“Do you think she’s hurt?” Cheyenne was less successful at faking cheer, but she was trying. “Harvey threw her, the motherfucker. I wanted to claw his eyes out.”
“She wasn’t limping. Hopefully she’s fine. And she got him good with those little grubby fangs.”
“He was bleeding,” Cheyenne noted with relish. “I want to, like, buy Sadie steak for the rest of her natural life.”
“You hear that?” I called to the bushes and front steps we were passing. “Come on, Sadie. Steak for life, baby. Treats, girl. Expensive treats.” I clicked and rewarded Twain again.
Near the end of the long block, Twain suddenly paused in trotting beside me and peered off to the right, his beagle nose twitching. Could be a rabbit, or a piece of paper, but…
I asked Cheyenne, “Can you crouch down? Look under that hedge? If I try, I’m not going to get up again without a forklift.”
“Sure.” She squatted, fending off Eb who took that as an invitation to lick her face. “I don’t see—no, wait, yes. There she is!”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to let Twain go meet her, real slow.” I knotted the slip leash to his regular leash to make it longer and tossed a treat toward where Sadie was hiding. “Get it, Twain.” He happily trotted three steps and snarfed it. I tossed the next one farther. “Get it.” Then tossed one deep under the bushes. “Get it, Sadie.”
“She’s just looking at it,” Cheyenne reported. “Not coming out.”
“She’s scared, poor baby,” I said with the cheer of a used-car salesman unloading a lemon. “Such a good girl. Okay, get it, Twain.” He had no problem going to the end of his double leash and under the edge of the bush. I tossed some more treats that way, and Twain snorfled happily.
Eb whined, a line of drool dropping from his lip.
“Give Eb a bite,” I told Cheyenne. “Good boy. Treats! All the treats! Then toss some more her way.”
She did as I suggested, peering under the screening foliage. “She’s not moving. Wait, she just took the closest one. Good girl! Good Sadie!”
Bite by bite, aided by Twain’s enthusiasm and Eb’s loud chomping, we drew Sadie out of her hiding spot. When she and Twain were done eating side by side, I called Twain to come. He obeyed, tail up and wagging, and Sadie clung to his side. Her ears and tail were down, but she stuck to her canine buddy.
“I’m going to walk Twain toward home,” I said. “Let Eb follow if he likes. Let Sadie get well past you, then reach down and snag the end of the leash she’s pulling.”
It took a couple of false starts, but we got the two smaller dogs headed past Cheyenne, with Eb sniffing and pacing alongside Sadie. Cheyenne stood back as they moved away from her. One step, two, three…Cheyenne bent and snatched up the end of Sadie’s leash.
“Yes!” She grinned at me, eyes bright, the leash tight in her fist.
The world wobbled around me and I braced my cane, then sat down, right there on the sidewalk. The hard thump on my butt went almost unnoticed in my head-rush of relief. No loose dogs getting hit by cars. Thank God!
“Are you okay? Should I call Brooklyn?” Cheyenne bent over me.
Eb decided it was my turn for a facewash.
“I’m fine.” I nudged Eb off me, took a couple of breaths, and used his sturdy shoulder along with the cane to help myself to my feet. The vertigo was still there, but mild enough I stayed upright. “A little dizzy. It happens.” Sadie was hanging back, ears down. “Give baby girl more treats, huh? Sorry I scared you.”
“Me or Sadie?” Cheyenne tossed some sausage bites. “Because yeah, don’t do that again.”
“It’s not half as bad as when I first hit my head a couple of weeks ago.” I realized with everything else going on, I hadn’t focused on my symptoms, but they were better. I hadn’t had a spin-till-you-puke episode in days, and this one didn’t feel that severe. “I’m just glad it didn’t happen in front of Harvey.”
“Ugh. Yeah. I was glad you were standing there swinging the cane and looking fierce.”
“Fierce, that’s me,” I said, not meaning it one bit. Although I would’ve hit him if I could’ve, for Sadie and Cheyenne.
“Do you need help?”
“Nah. Give me a few minutes.” The episodes of vertigo were shorter again, too, which hopefully meant they weren’t going to turn into vestibular migraines. I’d read up on those, and they sounded horrible. I leaned on my cane and breathed.
Cheyenne stood beside me, crooning to the dogs and tossing treats, while swaths of glorious sunset colors flooded the Gaynor Beach sky in the west.
“How are you doing?” I asked Cheyenne after a bit. “That must’ve been rough for you.”
“I don’t want to think about it.” She shifted her weight foot to foot. “Now we’ve caught Sadie, I can say I’m not sorry she ran off, except for how scared she was.” She glared down the block to where three cop cars sat at Brooklyn’s curb, lights flashing although the sirens were now off. “She got me out of there. I don’t want to talk to the cops.”
