"Robert Reed - Roxie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

her narrow face, accenting her soulful blue eyes. Leslie wasnтАЩt home
when I first visited, but her dog was in the backyard, absolutely thrilled to
meet me. (Huskies are the worst guard dogs in the world.) Roxie was four
or five months old, with a short coat and a big, long-legged frame. Sitting
behind the chain-link gate, she licked the salt off my offered fingers. And
then she hunkered down low, feigning submission. But her human was
elsewhere, and I didnтАЩt want the responsibility of opening gates and
possibly letting this wolfish puppy escape. So I walked away, triggering a
string of plaintive wails that caused people for a mile in every direction to
ask, тАЬNow whoтАЩs torturing that poor, miserable creature?тАЭ

Leslie and I started dating in late October. But the courtship always
had a competitive triangular feel about it.

My new girlfriend worked long hours and drove a two-hour
commute to and from Omaha. She didnтАЩt have enough time for a
hyperactive puppy. Feeling sorry for both of them, I would drop by to
tease her dog with brief affections. Or if I stayed the night, IтАЩd get up at
some brutally early hourтАФbefore seven oтАЩclock, some morningsтАФand
dripping with fatigue, IтАЩd join the two of them on a jaunt through the
neighborhood and park and back again.

In those days, Roxie lived outside as much as she lived in. But the
backyard gate proved inadequate; using her nose, she would easily flip
the latch up and out of the way. Tying the latch only bought a few more
days of security. Leaping was easy work, and a four-foot chain-link fence
was no barrier at all. A series of ropes and lightweight chains were used
and discarded. Finally Leslie went to a farm supply store and bought a
steel chain strong enough to yank cars out of ditches. Years later, a friend
from Alaska visited, and I asked sheepishly if our chain was overkill. No,
it was pretty standard for sled dogs, she conceded. Then she told me what
I already knew: тАЬThese animals love to run.тАЭ

One morning, somebodyтАЩs dog was barking, and Leslie asked me
to make sure it wasnтАЩt hers. Peering out the dining room window, I found
a beautiful red-and-white husky dancing on the patio, happy as can be.

тАЬItтАЩs not your dog,тАЭ I told my girlfriend.

Even burdened with the heavy chain, Roxie had killed a squirrel,
and now she was happily flinging the corpse into the air and catching it
again. The game was delicious fun until the limp squirrel fell out of
reach, and then the wailing began. I got dressed and found a shovel in the
garage, and when I picked up her prize by its tail, the dog leaped happily.
Oh, I was saving her day! But with the first spade of earth, she saw my
betrayal for what it was, and the wailing grew exponentially.

Two nights later, Leslie called for help. Again, her dog had killed
an animal. She didnтАЩt know what kind; despite being a farmerтАЩs kid,
Leslie has an exceptionally weak stomach, and she didnтАЩt want to look