stopped. It was hard enough to explain to other breeds. Explaining it to a Wind who had no physical body and couldn't think unless he was moving simply staggered the imagination.
“My name is Karroo. What's yours?” she asked.
Buddy. Or Butterball or Budders. You can call me Buddy.
"Lovely to meet you," Karroo said politely. Tess was very strict on being polite to newcomers. "Have you just moved to the area?"
I'm not sure, Buddy said, wavering as it spoke. Maybe so.
"Where were you before?"
The wind ruffled around her, lifting her ears. She twitched impatiently. "That tickles."
Buddy did it again. "Stop!"
Then a third time. "Enough!" Karroo scratched at her ear with one awkward paw.
Karroo’s ears were exceptionally versatile and she took a good deal of pride in them. She could leave them flopped over in the sort of perfect triangles often favored by terriers, fold them back into a rose configuration, or stiffen them up like little sailboats. She tried the latter, thinking the Wind would not be able to blow them around as much, but that simply exposed the sensitive hairs inside her ears more fully. The tickle increased.
She concentrated and slammed her ears down alongside her head, holding them in as tightly she could. That stopped the tickle but it also cut off the Wind’s words. She could hear a mumble but could not make out individual words. She relaxed her ears ever so slightly so she could hear his words.
I won't tickle anymore, Buddy said. I think I must be very young. At least to this part of the world. I remember being very high up, Miles and miles and miles, so far I could hardly see the ground. I was very strong and fast, moving far faster than anything else on this planet.
Karroo laughed. "Greyhounds are the fastest creatures anywhere."
Of course they are. But I wasn't anywhere. I wasn't on the Earth. Very high, very strong. And then I got lost — or left – or separated — I don't know what. I was left behind.
Karroo felt the anguish in the Wind’s words as they swirled around her. He had been something, something very great and now he was much more limited. He’d been left behind.
They moved on, they left me. The rest of my – he said a word that she didn't exactly understand.
"What was that?" she asked. “That last word?”
He repeated it. It's like a litter, he said. But from the Jet Stream, not a dog.
“The Jet Stream? Really?”
Yes, I think so. Although I don't exactly remember. People tend to think of the Jet Stream as just one thing, but it's not really. It's a collection of us, woven together like strands, reinforcing and supporting each other. We run the entire world, you know. At least, I think we do.
“I thought you didn't remember anything,” Karroo said suspiciously.
I don't. Not when I try to. But things come to me sometimes. I was part of the Jet Stream, I'm pretty sure. And I know how the Jet Stream is. It's not an easy life, you know. It's very hard work, and that's why you need your – well, littermates – around.
“That's what I was doing,” Karroo said. “Trying to remember one of my littermates. He was lost, I think. Not to the Rainbow Bridge. But for some reason, he went missing while we were growing up.”
He must be very sad, the Wind said. He must miss the rest of his littermates very much.
“And you miss the Jet Stream, don't you?
The Wind nodded. I think I do. Although I'm not certain. I wonder if they miss me?
“I'm certain they do. I miss my brother. I didn't even know I had another one, but now that I see him, I miss him. And if they’re way high up looking down, I’m sure they see you.”
Perhaps I could be your brother? Instead?
Karroo shook her head. “If it were up to me, perhaps so. But, well — you're not white with brindle patches, are you?”
No, I suppose not.
“Well, there we are.”
The two of them fell silent. Karroo thought about trying to regain her grasp on her early litter days, but she had a sense she'd done enough for one day. There was a muscle aching inside her in a way she couldn't precisely describe. Whatever it was, it would grow stronger quickly, but it would take some time.
Buddy the Wind too seemed to be out of energy. It gave one last half-hearted flutter of the tomato plant leaves then disappeared. Just as a last bit of it faded away, she heard it whisper: Maybe I can help you find him. I get around a lot. And then you can help me find the Jet Stream. If that's who I am.
Three
The reasons that Greyhounds and people alike have for doing good deeds are often vague and amorphous. Even the best of intentions may contain a strand of self-serving self-interest. Does that dichotomy completely negate the compulsion to do good? It's a question every Greyhound – and every person – has to ask answer for him or herself, and the answer is always: it depends.
Karroo sat for while longer in the vegetable patch, soaking in the essence of the tomato plants and trying to think about her situation and what was to come. Finally, as so often happens with profound self-examination, she found she was boring herself.
She heard, off in the distance, a series of howls, growing louder and louder as they were relayed to the house. You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to read of the message. It was transmitted in Common, the lingo that all animals spoke, and it was brief: The Queen was gone. Long live the Queen.
“That would be me," Karroo said, standing up. She shook just a little bit, still careful not to harm the tomato plants, and trotted down the rows of vegetables. She floated over the fence easily, landing gracefully without missing a stride. She started to race up to the house then stopped. She had a sense – a very accurate one, as it turned out – that these were her last moments of freedom, the last seconds that she would be wholly on her own.
Very soon, she would be the Grey Queen. Other Greyhounds would turn to her for guidance and she would be expected to take up the leash of running the world without missing a step.
Sure, they would probably grant her some leeway as she learned exactly what was involved. But already she could feel the weight of the decisions she would have to make weighing on her, pressing down on her. Suddenly, it was almost unbearable.
She was tempted to turn and run, clear the fence that surrounded her people's property, run across the road (after looking both ways, of course) and head for the woods. Perhaps she could get far enough away that no one would recognize her. She could live out her life as a simple house Greyhound with no greater worries than whether or not she got caught in the vegetable garden.
It was a profoundly attractive alternative to what awaited her.
On the other hand, she had a sense that destiny was calling out to her. She had known this day was coming, had known it since she was very very young. Yes, she had studied and trained, occasionally indulging in innocent fantasies about what the world would be like if she were allowed to run it, but she'd never ever thought that would really happened. Not really.
We wouldn't have picked you if we didn't think you could do it, Tweeter said quietly. You know that.
“I'm scared," Karroo said.
So was I. Don't think about the long-term right now. Take one step at a time. Yes, things will be crazy for a while, but soon enough it will settle down. Life will be normal — at least as normal as it ever gets. You will enjoy it, I promise. And you’ll have the opportunity to do good things.
"What sorts of good things?"
Tweeter was silent. For a moment, Karroo thought she’d left. Then Tweeter said, Your new friend, the baby Jet Stream. Once you’re Grey Queen, you can help him.
"I can? How?"
I can’t tell you. But you have to find your brother just as he has to find his – well, I suppose they’d be called brothers and sisters. Or contrails, maybe. He is the one lost to his clan, just as your brother is lost to yours. Do you see the parallel?
"I guess I do. But he's a Wind, not a Greyhound.”
Does that make him any less important? Again, with that odd little pop, Tweeter vanished from her mind. But instead of going away completely, Karroo had the feeling that Tweeter had transferred a part of her essence to Karroo’s legs. Without consciously intending it, Karroo started walking toward the house. She had to force herself to take steps the first few steps but each step became easier and easier.
Just as she reached the back porch, another thought occurred to Karroo. If she was able to help the Wind – then maybe the Wind could help her.
"There you are," Tess said. "Any luck?"
Karroo nodded. "Progress. But I still have a ways to go."
Tess sniffed her. "The garden again, yes?"
Karroo nodded. Tess shared her fondness for tomato plants, and they’d spent many hours side-by-side watching them grow.
"I heard the howl," Karroo said. "I thought I'd better come back."
Tess nodded approvingly. “Come on, there a few things I need to show you. Starting with the two additional secret exits is from the house. You’re going to need them in the next few weeks."
The next few hours passed in the haze of instructions, occasionally supplemented by Tweeter, rules and regulations to memorize, and a continuous series of howls as matters that had been pending before Tweeter were transferred to Karroo's house. She had no idea how she was going to keep it all straight, but Tess and the rest of the pack stepped up immediately to help her. She realized with a small start that they had been preparing for this day far more thoroughly than she had. Each one knew his or her assigned duties and quickly slipped to into the appropriate slot of her administrative staff. Tess, although she was still Karroo’s Alpha, was her Chief of Staff.
"That's enough for today," Tess said as Karroo confused, for the fifth time, the names and titles of the other ranking canines within the United States. "You’ll have to get this material down soon, but it can wait until tomorrow."
Karroo was tired beyond all reasoning. She had missed three naps in a row and could barely keep her eyes open. Everything was starting to blend into a haze. It was almost four o'clock in the afternoon and her people would be back and then they’d start evening routine. If she didn't get just a short nap very soon, she was going to be useless for days.
"Go to bed," Tess said. “I’ll wake you up for dinner.”
Karroo slept. Karroo dreamed.
It started off as a normal running dream, the standard sort that comprised roughly eighty percent of all Greyhound dreams. Someone watching Karroo would have seen her nose twitch, her feet paw at unseen turf, and heard those gentle little noise that Greyhounds make when they’re sleep-barking.
After a while, the pounding of her feet started to become more and more coherent. At first, she thought she could hear the impact of every single toe on the ground, distinct in separate, followed by a louder thud that was large pad in the center of her foot hit. Then she could perceive the scratching noise her nails made on the dirt, almost imperceptible at the edge of her hearing. Then finally, there was larger, longer pulse in the rhythm, one that didn't beat in time with the rest of the sounds of her paw. With a start, she realized it was her own heart.
The longer she listened, the more the sound of her body running seemed to be trying to tell her something. The slams into the ground and the intervals of silence translated into what almost sounded like words.
Then, all at once, they were words. Clearly words. Yet not understandable.
I'm dreaming. I know I'm dreaming. My feet are not talking to me.
No. It's not my feet talking. It's the track.
Now that was something she could understand. Tracks often spoke to her when she ran, warning her where there were soft areas or slippery patches of dirt. The track usually leaned into her as she went around turns, straightening out and unrolling before her as she came down the end stretches.
Most tracks were fairly congenial beings, going out of their ways to make things comfortable for the Greyhounds. There were some that were obnoxiously rude and tried to play favorites, throwing up little bits of sand to bother Greyhounds they didn't like or shoving small rocks under their feet when they ran. But those were certainly the rarities.
So this was unusual, but not that unusual. Although she'd never heard a track speaking English like this before, it wasn't as though she hadn't talked tracks before.
The longer she listened, the more the sounds and words seem to make sense. Finally, she could puzzle out the first verse:
Some may say too lean
But the Greyhound understands
To lean is a verb.
Ridiculous. It couldn't be the track. She had never known a track to do any sort of poetry beyond the most simple doggerel. Certainly she would have sworn that haiku were beyond them.
Okra. Gumbo’s the only way to eat okra.
“What’s okra?” Karroo asked.
Who is that? a voice asked, ringing clear and bell-like in her mind. It was a Greyhound, of that she was certain. And there was something charmingly familiar about his accent.
I can't stand it when people watch me. Go away immediately. The voice held at note of command.
Karroo chuckled. If only he knew he was speaking to the Grey Queen. How embarrassed he would be for taking that tone with her!
My name is Karroo, she said in her mind. Who are you?
That's none of your business, the other Greyhound replied crisply. I'll thank you not interfere with my poetry, if you please. I know that many people don't appreciate what I do, but I can assure you that it's quite necessary. And if you think otherwise, I'd like to encourage you to keep your thoughts to yourself.
Even in her sleep, Karroo's jaw dropped. It was rare for anyone to speak to her in that tone of voice.
She did not know it, but people were often more polite to the Grey Princess than they would normally have been to an obnoxious little two-year-old who got too big for her britches. Tweeter had done her best to ensure that everyone treated her just like a normal youngster but you can't legislate good sense. (Something that many people should try to understand.)
Then, while she searched for something to say, she heard a soft, high-pitched sound. It grew louder and higher, growing in urgency until it was a keening cry, drowning out everything else.
What's that? she shouted mentally, trying to hold onto the strand of connection she had the poet. What’s happening?
She could hear the other Greyhound struggling to be calm, trying to remain centered and balanced but he was losing the battle. Seconds later, before he answered, he shrieked.
The sound of his scream cut straight through her heart. What's wrong? she demanded, reaching out in a way she hadn’t known she could, trying to pull him closer to her. Tell me. Hold out your paw. I’ll pull you over to me.
The other Greyhound managed to choke out one short sentence — it hurts! — before the red screaming that was pain overwhelmed his personality. She grasped desperately for him, snapping, trying to catch hold of his tail or his paw or anything she could grab to pull him back from the brink, but her teeth closed on empty air.
The screaming stopped. The other Greyhound was gone.
Karroo awoke. Her feet were still twitching, running in her dreams as she tried to catch up with the other Greyhound.
That was him, Tweeter said. The sorrow in her voice was infinite. Your brother.
“No! What's wrong with him. Why is he screaming? He's in so much pain, Tweeter. We have to do something.”
There's nothing I can do, Tweeter answered. It's all up to you. He’s your brother, after all.
“But I don't know what to do. I don't even know where he is. All I know is he can write haiku and he doesn't like to be bothered when he works. And he’s rude. Very rude. In fact, I don't think anyone has taught him the slightest bit of —.”
Try not to get distracted, dear, Tweeter said. It's one of your worst character defects.
“Of course,” Karroo said, struggling to put down the particular train of thought she'd been following. “But how can I help him if I don't know where he is?”
You have some clues.
“Like what?”
Tell me again what you know.
“That he's a poet. That he’s in pain.”
Very close, Tweeter said approvingly. But not entirely accurate. It's not your brother who is in pain. It's everything around him. He's a poet so it reflects in him. It hurts him, too, in a way that it doesn't hurt other people. He observes it, becomes a part of it.
“That's not a lot of help,” Karroo said.
Poets and pain. Poets and pain. Where do you think the two would be?
“A latitude and longitude would be a lot more useful.”
And you know he's alive, Tweeter said. At least you should know that.
“What is gumbo?” Karroo asked. “He mentioned something about it.”
Did he, now? What did he say?
“He said it was the only way to eat okra.”
Do you agree?