Angus and Sadie

  But you didn’t say Stay! Mister says Sit! and Stay!

  You’re saying I’m doing it wrong?

  No, not wrong. Just not right.

  It turned out that being the trainer was harder than Angus had thought. He admired Mister all the more, once he understood how hard it was. When you were the trainer, you had to think about things more, and think about them sooner.

  The next time he practiced training Sadie, Angus waited until they were alone in the kitchen, after Mister and Missus had gone upstairs to bed. Sadie, Sit! he said. Stay!

  It took longer than Angus thought it should, but finally Sadie got up from where she was napping on the floor, and sat. Then she watched Angus, and waited. He was pleased with how well he was training her, and he made her wait just a little longer before he said, That’ll do! As she sprang up, he added, Good girl, Sadie.

  He liked being the trainer. He liked it so much, he stopped minding that Sadie had run off into the storm, and saved the sheep, and made everybody forget that he had saved sheep, too. It turned out that if she hadn’t been disobedient, he wouldn’t have known that he could train her himself.

  After several days of this practice, Angus started to help Sadie when Mister was training them. He knew he understood her better than Mister did, because Mister wasn’t another dog. He knew he also understood how Mister liked to train, because it was the way Angus liked to learn. Angus was sure he could help Sadie learn that way.

  “Sadie, Down!” said Mister.

  Sadie looked at Mister, and lay down.

  Down! said Angus.

  Sadie looked at Angus. She was already down.

  “Stay!” said Mister.

  She looked at Mister.

  Stay! Sadie, you can do it, said Angus.

  She looked at Angus. Did Angus think she couldn’t do it? But she was doing it, wasn’t she? But what if Angus was right and she couldn’t do it? Was he right? Did Missus know what she should do?

  “Why is she looking at you?” Mister asked Missus.

  Sadie looked at Mister.

  “She’s not,” Missus said.

  Sadie looked at Missus.

  You’re getting distracted, said Angus. Don’t get distracted. I know how hard it is for you, but try a little harder.

  The more Angus told Sadie how hard it was, the harder it got for Sadie to remember and obey.

  “You’re having trouble today, girl,” Mister said.

  I’m here, said Angus. I’m right with you. Not much longer—okay, Sadie, that’s pretty good. That’ll do!

  Sadie rose to her feet.

  “Sadie, Down!” Mister said.

  Sadie got down again.

  “And Stay!” said Mister.

  You’ll do better next time, Angus said. Don’t feel too bad about it. It’s really hard, I know. We can practice some more, later, just the two of us.

  But—Sadie started to say.

  “That’ll do!” Mister said.

  Angus got up, and Sadie followed his example.

  “What’s got into you today?” Mister asked, as he bent down to rub gently on Sadie’s ears.

  Don’t worry about it, Angus reassured her. He’s not really angry. He’s just disappointed.

  As soon as Angus said that, Sadie really started to worry. She didn’t want to be a disappointment to anybody. Of course, because she worried about it, she got worse at being trained.

  The next day and the day after that, Sadie tried even harder when they were training, and Angus tried even harder to help her. He offered encouragement: I know you’re getting tired, but keep trying. I know how hard it is, but just a little bit more.

  “Sit!” Mister said. As soon as he said it, Angus would say Sit! Sometimes Angus got it wrong, and when Mister said “Come!,” he said Down! Sadie tried to do it right. She started to Come!, but then she did Down! Then she understood that Angus meant to say Come! so she got up again and went to Mister.

  “You are in a slump, Sadie,” Mister said on the third day. “Have we been pushing you too hard? Let’s slow down a little, and review. Sit!” he said.

  Sadie sat.

  “Stay!” Mister said.

  Sadie stayed. Missus stayed with her. Mister went to work with Angus, practicing Heel! They walked down to the barn, slowly. Sometimes Mister stopped and Angus sat down, close beside his leg. As soon as Mister started walking again, Angus was up and moving along right behind his leg. When they got to the barn, they turned around to come back, Angus always at the same distance from Mister’s leg.

  “Good girl, Sadie,” Mister called to her.

  That’ll do! Angus called.

  Sadie got up. She took a few steps, then she realized Angus’s error and sat again.

  “Uh-oh,” Mister said. “I didn’t release you, Sadie. We need to review That’ll do!, don’t we? Another day,” he said, and she could see that he was disappointed. Again.

  Sadie was disappointed, too. She had really liked it when Mister and Missus were so proud of her and thought she was a wonder. She wanted to have that good feeling again.

  Angus didn’t seem to mind when Sadie had trouble obeying Mister. Angus was very patient. But Sadie minded. She definitely did not like getting worse at training. She kept thinking about the cats, too.

  Sadie had had an idea about the cats. She didn’t like the idea, but she thought it was a good one. She didn’t tell it to Angus, because she didn’t want him getting his hopes up. She didn’t want him being disappointed in her, too. But she kept thinking about her idea, which was: She could try it on her own, try learning to be brave about the cats without any help.

  That idea meant going into the barn alone, and it took quite a few days for Sadie to find enough courage. She kept wanting to, and she even got started off down the path, but she wasn’t able to make herself go right up to the barn, and then inside.

  The days grew still longer, and the last of the snow had melted away. Every night Sadie decided that the next day would be the day she tried, but when that day came, she decided she had better wait for the next next one. It was easier to be brave, Sadie thought, when you didn’t have any time to think about it. It was easier when you just ran off into the woods to rescue a sheep.

  But this idea about going into the barn alone wasn’t like that. You had to think about it, and then choose to do it, and then make yourself walk up to the barn—alone—and in through the big doors.

  Sometimes, at night, in the safety of the kitchen, Sadie felt brave enough to promise herself that she would try. Usually, in the morning she was disappointed and impatient with herself because she kept putting it off and not doing it. She liked her nighttime feelings, but she couldn’t make them last into the next day. She hated her daytime feelings and was glad when they went away at night.

  And then one day …

  Why that day? Maybe because the sun was warm. Maybe because Angus and Mister had taken the tractor off into the woods, so no one but Sadie would know if she failed. Maybe because that morning Sadie got more tired of being scared to try than she had ever been before. Or maybe because that morning—with the sun so warm and the sky so bright, how could anything bad happen on a day like that?—she really believed she could do it. Whatever the reason, or maybe for all of them put together, on that day Sadie could make herself try.

  Besides, Missus was in the house if anything bad happened.

  Having decided to try it, Sadie decided next that she wouldn’t think one single thing about it anymore. She would just do it. Right away. So she walked down toward the barn.

  She walked down to the barn and up to the open door.

  She walked right through the door until she was where the sunshine turned into shade. Then she stopped.

  The cats were inside. She heard them moving up in the hayloft, and then she heard them sneaking down the ladder.

  Sadie wanted to turn and run away, but instead she took more steps, until she was all the way inside the barn. Without the tractor, there was one less thing for
the cats to hide behind. She walked by the cows, sniffing, acting as if she was checking up on things, looking around as if she needed to be sure everything was all right, as if she was doing Angus’s job while he was away, working.

  She could hear the cats moving in the shadowy stalls across from her.

  She was halfway around the barn, and she knew the cats were waiting. They were waiting to jump out at her. When they jumped, she would yelp and try to get away from them. She knew that, too. Angus said she shouldn’t yelp, but she couldn’t help it.

  Sadie walked on, in the shadowy darkness, sniffing. She came to the empty stalls.

  Hissing, Snake leaped out at her from the first stall. His claws were out, and Sadie saw his sharp, pointed teeth just before she yelped and jumped back. Then Fox leapt out at her from behind Snake, and Sadie yelped and jumped again. Her heart was beating in her throat, in her ears. All her hair stood on end. She could feel the hair on her neck and on her rump.

  Sadie couldn’t help it, she yelped again.

  But she kept her own idea in her head, and after she yelped, she began to bark. It wasn’t very loud barking, because it had to push past her heart to get out of her throat, but it was loud enough to sound like an angry dog. Her barking surprised the cats. They were waiting for her to run back to the house. They didn’t know what to do, so they stood with arched backs and fat tails, and hissed some more.

  Sadie barked again, and this time she also growled, low in her throat.

  You want we should go for you again? Snake asked.

  Sadie didn’t even think of answering. She just did what she had decided to do. She closed her eyes and ran at the two cats, barking as loudly as she could. After a few steps, she stopped and opened her eyes.

  At first, she couldn’t see them at all. Then she did.

  They had gone off in two directions, Snake up the ladder to the loft and Fox out the doorway into the sunlight. Once safely out of the barn, with all the outside to flee into, Fox stopped. She turned around.

  As if she was attacking, Sadie ran right at Fox and barked again twice, loudly. Fox fled, running out of sight around the side of the barn. Snake stayed up in the safety of the high loft, not even looking down. With the cats taken care of, Sadie could step quietly out of the barn, into the sunlight and safety of the yard.

  She pretended that she was just taking care of things, as usual, but her heart was still racing in her chest, and she worried that Snake would run down from his safe perch to jump at her, landing on her back and sticking his sharp claws into her. She knew she wasn’t really brave, just pretending, but now she also knew what she could do about those cats. And something more, too.

  She knew that Angus was wrong about being afraid. It didn’t matter if she felt brave or felt frightened. What mattered was what she did about those feelings. Not everything was the way Angus said it was, and Angus didn’t have to worry about her as much as he thought he did. Sadie couldn’t wait for him to get home that evening, so she could tell him what she had done.

  You what? Angus asked her, amazed. That was really dumb, Sadie. You don’t know cats like I do.

  But—

  You were lucky to get away with it.

  Angus didn’t get it. Sadie tried again.

  They ran away. When I barked and charged.

  There must have been some other reason, Angus explained.

  Sadie wasn’t sure Angus could understand what she was telling him, so she stopped trying. It was almost as if he didn’t want to understand that he had something wrong. But if he didn’t understand, how could he change and get it right?

  The next day when Missus was training them, and she had told them to “Sit!” and then “Stay!,” Angus started to help Sadie again. Take it easy. You can do it. I know you want to get going, but wait, wait just a little longer, Sadie. Just another breath, wait one breath. Good, now another …

  Sadie was getting confused again, and that made it harder for her to be trained. She wanted Angus not to help her anymore, especially right now. That’ll do! Angus, Sadie said. She needed to pay close attention to Missus. She tried to explain that to Angus. You don’t know everything. That’ll do!

  11

  How everybody knows something but nobody knows everything, and it’s not a race

  When Sadie said to Angus, You don’t know everything, Angus almost said right back, I never said I did. Because he never had. He was just better at things than she was, better at everything. They both knew that. But when Sadie told him That’ll do! as if she was the trainer, that made Angus angry.

  Angus had tried to help Sadie, and now all she had to say to him was That’ll do! as if he was a pest. As if he wanted to spend all his time helping her. As if he’d never helped her at all. Thinking about it made him really angry.

  It felt good to be angry at Sadie. Being angry cheered Angus up.

  He figured that it wouldn’t be very long before Sadie got scared by something, by the cats, or maybe some wind howling at a window, or even just the tractor being turned on. Something would frighten her and she’d come running.

  But he wouldn’t help her. Not anymore. He was done helping Sadie. Because she was acting as if he hadn’t ever helped her at all. Telling him That’ll Do! like that. Angus was good and angry now. He kept on being angry, day after day.

  Sadie didn’t notice this, not really. The days were warmer, as well as longer, and the snow had all melted away, so Angus and Mister went out into the woods to cut up the trees that had blown down in the winter storms. They were gone all day, and when they returned, Angus fell asleep almost right away. The dogs were over a year old now, and they got fed only once, in the mornings, so at night there was nothing to do except fall asleep. Sadie didn’t have many chances to notice Angus being angry at her.

  Everything was muddy: the driveway, the animal pens, the pastures. The dogs moved back to the barn for the nights, and the sheep—with two new lambs this year—moved back to the spring pasture. Angus and Sadie were not allowed to go along for the move. “They’ve just learned not to go into the sheep pen,” Mister said. “I don’t want to ask too much of them. It’s spring, and everybody’s a little nutty in spring. Even Angus, aren’t you, boy?” So Angus and Sadie stayed in the house that morning, Angus napping alone in the living room, not even answering when Sadie asked why didn’t he come into the kitchen to drink some water and lie in the sunlight with her and Patches.

  The air in spring was soft to breathe and warm with sunlight. It was the sweetest air of the whole year. But everybody was so busy—cleaning house and turning over the fields, planting seeds in trays full of tiny pots, clearing fallen trees and mending the fences—that nobody had time to appreciate the air. Nobody, that is, except Sadie, and Sadie had the time only because what little time there was for training was spent on Angus.

  Mister wanted to take Angus to the trials in April. “My brother’s had Lucy in trials twice already, last spring and last fall. Angus is at least as well-trained as Lucy was last spring, and he’s probably smarter than she is.”

  “Maybe, but your brother had that professional trainer work with Lucy. That has to make a big difference.”

  “The trials are down in Massachusetts. I’d need to be gone a couple of days. Would you mind?”

  “Not with Sadie for company. I can easily take care of the cows, and if you turn the garden over before you go, I can make a good start on the planting.”

  “Are you sure you should be doing that kind of heavy work?” Mister asked.

  “The stronger I am, the better it’ll be for the baby,” Missus said.

  What baby? Sadie asked. Angus, did you hear that?

  When Angus didn’t answer, when he acted as if she hadn’t said a thing, Sadie finally understood that something was wrong with him, and that what was wrong with him was probably her fault. She didn’t know what she had done wrong, but it was obvious she had done something.

  The dogs slept together in the barn, but it wasn’t the same
. They had their old blanket in their old stall, and the familiar barn noises around them, but everything had changed, because Angus and Sadie were different. They were like a dog and a cat—or a dog and a chicken, or even a dog and a cow—two entirely different kinds of animals that just happened to be living in the same stall. Two different kinds of animals do different kinds of things, and they especially don’t do things together. That is the way it was with Angus and Sadie.

  For example, when Angus patrolled around the inside of the barn at night, he didn’t want Sadie to go with him. Sadie minded this, but she didn’t say anything about it.

  And on the first night the dogs had returned to the barn, the barn cats jumped at Sadie. She leaped up, yelping, but then she turned and barked at them, chasing them off, and she never asked Angus for help. Angus didn’t say anything about that. Afterward, Snake and Fox left Sadie alone, and Angus didn’t say anything about that, either.

  Sometimes, Sadie heard a noise from the garden and went out alone to be sure everything was all right. Everything was always all right, and she thought that if there really did happen to be some animal there, a dangerous raccoon, or a fox, Angus would come to help her if she really needed it. So she wasn’t too worried. It was worrying enough out in the dark garden, listening to hear if she was going to have to do something. But when she growled low in her throat, the animals were as frightened of her as she was of them, and they rustled away into the darkness. She didn’t know what kind of animals they might be, and she couldn’t ask Angus. He didn’t want her asking him questions.

  Angus was working particularly hard with Mister at training, getting ready for the trials. Often, Mister didn’t really train Sadie at all. Angus watched silently while Mister had Sadie Sit! Down! Stay!, and Come!, just one time. Then Mister said, “That’ll do!” and sent Sadie back to sit beside Missus so he could work with Angus. Angus almost never made any mistakes, no matter how many times Mister gave him an order. He was perfect, and Mister said so.

  “Does he have to be perfect?” Missus asked.