By Kathryn Stevens
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Extra info for Dogs
Poor old thing,” she said. There were tears in her eyes. ” said Jessica. “We could change our minds. ” Mama turned and looked at us, and her dim brown eyes swam with tenderness. “Yes, we do,” she said. As we turned toward the house, a magnificent uproar arose from the barn lot—a whoop and a holler, the vroom! of a motor, and a great squawking of hens. “Mercy! ” It was Soames, chasing chickens again in my little car. ” Leonie yelled. Soames slammed on the brakes, spun the car around and roared toward the fence, coming to a halt six inches away.
Back we went and brought Miss Hagar home with us. We put her to bed on the old spring cot in the dining room. The rest of us tried to sleep upstairs. But even in our big open house, it was hot 33 that night. Not a breath of air. Before long we were all up, changing beds, shifting around like corn in a popper. Soames decamped to the front porch with a quilt. Jessica and I set up two army cots in the yard. Mama padded around with a flashlight, like some busy household ghost, trying to make us all comfortable.
A breeze lifted the lace curtains, dallied a moment, and vanished into the stillness of the old farmhouse. My sisters and I rocked and fanned, stretching our bare legs over the flowered carpet, under the pictures of Christ walking on the waters and praying in Gethsemane. The miracle went unremarked and the passion in the garden did not move us, abandoned as we were to the profane pleasures of disaster in which we were not involved and the serenity of the long warm afternoon. Jessica fanned her legs with the hem of her dress.
Dogs by Kathryn Stevens