Thirty-six
In the bedroom, treading on his large plump pillow bed, Merlin turned three times before settling with a sigh, his head between his forepaws, his tail tucked between his hind legs.
Grady had brought another dog bed from the downstairs study and put it in the same corner with Merlin’s. He felt sure that from the wolfhound’s example, their visitors understood where they were to sleep.
Puzzle and Riddle, however, declined to turn in for the night. They circled the room, sniffing this and that, peering under the dresser, taking a quick taste of the water in all three of the water dishes, while Grady pulled the draperies shut at the windows.
As he folded back the thin bedspread and draped it neatly over the footboard, as he turned back the covers and the top sheet, and as he plumped his pillows, the pair sat watching him, heads cocked to the right, as if fascinated by his rituals.
“I hope you noticed,” he said, “that before I undid it, my bed was made as tight as a drum skin.”
Riddle cocked his head to the left.
“Once army, always army.”
Puzzle cocked her head to the left, and Riddle cocked his back to the right.
When Grady removed his shoes and put them by his nightstand, Puzzle scurried forward to smell them and to pluck tentatively at the loose laces.
In the walk-in closet, as Grady took off his shirt, jeans, and socks, Riddle followed him—and discovered the mirror on the back of the door. Intrigued by his reflection, Riddle made a thin sound—“Eee, eee”—and reached out to this apparent other of his kind. Surprised when the other reached toward him as he reached toward it, Riddle hesitated, considered the situation, then touched his hand to the reflection of his hand.
Over the years, Merlin had seen himself in mirrors many times, and he showed no interest in his reflection.
Riddle’s ears twitched, and he scurried out of the closet.
Returning to the bedroom, Grady found his two guests at the son of Ireland’s bed, watching their new friend with interest. Evidently they had been drawn by the wolfhound’s snoring, which was indeed impressive.
In the bathroom, after Grady squeezed toothpaste on his brush and turned on the cold water, Puzzle suddenly sprang onto the closed toilet seat and sat prairie-dog fashion, watching him with interest. Half a minute later, Riddle ascended to a position on the side of the bathtub, as intrigued as Puzzle appeared to be by their host’s dental-hygiene regimen.
After he finished brushing, they watched him floss. They watched him wash his face and trim a hangnail and wipe splashes of water off the countertop with a towel.
When the time came to toilet, Grady shooed them out of the bathroom and closed the door.
No sooner had he taken the throne than a soft, rapid, irregular rapping arose at the door.
“Go away,” Grady said.
The sound came again: rap-rap-rap, rap-rap, rap, rap-rap-rap-rap-rap.
“I didn’t go out in the yard and stare at you when you were peeing,” Grady reminded them.
Rap-rap, rap-rap, rap-rap-rap-rap-rap-rap.
“Good grief.”
The rapping stopped.
When he heard one of them sniffing along the crack between the bottom of the door and the threshold, he considered renaming them Nosey and Snoopy.
The silence that followed the sniffing was welcome, but then seemed to have a suspicious quality.
Although the skeleton key had long ago been lost, the old door featured a keyhole. Grady leaned sideways on the toilet, lowered his head, and clearly saw a luminous golden eye on the farther side of the keyway.
“You’re a little Peeping Tom. You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”
The golden eye blinked.
By the time Grady washed his hands and returned to the bedroom, Puzzle and Riddle were on his bed, lifting his pillows to peer under them.
“Off, off,” he told them.
They dropped his pillows, sat on his bed, folded their hands on their bellies, and watched him.
Having been awakened after such a short snooze, Merlin yawned extravagantly.
Grady went to the empty dog bed, fluffed it, and said to Puzzle and Riddle, “Here. This is yours.”
They stared at him attentively but didn’t leave his bed.
In the closet, where he kept a few dog toys, Grady selected a blue monkey. He returned to the bedroom, knelt beside the empty dog bed, and squeaked the monkey to entice Puzzle and Riddle to come to him.
Merlin grumbled, displeased to be disturbed.
A different toy might possibly lure the pair to their proper place. Instead, Grady decided to show them what was wanted, as he might show a puppy.
He went to his bed and scooped up Puzzle. She not only allowed herself to be lifted and carried, but she also curled into the cradle of his arms, exposing her belly, bending her forelimbs at the elbows and the wrists in an expression of happy compliance.
When Grady put her down in the big fleece-covered dog bed that he intended for her to share with Riddle, he said, “Stay,” as if the commands of canine-obedience school were universally understood in the animal kingdom. He gave her the blue monkey to keep her occupied.
At his bed once more, he scooped up Riddle, who proved to be as cooperative as Puzzle. Grady carried him to his appointed lodgings—where only the plush blue monkey waited.
With Riddle still in his arms, he turned and saw Puzzle on his bed again. He deposited Riddle with the blue monkey and returned to his bed for Puzzle.
She virtually leaped into his arms, nearly knocking him down. But no sooner had he turned to take her to Riddle than he heard the monkey squeaking on his bed behind him.
Merlin no longer grumbled. Head raised, ears pricked, he watched with interest.
Instead of taking Puzzle to the empty bed, Grady put her down beside the wolfhound. He lifted one of Merlin’s sturdy forelimbs and draped it over the golden-eyed animal.
“Stay,” he told Merlin.
In a sterner tone, narrowing his eyes like Clint Eastwood, he issued the same command to Puzzle. He also extended his arm in an accusatory fashion and pointed a finger at her.
She cocked her head to the right.
Grady turned away from her. As he crossed the room to get Riddle and the damn monkey, Merlin and Puzzle sprinted past him and leaped onto his bed.
Riddle put the monkey under Grady’s pillows. With expressions of blissful contentment, the dog and the two somethings curled around one another.
The wolfhound and his posse watched Grady turn out the bedside lamp. They watched him turn out the overhead light.
Leaving on the lamp beside the large Stickley-style reclining chair, Grady went into the closet to retrieve a spare pillow and a blanket.
The snuggling animals raised their heads as he came out of the closet, and they tracked him as he went to the reclining chair. They seemed unmoved by the sour look he gave them.
Grady sat in the roomy chair, which he had built and upholstered the previous year. He stretched out his legs on a matching footstool.
The three compadres watched him solemnly.
He draped the blanket across himself and put the pillow behind his head.
They watched him adjust the pillow and the blanket until he got everything as right as he could. The chair made a comfortable bed, and he was too tired to play here-we-go-’round-the-mulberry-bush with these animated plush toys.
He said, “Just so you know …”
The three caballeros remained interested in him, although he couldn’t honestly claim that they waited with bated breath for what he would say next.
“… I consider this mutiny,” he informed them. “Mutiny indeed. And in the morning, discipline will be administered.”
He switched off the lamp beside the chair.
Their colorful eyes seemed to float in the darkness.
“I see you watching me,” he said.
They didn’t blink.
“I’m counting on you, Merlin. Don’t let them devour me in my sleep.”