Paws and Whiskers Read online

Still looking at the dog, Chiquitito, he recalled his recent conversation. He could not have the smallest dog of the smallest breed in the world. Not even a dog so small that – if you could imagine such a thing – you could only see it with your eyes shut. No dog.

  The feeling of his birthday morning – an absolute misery of disappointed longing – swept over him again. He put the little picture down on the seat behind him, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes, overwhelmed.

  He had been staring at the woolwork dog, and now, with his eyes shut, he still saw it, as if it were standing on the carriage-seat opposite. Such visions often appear against shut eyelids, when the open-eyed vision has been particularly intent. Such visions quickly fade; but this did not. The image of the dog remained, exactly as in the picture: a pinky-fawn dog with pointed ears, and pop-eyed.

  Only – only the pinky-fawn was not done in wool, and the eye was not a jet bead. This dog was real. First of all, it just stood. Then it stretched itself – first, its forelegs together; then, each hind leg with a separate stretch and shake. Then the dog turned its head to look at Ben, so that Ben saw its other eye and the whole of the other side of its face, which the picture had never shown. But this was not the picture of a dog; it was a real dog – a particular dog.

  ‘Chiquitito,’ Ben said; and the dog cocked its head.

  THE ACCIDENTAL TOURIST

  by Anne Tyler

  Children often ask me if I’ve got a favourite author. I generally reply listing the book I liked the most when I was nine or ten – but the author I most enjoy reading now is Anne Tyler. She writes gentle, quirky family stories about people who are a little odd or obsessive. The Accidental Tourist is probably my favourite out of all her novels. It’s got some very funny moments, but it’s essentially a sad story – the main character, Macon, has lost his son, and is separated from his wife. He’s been left caring for his son’s dog, Edward, who’s become difficult to handle.

  Edward is a wonderful character – and so is Muriel, the woman who manages to tame him.

  THE ACCIDENTAL TOURIST

  The dog was going with him only as far as the vet’s. If he’d known that, he never would have jumped into the car. He sat next to Macon, panting enthusiastically, his keg-shaped body alert with expectation. Macon talked to him in what he hoped was an unalarming tone. ‘Hot, isn’t it, Edward. You want the air conditioner on?’ He adjusted the controls. ‘There now. Feeling better?’ He heard something unctuous in his voice. Maybe Edward did, too, for he stopped panting and gave Macon a sudden suspicious look. Macon decided to say no more.

  They rolled through the neighborhood, down streets roofed over with trees. They turned into a sunnier section full of stores and service stations. As they neared Murray Avenue, Edward started whimpering. In the parking lot of the Murray Avenue Veterinary Hospital, he somehow became a much smaller animal.

  Macon got out of the car and walked around to open the door. When he took hold of Edward’s collar, Edward dug his toenails into the upholstery. He had to be dragged all the way to the building, scratching across the hot concrete.

  The waiting room was empty. A goldfish tank bubbled in one corner, with a full-colour poster above it illustrating the life cycle of the heartworm. There was a girl on a stool behind the counter, a waifish little person in a halter top.

  ‘I’ve brought my dog for boarding,’ Macon said. He had to raise his voice to be heard above Edward’s moans.

  Chewing her gum steadily, the girl handed him a printed form and a pencil. ‘Ever been here before?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, often.’

  ‘What’s the last name?’

  ‘Leary.’

  ‘Leary. Leary,’ she said, riffling through a box of index cards. Macon started filling out the form. Edward was standing upright now and clinging to Macon’s knees, like a toddler scared of nursery school.

  ‘Whoa,’ the girl said.

  She frowned at the card she’d pulled.

  ‘Edward?’ she said. ‘On Rayford Road?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘We can’t accept him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Says here he bit an attendant. Says, “Bit Barry in the ankle, do not readmit.”’

  ‘Nobody told me that.’

  ‘Well, they should have.’

  ‘Nobody said a word! I left him in June when we went to the beach; I came back and they handed him over.’

  The girl blinked at him, expressionless.

  ‘Look,’ Macon said. ‘I’m on my way to the airport, right this minute. I’ve got a plane to catch.’

  ‘I’m only following orders,’ the girl said.

  ‘And what set him off, anyhow?’ Macon asked. ‘Did anyone think to wonder? Maybe Edward had good reason!’

  The girl blinked again. Edward had dropped to all fours by now and was gazing upward with interest, as if following the conversation.

  ‘Ah, the hell with it,’ Macon said. ‘Come on, Edward.’

  He didn’t have to take hold of Edward’s collar when they left. Edward galloped ahead of him all the way across the parking lot.

  In that short time, the car had turned into an oven. Macon opened his window and sat there with the motor idling. What now? He considered going to his sister’s, but she probably wouldn’t want Edward either. To tell the truth, this wasn’t the first time there had been complaints. Last week, for instance, Macon’s brother Charles had stopped by to borrow a router, and Edward had darted in a complete circle around his feet, taking furious little nibbles out of his trouser cuffs. Charles was so astonished that he just turned his head slowly, gaping down. ‘What’s got into him?’ he asked. ‘He never used to do this.’ Then when Macon grabbed his collar, Edward had snarled. He’d curled his upper lip and snarled. Could a dog have a nervous breakdown?

  Macon wasn’t very familiar with dogs. He preferred cats. He liked the way cats kept their own counsel. It was only lately that he’d given Edward any thought at all. Now that he was alone so much he had taken to talking out loud to him, or sometimes he just sat studying him. He admired Edward’s intelligent brown eyes and his foxy little face. He appreciated the honey-colored whorls that radiated so symmetrically from the bridge of his nose. And his walk! Ethan used to say that Edward walked as if he had sand in his bathing suit. His rear end waddled busily; his stubby legs seemed hinged by some more primitive mechanism than the legs of taller dogs.

  Macon was driving toward home now, for lack of any better idea. He wondered what would happen if he left Edward in the house the way he left the cat, with plenty of food and water. No. Or could Sarah come to see him, two or three times a day? He recoiled from that; it meant asking her. It meant dialing that number he’d never used and asking her for a favor.

  MEOW-BOW ANIMAL HOSPITAL, a sign across the street read. Macon braked and Edward lurched forward. ‘Sorry,’ Macon told him. He made a turn into the parking lot.

  The waiting room at the Meow-Bow smelled strongly of disinfectant. Behind the counter stood a thin young woman in a ruffled peasant blouse. She had aggressively frizzy black hair that burgeoned to her shoulders like an Arab headdress. ‘Hi, there,’ she said to Macon.

  Macon said, ‘Do you board dogs?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’d like to board Edward, here.’

  She leaned over the counter to look at Edward. Edward panted up at her cheerfully. It was clear he hadn’t yet realized what kind of place this was.

  ‘You have a reservation?’ the woman asked Macon.

  ‘Reservation! No.’

  ‘Most people reserve.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Especially in the summer.’

  ‘Couldn’t you make an exception?’

  She thought it over, frowning down at Edward. Her eyes were very small, like caraway seeds, and her face was sharp and colorless.

  ‘Please,’ Macon said. ‘I’m about to catch a plane. I’m leaving for a week, and I don’t have a soul to loo