"Brantingham-OldFreedom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brantingham Juleen)

JULEEN BRANTINGHAM

OLD FREEDOM

When the call came, whoever it came from, however it came, it was as sudden and
undeniable as the Enhancement, and nobody has ever been able to explain that.

I was in the back yard chopping wood, enjoying the fresh air and the exercise
and the pleasure of my independence from gas companies and electric companies
and every other system that's been set up to spare us physical labor. Freedom
was dozing on the porch, one ear cocked in case I chopped off my foot and he had
to call a medbot.

Old Free had been a snarling, fetal pup when I found him, years before the
Enhancement, most likely one of a litter born to a mother abandoned when one of
my gone-away neighbors found VR better than the real thing. I used to see a lot
of that before the Enhancement, people staying longer and longer in a place
that's no more real than a dream, leaving their dogs to fend for themselves,
poodles and Yorkies and dachshunds who have no more idea how to kill their own
food than a silkworm has how to knit a pair of boxer shorts. Most of the dogs
died off in the first few years. After the Enhancement, of course, abandoning
one would be like cutting off your own arm, leaving it twitching on the floor
and trying to crawl after you.

Freedom wasn't one of those toy breeds I despised; he wasn't one of the bigger
ones like setters or Afghans that had been bred for looks and wound up stupid as
stumps as a consequence. He was part Rottweiler and part Chow, I've always
thought, with maybe some Lab thrown in for seasoning. He wasn't pretty but I
sometimes thought he was smarter than I was. Tough as old shoe leather. He had
to be, to survive on his own as long as he did. It hadn't been easy to win his
trust. I've got scars halfway up both arms to prove it. I won't let the medbot
remove them because they're a badge of honor.

Since the Enhancement we'd been like Siamese twins joined at the heart. He ate
what I ate -- or more often, I ate what he ate, because he was the better
hunter, though I never could develop a taste for raw meat. We did everything
together.

I couldn't believe it when old Free sat up, scratched at a flea, hopped down
from the porch and said *Nice knowing you, man. Got to go now.*

I dropped the axe, damn near lopping off a couple of toes. "Go? Go where? What
the hell?"

He didn't answer, just started trotting down the road. Naturally I followed him.
Joined at the heart, like I said. What else could I do?

"What is it, Free? You smell a rabbit out there?" I knew it wasn't that; he