Say No More
Authors: Gemini Sasson
Tags: #rainbow bridge, #heaven, #dogs, #Australian Shepherd, #angels, #dog novel
say no more
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A Faderville Novel
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N. GEMINI SASSON
Say No More (A Faderville Novel, #1)
Further Reading: Say That Again
This book is dedicated to all the old dogs, good dogs, and misunderstood dogs.
And to all the loved ones watching over us, waiting to see us again.
SAY NO MORE
A dog’s love is forever.
After five-year old Hunter McHugh witnesses the farming accident that takes the life of his father, Cam, he stops talking — to everyone except his dog, Halo. When Hunter runs away and gets lost in the Kentucky wilderness, it’s up to Halo to find him. Just as she’s about to give up, Halo gets help from an unlikely source: Cam’s ghost.
Halo is no ordinary dog. Not only does she see ghosts, but she can talk to them, too. If only she could tell Hunter that death doesn’t mean an end to being around the ones we love, maybe she could help him find his voice again. Unfortunately, she may never have the chance.
Parted from the only family she has ever known, Halo must find her way home. The problem is she doesn’t know where home is anymore.
Say No More
is a heartfelt story of love, hope, and the enduring bond between a boy afraid to speak and a dog that can’t.
SAY NO MORE
Copyright © 2014 N. Gemini Sasson
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the Author.
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A
thousand scents surround me: honeysuckle and hyacinth, grubs burrowing through damp earth, stagnant water mingling with black muck at pond’s edge ... and bacon frying. I lick my lips and swallow. It’s all I can do to not put my nose to the air and explore until I discover their source.
But I have to stay here. It’s almost time.
I have something very important to do. I’m waiting. For him. And I’ll be here when he comes. The first one he’ll see.
It seems like it’s been forever, yet I can remember every detail about him, as if I left him only minutes ago.
Tender shoots of spring grass tickle my feet. I lower my head until my chin rests on the ground and nibble at them while I wait. After all, I don’t know how long it will be.
To my right, a beetle scampers down a blade of grass before disappearing into the dense carpet of green. My ears perk. I swear I hear its tiny feet rustling. Or maybe that’s the sound of its jaws sawing away on moist stems?
The barest of breezes tugs at my hair. There is a fluttering inside my nostrils. I lift my head, inhale. It’ll rain soon. I know it before I hear the low rumble in the sky or see the clouds darkening on the horizon. I’m not scared of the thunder here. I became that way when I was old. In The Time Before This. But now I’m young again. Here, there is excitement in everything, wonder in the familiar.
Rising, I look toward the top of the hill where the great oak stands. Its boughs are twice as thick around as my middle. Its crown spreads far, every branch densely cloaked in leaves of green. In sunlight, it shields me from the heat. In rain, it keeps me dry. When the wind kicks up and the air cools, there is a little pocket in the earth between the sprawling roots where I have dug a hole and can curl up. Here, no one cares if I dig. It is expected.
The walk is long and steep, but my bones do not weary. I am young again. And I would climb a hill ten times as high, ten times over, ten days straight, just to see him one more time. My heart leaps at the thought.
He’ll come. I know he will.
As I reach the top, a squirrel darts forth and stares me straight in the eye. My heart quickens. Her gray tail stiffens above her back like a bottle brush, then flicks to the side. Whiskers twitch nervously. I crouch in the tall grass, watching, patient. Boldly, she races forward and plucks an acorn from the ground. She clutches it to her chest, as if to say, “Mine, mine, mine.”
Stupid beady-eyed creature. I don’t want the acorn. I can think of tastier things. Squirrel, for one.
I lift a foot, creep forward, pause, step again. Her tail quivers. My head low, I move through the grass. So close now I can smell the wood scent on her fur and —
“Halo! Haaaloooooo!”
In a blur, the squirrel whips around and scrabbles up the furrowed bark of the oak, the knobby acorn stuffed in her tiny mouth. She stops above the first bough, gazes down at me, and huffs her cheeks in triumph. Then with another arrogant flick of her tail, she ascends in a spiral, and I lose her form in the tangle of branches and scattering of leaves. Far above, baby squirrels chatter in greeting.
“Halo?” the Old Man calls. “What’re you doing up there, girl?”
At the base of the hill, the Old Man stands, gripping a shepherd’s crook. It’s merely for show. I suppose it makes him feel important, like he’s in charge of things, but I don’t really need him to tell me what to do. At least not as much as he thinks.
He walks partway up, tapping the bottom of the crook along the ground as he goes. Here, he doesn’t need it to lean on. His steps are slow but sure. His spine, once bent, is now straight and strong. He reaches the top of the hill, his breath barely audible, but a sheen of sweat glistens above his brow.
My belly low, I slink to him, then sit and wait obediently. Gone from his face is the mapwork of blue veins beneath papery skin, although there are still creases around his eyes from squinting into the sun for so many years. He reaches his hand out, lets it hover above my head. I sniff his fingers. They’re still spotted with age, but they’re no longer gnarled. He scratches gently behind my ears.
I lean against his knee as his fingernails tickle my neck and then my back.
“Come on, Halo. We have to move the sheep before the storm blows in.”
Silly man. There are no coyotes here. They have their own heaven, separate from ours.
He steps away and pats his leg, but I don’t move. Doesn’t he understand? I’m waiting for someone. What if he finally shows up and I’m not here? I can’t leave my post. This is my job, my responsibility, my duty. Mine alone. My honor depends on it.
The Old Man frowns sympathetically at me. His shoulders lift in a shrug, emphasizing the wrinkles in that same old tatty shirt he always wears. I’ve always loved the smell of it and hated whenever he washed it. I hate the smell of soap. And shampoo. Things should smell as they’re meant to, not like almonds or coconut milk or baby powder.
“We were quite a team, weren’t we, girl?” His mouth curves into a grin. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes.
“All the ribbons, the belt buckles . . .” His voice softens as he reminisces. “All those titles . . . But they don’t really mean a thing, do they?”
No, they don’t. They’re only things: colored scraps of cloth, metal discs, letters on a piece of paper. What matters were the many hours we spent in the field gathering the sheep, the cold mornings when we tiptoed into the barn to check on the new lambs, the times he let me ride in the cab of the pick-up next to him. I worked hard then, but I was happy. So was he. There was pride in a good day’s work.
“You were always there when I needed you, Halo. Always. That’s what matters.”
“It is,” I say. “And you were there for me.”
Nodding, he turns to go, the wooden staff trailing behind him. The grass ripples in a rising wind and the bleating of sheep carries across the valley. Do the simple creatures ever tire of being afraid?
I gaze across the river, over the arc of many colors that is the bridge to here: the Other Side. There’s no one there. Yet. If I hurry, I can help the Old Man and be back before the boy comes.
And he will. Because I’m waiting. Like any good dog would.
W
arm hands encircled my ribs and lifted me up. Too sleepy yet to open my eyes, I sniffed the air. I knew the scent. She was the one who cared for my mother. The one who filled her water dish and brought her bones to gnaw on. The one who piled us in the basket and laid down clean blankets in our box, then put us back one at a time, as she kissed us each softly on the head and said our names.
Next to my mother, I loved Lise best. More than playing with my brothers and sisters. Just slightly more than the warm, yummy slop she put on the plates for us to lap up. Even more than naps — although right now, I was very,
very
tired.
I’d had a hard day, you see. I climbed on top of my brother Scout and fell out of the box. Then I wandered around for a long, long time on the cool, slippery floor, searching for my mother. My legs, not being very strong yet, slid in all directions until they splayed out from my body and my chest hit the floor. I tried to get up, but the same thing happened the next time. I tried again and again, with the same results. I grew more frustrated with each attempt, and yet more determined, even though my coordination was poor and my legs were wobbly. I decided to give it one last try, wiggling my body and bracing my front feet before me.
I was sitting. This was good. I tucked my hind feet beneath me and pushed my rear end up. I was standing!
But only for a second. My front legs careened from beneath me. My chin whacked the floor. That was when I started to wail. It seemed like forever before my mother came. She nuzzled me, licked me from end to end, and finally lay down beside me. Somehow, I squirmed my way to her belly and ate my fill. My tummy full, I dozed off. Later I awoke, aware of the soft, fuzzy blanket beneath me and my brothers and sisters pressed to either side of me. I was too big by now for my mother to carry in her mouth, so it must have been Lise who put me back.
It was Lise’s arms in which I was now cradled. Her fingertips stroked my bare tummy. She stopped. I kicked my legs and groaned to let her know I didn’t like it when she quit.
Ever so slightly, she squeezed me. “Oh, Halo. You’re so demanding.” She caressed my belly, my ribs, the insides of my legs. It felt so good. How wonderful to have a human who could do these things for you.
She let out a long sigh. “And why are you the one who always gets in trouble, huh? Nobody else has been out of the whelping box and yet you’ve managed it five times in just the past two days. I thought for sure it was a fluke, a lucky accident, but no, I think you’ve gone and figured it out. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Miss Halo. You’re giving me gray hairs already, and I’m not even thirty.”
She was praising me. I could tell by her voice. It meant I was a good puppy. Better than good. The best. And she loved me more than the others. That was easy to see. That’s why I kept getting out. So she’d come and praise me for being so smart. The others were lazy and fat and dumb. But not me. I was different. Better. Clearly, I was her favorite.
Lise hooked her thumbs under my front legs and held me up. I turned my head to the side and yawned to let her know I needed to finish my nap. Later, when I wanted her to hold me and talk to me, I’d cry out. But right now I needed to rest. Ignoring my signal, she twisted my body sideways and touched her nose to mine.
“Hey, sleepy head,” she said, her breath stirring my whiskers. “I have a special feeling about you.”
I blinked, forced my eyes open. Her face swam fuzzily before me. Pulling her head back, she tilted it thoughtfully and stared at me for a long time. So long my eyes almost drifted shut again before her voice startled me into alertness.
