The first of Dolly Pawton's very good days was the day Madam did not go away.
This had come as surprise to Dolly, as it hadn't started as one of those lazy mornings where Madam stayed in bed long after sunup, her face pressing into Dolly's thick golden hair until the singing birds (or Dolly's own impatience) forced her to her feet. No, the morning in question had begun as most mornings had, with Madam's small noise-and-light thing screeching angrily, followed by a brief walk in the fresh air and Madam's absolute refusal to share even a scrap of her breakfast with poor Dolly, who was quite convinced she was about to starve any time she picked up a whiff of anyone's food. After that, Madam would have gone in the small hot rain room, then would have told Dolly to be a good girl before going away somewhere, leaving Dolly the company of the large noise-and-light thing and no set purpose, except perhaps to frighten squirrels through the window and drag her hindquarters idly across the carpet.
It should be noted at this point that Miss Dolly Pawton was a dog, an enormous hybrid of Bernese mountain dog and golden retriever (possibly with a hint of husky as well given her accomplished singing abilities). Madam no doubt had a proper name, but Dolly had never quite learned more than the basics of the two-legs' noises, and as her companion was most often addressed by other two-legs as "Madam," in her canine mind that was the name of the individual who had taken her from the loud, frightening place with the many other dogs. Now she was lucky enough to dwell in a a small, comfortable den surrounded by strips of lovely grass and a few thick (if annoyingly squirrel-infested) trees, with the only other nearby dog being a small black yapping creature a few dens away. Dolly was very fond of her home, and adored Madam with her entire being, even if she did not usually share her meals and was prone to leaving for long periods of the day.
On that first very good day though, Madam stayed home. She had seen something on the small noise-and-light thing, and made a lot of sounds that Dolly found concerning. Then she spent a good part of the day staring at the large noise-and-light thing, and the strange noises became sad ones, and water began to flow ceaselessly from Madam's eyes. Dolly did her best to cheer her companion, resting her chin on Madam's lap and offering her most prized possession, a well chewed plush squirrel whose face and tail had been dutifully gnawed off (which was all any squirrel deserved).
Nothing helped. Madam continued to make troubled sounds at her small noise-and-light thing, and later in the day other two-legs came to the den. Dolly knew all of them, and as such did not try to frighten them away, but she was disappointed that all them seemed bent on making lots of sad noises together, and were ignoring her attempts to play and comfort them.
As the day began to fade though, Madam finally seemed to remember Dolly. The sad noises she had been making became loving and gentle ones, and Madam gave her almost enough scratches to compensate for the day's lack of acknowledgment. Dolly forgave her; after all it was about the time Madam would have come back from wherever she went anyways, and the next walk was an extra long one. Not only that, but Madam even gave her a few of the extra-good meaty treats Dolly usually only got when going for rides, or when she was showing off how many of Madam's sounds she could understand.
The very next day had lots of walks too, even though Madam was making all sorts of sounds into her small noise-and-light thing through a lot of them. Other dogs were out with their two-legs too, all of whom seemed almost as upset as Madam. But not one of the dogs seemed troubled in the current circumstances, and didn't notice how their companions kept looking up into the big space overhead.
Then came more very good days. Madam stopped going anywhere without Dolly, but she also stopped going anywhere without the scary thing. Dolly was nervous about that at first; she could remember a time before Madam, before the loud place with all the other dogs, when she had been small and lived in a different den, with different two-legs. There had been a male two-legs in that den, and he'd had a scary thing. It made loud noises, louder than thunder or the big ride things or anything else Dolly could remember. And the scary thing could hurt. It could even kill. Dolly remembered having brothers and sisters once, and more than one of them had been killed by the scary thing when the male two-legs had held it and made frightening sounds with an angry face.
He'd pointed it at Dolly once, and when it made the scary noise her back leg had hurt worse than anything she could remember. She hadn't walked for days, and was sure she was dying, but everything after that had been a blur. The big place with all the other dogs, and then…Madam.
And Madam had been so kind. Dolly was scared, but Madam didn't ask for anything from her. She never made frightening sounds, even when Dolly accidentally made messes or chewed on things she wasn't supposed to. Dolly was allowed to sit anywhere in the den she wanted, either in Madam's nighttime bed or the daytime one in front of the large noise-and-light thing, and there were always toys around and food to eat (even if it wasn't the tastiest things Madam kept for herself). There were never any male two-legs around either, or even little two-legs. It was just Madam and Dolly, and even though Dolly was alone a lot she was never scared anymore, just a little bored and lonely sometimes.
That had all stopped. And if the price of that was that Madam now carried around a scary thing, well…Dolly trusted she would never use it. As far as Dolly knew, Madam never had, so maybe it was just Madam's way of growling and scaring off the other two-legs.
Scarier two-legs had started coming around too. After the first very good day, the other two-legs Dolly knew still visited, but less and less often. Strange two-legs came by too, but Madam didn't let them past the front of the den, although she took things that smelled like food from them.
Dolly's food got better after a while too, not the crunchy mouthful things Madam had always given her, but more of the chewy, savory, meaty things that Madam ate. True, there was less to eat than Dolly seemed to remember, but she could hardly complain when everything was so good.
Maybe that was why the scary two-legs came; Dolly definitely know the sound "food," and when the scary ones kept saying it in mean voices, and looking at her with hard eyes, Madam had taken out the scary thing and the strangers went away as soon as they saw it. This time though Dolly was the one crying, and Madam had to comfort her, which she did all night.
One day, the noise-and-light things stopped working, both the large one and the small. The things that made light at night stopped working too, and Madam's hot rain room went dry. That was all right with Dolly; in her mind Madam was smelling nicer and nicer every day, even if she seemed to be getting thinner. Food time was only once a day now, but Dolly always got something, and it was exactly the same as what Madam got. Dolly supposed she must have been very good indeed to have earned such privilege.
The rest of the time was spent playing with toys (although these too seemed to be getting smaller as Dolly shredded them apart) or wandering around outside. They kept away from other two-legs and dogs when they saw them, and Madam always kept the scary thing close, but she talked to and petted Dolly more than ever, and every night Dolly fell asleep curled up next to Madam knowing she was loved.
One morning during their walk, Madam was staring up into the big overhead space for a very long time. Something seemed different about things up there, but Dolly couldn't quite put her paw on what it was. Immediately she forgot it though, because Madam had made the most magical sound of all.
"Ride?"
Dolly yipped and barked in pure elation. Rides were one of her favorite things in the world, and ever since the very good days had begun they had been rare. Madam was bringing her lumpy food-and-things holder too, which meant they were going to be headed to the trees (maybe even the water!) for a pleasant day of romping outside, rather than going someplace unpleasant, like the bath-and-cutting place or the small jabbing room. A long time ago, Dolly and Madam had even spent whole nights sleeping outside, surrounded by all kinds of smells and sounds, and Dolly could only hope this would be another such occasion.
When the ride thing started moving, Dolly was having too much fun hanging her head out in the big wind to pay attention to where they were going. They didn't pass many other ride things, and those they did see were still and empty on the side of the hard black river beneath them. Dolly didn't recognize their path, but she did recognize trees when she saw them, and hills, and water, and when their own ride-thing came to a halt on the side of the hard black river she could scarcely contain her excitement. Usually Madam would have insisted she wait and be fastened to her side, but when she opened the side of the ride thing she encouraged Dolly to jump free, completely unfettered.
Dolly took off in a run for the far off waters, pausing every now and then to see Madam following slowly behind. For once Madam looked at peace, and she hadn't brought the scary thing with her. She even laughed as she chased Dolly through the tall grass, the ride thing disappearing in the distance behind them. They didn't turn back as the light began to fade, and Dolly wagged her tail in excitement that they might be spending the whole night in the trees.
When everything was completely dark, and they'd enjoyed several pieces of the chewy meat things for their supper, Madam buried herself in a pile of soft things she'd taken from her food-and-things holder and beckoned Dolly closer. Dolly, being a very good girl, curled up against her, letting out a huff of serenity before licking Madam's cheek.
Above them, the immense meteor streaked ever closer.
Dedicated to B.W., Oreo, Charlie, Gracie, Ben, & all the other very good dogs <3
This had come as surprise to Dolly, as it hadn't started as one of those lazy mornings where Madam stayed in bed long after sunup, her face pressing into Dolly's thick golden hair until the singing birds (or Dolly's own impatience) forced her to her feet. No, the morning in question had begun as most mornings had, with Madam's small noise-and-light thing screeching angrily, followed by a brief walk in the fresh air and Madam's absolute refusal to share even a scrap of her breakfast with poor Dolly, who was quite convinced she was about to starve any time she picked up a whiff of anyone's food. After that, Madam would have gone in the small hot rain room, then would have told Dolly to be a good girl before going away somewhere, leaving Dolly the company of the large noise-and-light thing and no set purpose, except perhaps to frighten squirrels through the window and drag her hindquarters idly across the carpet.
It should be noted at this point that Miss Dolly Pawton was a dog, an enormous hybrid of Bernese mountain dog and golden retriever (possibly with a hint of husky as well given her accomplished singing abilities). Madam no doubt had a proper name, but Dolly had never quite learned more than the basics of the two-legs' noises, and as her companion was most often addressed by other two-legs as "Madam," in her canine mind that was the name of the individual who had taken her from the loud, frightening place with the many other dogs. Now she was lucky enough to dwell in a a small, comfortable den surrounded by strips of lovely grass and a few thick (if annoyingly squirrel-infested) trees, with the only other nearby dog being a small black yapping creature a few dens away. Dolly was very fond of her home, and adored Madam with her entire being, even if she did not usually share her meals and was prone to leaving for long periods of the day.
On that first very good day though, Madam stayed home. She had seen something on the small noise-and-light thing, and made a lot of sounds that Dolly found concerning. Then she spent a good part of the day staring at the large noise-and-light thing, and the strange noises became sad ones, and water began to flow ceaselessly from Madam's eyes. Dolly did her best to cheer her companion, resting her chin on Madam's lap and offering her most prized possession, a well chewed plush squirrel whose face and tail had been dutifully gnawed off (which was all any squirrel deserved).
Nothing helped. Madam continued to make troubled sounds at her small noise-and-light thing, and later in the day other two-legs came to the den. Dolly knew all of them, and as such did not try to frighten them away, but she was disappointed that all them seemed bent on making lots of sad noises together, and were ignoring her attempts to play and comfort them.
As the day began to fade though, Madam finally seemed to remember Dolly. The sad noises she had been making became loving and gentle ones, and Madam gave her almost enough scratches to compensate for the day's lack of acknowledgment. Dolly forgave her; after all it was about the time Madam would have come back from wherever she went anyways, and the next walk was an extra long one. Not only that, but Madam even gave her a few of the extra-good meaty treats Dolly usually only got when going for rides, or when she was showing off how many of Madam's sounds she could understand.
The very next day had lots of walks too, even though Madam was making all sorts of sounds into her small noise-and-light thing through a lot of them. Other dogs were out with their two-legs too, all of whom seemed almost as upset as Madam. But not one of the dogs seemed troubled in the current circumstances, and didn't notice how their companions kept looking up into the big space overhead.
Then came more very good days. Madam stopped going anywhere without Dolly, but she also stopped going anywhere without the scary thing. Dolly was nervous about that at first; she could remember a time before Madam, before the loud place with all the other dogs, when she had been small and lived in a different den, with different two-legs. There had been a male two-legs in that den, and he'd had a scary thing. It made loud noises, louder than thunder or the big ride things or anything else Dolly could remember. And the scary thing could hurt. It could even kill. Dolly remembered having brothers and sisters once, and more than one of them had been killed by the scary thing when the male two-legs had held it and made frightening sounds with an angry face.
He'd pointed it at Dolly once, and when it made the scary noise her back leg had hurt worse than anything she could remember. She hadn't walked for days, and was sure she was dying, but everything after that had been a blur. The big place with all the other dogs, and then…Madam.
And Madam had been so kind. Dolly was scared, but Madam didn't ask for anything from her. She never made frightening sounds, even when Dolly accidentally made messes or chewed on things she wasn't supposed to. Dolly was allowed to sit anywhere in the den she wanted, either in Madam's nighttime bed or the daytime one in front of the large noise-and-light thing, and there were always toys around and food to eat (even if it wasn't the tastiest things Madam kept for herself). There were never any male two-legs around either, or even little two-legs. It was just Madam and Dolly, and even though Dolly was alone a lot she was never scared anymore, just a little bored and lonely sometimes.
That had all stopped. And if the price of that was that Madam now carried around a scary thing, well…Dolly trusted she would never use it. As far as Dolly knew, Madam never had, so maybe it was just Madam's way of growling and scaring off the other two-legs.
Scarier two-legs had started coming around too. After the first very good day, the other two-legs Dolly knew still visited, but less and less often. Strange two-legs came by too, but Madam didn't let them past the front of the den, although she took things that smelled like food from them.
Dolly's food got better after a while too, not the crunchy mouthful things Madam had always given her, but more of the chewy, savory, meaty things that Madam ate. True, there was less to eat than Dolly seemed to remember, but she could hardly complain when everything was so good.
Maybe that was why the scary two-legs came; Dolly definitely know the sound "food," and when the scary ones kept saying it in mean voices, and looking at her with hard eyes, Madam had taken out the scary thing and the strangers went away as soon as they saw it. This time though Dolly was the one crying, and Madam had to comfort her, which she did all night.
One day, the noise-and-light things stopped working, both the large one and the small. The things that made light at night stopped working too, and Madam's hot rain room went dry. That was all right with Dolly; in her mind Madam was smelling nicer and nicer every day, even if she seemed to be getting thinner. Food time was only once a day now, but Dolly always got something, and it was exactly the same as what Madam got. Dolly supposed she must have been very good indeed to have earned such privilege.
The rest of the time was spent playing with toys (although these too seemed to be getting smaller as Dolly shredded them apart) or wandering around outside. They kept away from other two-legs and dogs when they saw them, and Madam always kept the scary thing close, but she talked to and petted Dolly more than ever, and every night Dolly fell asleep curled up next to Madam knowing she was loved.
One morning during their walk, Madam was staring up into the big overhead space for a very long time. Something seemed different about things up there, but Dolly couldn't quite put her paw on what it was. Immediately she forgot it though, because Madam had made the most magical sound of all.
"Ride?"
Dolly yipped and barked in pure elation. Rides were one of her favorite things in the world, and ever since the very good days had begun they had been rare. Madam was bringing her lumpy food-and-things holder too, which meant they were going to be headed to the trees (maybe even the water!) for a pleasant day of romping outside, rather than going someplace unpleasant, like the bath-and-cutting place or the small jabbing room. A long time ago, Dolly and Madam had even spent whole nights sleeping outside, surrounded by all kinds of smells and sounds, and Dolly could only hope this would be another such occasion.
When the ride thing started moving, Dolly was having too much fun hanging her head out in the big wind to pay attention to where they were going. They didn't pass many other ride things, and those they did see were still and empty on the side of the hard black river beneath them. Dolly didn't recognize their path, but she did recognize trees when she saw them, and hills, and water, and when their own ride-thing came to a halt on the side of the hard black river she could scarcely contain her excitement. Usually Madam would have insisted she wait and be fastened to her side, but when she opened the side of the ride thing she encouraged Dolly to jump free, completely unfettered.
Dolly took off in a run for the far off waters, pausing every now and then to see Madam following slowly behind. For once Madam looked at peace, and she hadn't brought the scary thing with her. She even laughed as she chased Dolly through the tall grass, the ride thing disappearing in the distance behind them. They didn't turn back as the light began to fade, and Dolly wagged her tail in excitement that they might be spending the whole night in the trees.
When everything was completely dark, and they'd enjoyed several pieces of the chewy meat things for their supper, Madam buried herself in a pile of soft things she'd taken from her food-and-things holder and beckoned Dolly closer. Dolly, being a very good girl, curled up against her, letting out a huff of serenity before licking Madam's cheek.
Above them, the immense meteor streaked ever closer.
Dedicated to B.W., Oreo, Charlie, Gracie, Ben, & all the other very good dogs <3