Chapter 14

"I don't want that dog in the house," Jackie said. "The cats have never had a chance to get used to dogs."

"Hadn't planned on it," Mark said. "We could use a good outside watchdog, though. It can't hurt to feed him for a few days, and see if he hangs around."

"Well, I don't know," Jackie said.

Mark hadn't broached the idea of a dog team to Jackie yet -- it wasn't really firm in his own mind. However, it would only take a little cheap dog food to see if the dog would hang around, and then, if it did, maybe he really was supposed to be moving toward a dog team.

Brother Erasmus, the old black preacher down in Florida, had been the only preacher that Mark had ever really liked, even though he'd spent a term on the board of the Spearfish Lake First Baptist Church. He'd been the only preacher that Mark had ever met that acted like he meant what he was talking about, not just mouthing the words. "The Lord be talkin' to you all the time, showin' you the way all the time," Mark remembered Brother Erasmus saying. "Just you got to be ready to listen, and most people don't hear too good."

Mark knew that Jackie cherished the memory of Brother Erasmus, as well, but the whole thing was a little too far out to drop the idea on her, just yet. "He seems like a pretty good dog," Mark commented. "Maybe all he needs is a good meal, and he'll be on his way."

"I don't know," Jackie said again. "But, you know, he sort of puts me in mind of Cumulus."

"Can't be," Mark smiled, realizing Jackie was softening. "He's nowhere near as ugly as Cumulus was."

Cumulus had been the scroungy old mutt that had been the watchdog at the gliderport in Colorado where Mark and Jackie had worked for a few weeks while on their honeymoon. Outside of a tendency to chase airplanes and gliders until he'd been dinged by a propeller, he'd been the perfect watchdog: friendly and playful toward visitors during the day, but with a tendency to rip throats out first and ask questions later of anyone snooping around the place at night. "He just showed up here one day," he owner of the gliderport had said. "He saw that there was a job to be done, and that he was just the dog to do it."

Mark shook his head. That had been a long time ago. Cumulus hadn't been a young dog then, and it had been what? Sixteen years, next month. He had to be long dead and gone, but he'd been one of the best dogs that Mark had ever known.

"We'll have to keep him tied up while we're flying," Jackie said. "We wouldn't want him to tangle with a prop."

"I suppose he wouldn't mind a meal of cat food and scraps," Mark said. "I'll put a bowl of it out by that pile of old rags in the hanger. That'll make him a good place to sleep."

The dog was definitely interested when Mark came out with the bowl full of table scraps and cat food, and followed along closely as Mark led him out to the hanger. He ducked under the wing of the old Cessna, found an old box of rags he used for cleaning and painting, and dumped the box in the corner to make him sort of a bed, then set the bowl down beside it. The dog looked at him, and wagged its tail. "Go ahead, boy," Mark said. "You can have it."

In a matter of seconds, the bowl full of food evaporated. That dog was hungry, and Mark realized that it might be the best meal he'd had in a long time. "You can stay here if you like," he told the dog. "I've got to go in for supper."

Jackie had dinner on the table when Mark got back in the house. It wasn't that much of a dinner; they were consciously trying to hold down on what they ate, reminiscing about the good old days at the gliderport long before.

"Don't forget, you've got to call Frank Matson," Jackie prompted as they finished up.

"I'd kind of hoped to curl up with a book," Mark admitted, "But I suppose there's no point in putting it off."

Mark got up, went to the phone, and got Matson to describe the problem. It seemed to Mark that the fix had to be simple, and tried to coach Matson over the phone to rework the CONFIG.SYS file, but something got lost in the process. "Oh, hell," Mark said finally. "I'll come over and deal with it. It'll only take a couple of minutes."

The dog was waiting on the porch steps when Mark came outside, and followed along at his heels as he walked out to his pickup. He opened the door of the truck, and the dog stood there, wagging his tail. "You want to go for a ride, huh?" Mark said.

The dog just stood there, wagging his tail, making little lunges toward the truck, but not willing to hop up without permission. "Oh, hell," Mark said again, giving in in more ways than one. "Come on, Cumulus."