Teddy

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Off in the woods, foxes barked. Teddy listened alertly, but didn’t bark back; they were far away. Suddenly he sat up from where he lay under the walnut tree, looking around the big, moon-lit yard.

“Woof?” he said.

The foxes answered, but that wasn’t it. It had been one of Their noises, a metallic sound.

Then a Person came out of the barn, stopped and looked about.

“Woof? Woof?” It was more of a question than a demand; he was not angry, nor frightened. He knew better than to show anger toward a Person.

“Hey, heyyy, Teddy, don’t wake the family.”

Embarrassed, Teddy dropped his head and tail, his ears going down too. He wagged his tail so hard his whole body bent and straightened. It was the voice of one of his family. For him, the image of this one was quietness and affectionate tones and gentle touch, The Quiet One, whose love for Teddy was more openly demonstrated than anyone else’s.

Then they were close enough for him to smell the other and Teddy checked in puzzlement. This was the Old One—no, it had to be The Quiet One—but he smelled like an older Person. Not the Old One—that one smelled of age and ill-health and smoke. Not the Other Old One—that one smelled of age and the tobacco he constantly spat. This smelled like The Quiet One, but grown up. Teddy whined in puzzlement. That very evening The Quiet One had said good night to him, and had smelled and sounded young.

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