Furmidable Foes

22

June 6, 2019

Thursday 6:30 P.M.

The screen door squeaked when Harry pushed it open, the two cats and dogs squirting through it to nudge in front of her. She then opened the door to the kitchen.

“You’re home early.” She walked over to kiss her husband on the cheek.

“Two easy deliveries.” He kissed her back.

Foal delivery for Thoroughbreds crowded around January first, as all Thoroughbreds are registered as having been born January first. The other breeds, following a more natural cycle, were delivered in spring and early summer.

“Are you making supper?” Surprise filtered into Harry’s voice.

“Well, yes.” He held up a long fork. “You didn’t notice the grill smoking outside?”

“What a treat.”

“It’s almost ready. Everyone’s out. Will be a mild night and I figured you’d get home somewhere between six and six-thirty because Susan has to pick up Ned at the train station. How was the garden?”

“Mags has done a good job. They were curious about the still, the bones. Just enough in the paper to arouse questions. Who is that missing person? Mostly we studied the garden.”

Carrying plates to the small square wooden kitchen table that they used when it was the two of them or two dear close friends, Harry moved slowly because Pewter wove in and out of her legs.

“Pewter.”

“Put my plate down first. I barely ate anything today. My blood sugar is falling.”

The plates clinked softly as Harry set them on the checkered tablecloth.

“I feel faint.” Pewter plopped on her side.

“American Academy of Dramatic Art.” Tucker sniffed.

Pewter quickly recovered from her plunging sugar level as she sprang upright, launching onto the corgi.

Harsh words were spoken.

“That’s enough!” Harry swatted at both of them.

Mrs. Murphy didn’t move a muscle. Her ringside seat was too good. Why spoil the show?

Pirate, disturbed by the yowls and hisses, lowered his head to gaze intently into the tabby’s deep green eyes. “They’ll kill each other. What can I do?”

“Pirate, don’t fall for it. Pewter will roll away, leap up on the counter, puff her tail the size of a bottle brush, and curse. Tucker will sit below the counter, cursing back. The truth is, they’d fall apart without each other.”

“Is this normal?” the gray-coated wolfhound wondered.

“For them it is. But she’ll get her way. She knows exactly how to manipulate Harry.”

True. Harry, hands on hips, stared at the cat. “You are awful.” Then down at Tucker. “You, too.”

She did, however, put out the animals’ bowls, washed this morning. Each bowl, speckled white china, had a blue rim plus each animal’s name on the side. Pirate’s was big, which meant if Pewter ate very fast she might grab a bite of the wolfhound’s, who never protested. He was uncommonly sweet, whereas the gray cat was anything but. She didn’t even like dog food. She just liked to steal it.

Fair, pushing open the door with his foot, carried in a plate with handles on which two steaks, basking in juice, bore evidence to his grilling skill.

Fair had started corn on the cob in a pot, which Harry plucked out with pincers. He also made two small salads.

Once seated, they caught up about their days.

“And?”

“Oh, it’s delicious. Every woman should have a husband who grills.”

He grinned. “Ever notice when a woman prepares food, she’s a cook. When a man does it, he’s a chef.”

“There are a lot of things like that. We’ve still only progressed so far.” She popped a crunchy carrot into her mouth. “But better half a loaf than no loaf at all.”

“You’d think more people would grasp that.” He expertly sliced his steak.

“Yes, you would.” She glanced at Pewter, who had eaten every morsel and was now down on the floor sticking her head under Pirate’s. “That youngster is the nicest dog in the world. He could bite her head off.”

“She’d have it coming,” Fair added.

“I resent that. It is the function of every cat to put a dog in its place.”

“Pewter, you are wildly successful.” Mrs. Murphy sounded sincere.

As the animals batted one another, running from bowl to bowl except for Pirate, the two humans talked about their days, about the impending fundraiser at Castle Hill, all the tiny mosaic pieces of daily life. They enjoyed most of the same things, knew the same people, and had reached an age where they truly knew each other. They each accepted the wonderful traits of their partner as well as what Fair would euphemistically call “Harry’s peculiarities.” Her version of this was, “He’s just being a man.”

“Did you listen for the weather on the way home?” she asked.

“No, but I think it’s supposed to rain. You didn’t listen either?”

“Oh, channel 48 on my Sirius radio was playing an old Barry White song.”

“Trip down Memory Lane?” He smiled.

“More like a gallop.” She rose, walked to the big flat-screen TV on the wall, clicked on the local news channel.

Standing there transfixed, the remote in her hand, she moved to the side so her husband could see better.

Fair exclaimed. “Another still found in Tippett’s Hollow! That’s not far from here. Just the other side of the ridge.”

The two listened and watched the report.

The phone rang.

“Harry, did you see the news?” Susan asked.

“Fair and I are watching it now. Is this area becoming the mecca for moonshiners?”

“At least no bones or bodies were found,” Harry rejoined. “Hey, look at the barrels stacked by the wall. Whoever found this got there before the goods were moved.”

“No one will ever stop this. It’s been going on for centuries.”

“Human nature doesn’t change. If someone can make a bigger profit, they’ll try.”

Susan laughed. “True. Maybe we should look the other way.”

“That’s not always possible,” Harry said, “not when it’s on your land.”

“You went back up there, of course,” Susan stated.

“I hate to admit it but I couldn’t find a thing. I’ll go back up again. I’m not satisfied that I was thorough. Once we get permission, we should dismantle the still.”

“Harry, that shed will still be there next year. You know this will drag on.”

Harry agreed. “I guess that’s the point of the process. Gives the accused time to clean up or clear out.”

“Cynical,” Susan said.

“It’s hard not to be cynical these days,” Harry sadly replied.