Sneaky Pie For President

One Moment in Time

During that evening’s sunset, cumulus clouds turned gold, then pink to scarlet, fading to lavender with slashes of purple. It was breathtaking.

Cats, dogs, birds in their nests, the night birds preparing to forage, the foxes, bobcats, bears, deer, beavers, muskrats, and even the craven coyotes all beheld the glorious spectacle.

Humans did, too. The C.O. had phoned some of her good friends to make sure they were watching the symphony of color. With darkness came the night scents. The earth seemed more pungent, the pines sharper. The last of the fruit tree blossoms summoned up a final trumpet of sweetness.

Wearing a sweater, the human sat on the porch in an Adirondack chair badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. The usual crew gathered below on the floor. An old serviceable lantern sat on the wooden side table outside. Sneaky watched as the human lit a match, took a deep breath, then blew it out, apparently thinking better of it, a decision Sneaky agreed with. The lantern’s oil gave off such a strong odor. Bad though human noses are, it seemed even the C.O. preferred the night’s fresh fragrances.

They watched as the owl lifted off from the barn’s cupola, circled once, then headed for the fields. Bats darted in and out. Turtles shut up for the night. Snakes crawled into their holes, as did field mice. Rabbits withdrew to their hutches. The cats could see every detail. The dogs, eyes not as good, could still perceive movement. The C.O. watched as well. Human eyes were quite good, although their night vision was weak.

A long yip followed another, rousing the C.O. “We’ll never get rid of those coyotes now,” she said.

“No, we won’t,” Tally agreed, “but I’ll protect you.”

“Me, too,” Tucker chimed in.

“Take more than the four of us to bring down a coyote,” Sneaky Pie advised. “Plus, they’re never alone.”

“Make that three. I’m not messing with them.” Pewter hopped onto the C.O.’s lap, circled once, snuggled down.

“You all are chatty.” The human smiled, then reached into her shirt pocket for a tiny flashlight the size of a BIC cigarette lighter.

She picked up a book next to the lantern.

“Hey,” Pewter complained. Could she please sit still?

“Pewter, you can be so fussy.” The C.O. laughed.

“All the time.” Tally sighed. “You have no idea what I put up with.”

“Tally, don’t start. It’s a lovely evening,” Sneaky told the Jack Russell, and just then the barn owl called far away.

“Owls, bats, blacksnakes, swallows, you all, best friends. Can’t farm without the team.” Tucker smiled.

“Forget blacksnakes.” Pewter was horrified.

“They eat a lot of vermin,” Sneaky, now on the side table, mentioned.

“I don’t care,” countered Pewts. “I don’t like snakes. No reptiles in your campaign. Remember?”

“I do.” The tiger cat sighed.

“Just thinking of the terrible incident with that horrible snake, I shudder. I could have been killed. A lingering, painful, terrible suffering.” Pewter’s pupils enlarged.

“Pewter, we know all about the snake,” said Tally. “You’re fine. I’m sure the copperhead is still just as scared. You might have crushed him.” Tally giggled.

“Ha, ha,” Pewter sarcastically said.

“I am trying to read,” the human admonished them.

“That little flashlight has such a bright beam.” Pewter shifted her weight, for the book was held above her head, resting on the human’s knees.

“Blind. You’ll be blind,” Tally teased.

“Listen to this,” the human said, preparing to read to them. “ ‘We never keep to the present. We recall the past; we anticipate the future as if we found it too slow in coming and were trying to hurry it up, or we recall the past as if to stay its too rapid flight. We are so unwise that we wander about in times that do not belong to us.’ ”

“True for humans.” Tucker had settled on the C.O.’s boots.

“Pascal.” The C.O. named the author of those words.

“Who’s that?” Pewter asked.

“Someone who’s been dead a long, long time,” Tally replied. “She likes the old stuff.”

“As long as it makes her happy,” Sneaky wisely said.

“We make her happy.” Pewter announced this with confidence.

“Of course we do,” Tally agreed. “Animals always make people happy.”

Sneaky Pie, Pewter, and Tucker stared at the little dog for a moment.

“Not always,” Tucker offhandedly remarked. “Jack Russells are God’s way of telling humans that not all dogs are obedient.”

The animals laughed. The human looked at each of them for a moment, then went back to her book as the evening stars glowed ice white.

“We lower their blood pressure,” Pewter informed them. “We calm their nerves.”

Sneaky Pie curled her tail around her legs. “They’re so lonely. We fight that off.”

“There are so many of them,” Tally said. “I mean, I suppose what you’re saying is true, but I don’t know how they can be lonely.”

“They can’t communicate with one another very well.” Pewter had observed this. “They miss a lot. Misread a lot. They’re not like us. We smell a lie, or fear, or attraction. They’ve lost their way. And they can’t really read one another’s bodies anymore.”

“Could they ever?” asked Tucker.

“Yes, but now they rely on electronics,” said Pewter. “Really.” She shifted yet again in the C.O.’s lap. “They believe what’s on the Internet, on their Droids. On the TV. They don’t talk to one another, not like they used to. Remember when Mom was telling us about riding on the bus? She said lots of different people rode on the bus. You learned to get along. Then the rural bus lines got cut back, as well as the old train lines—little spur lines, she called them. They’ve lost touch with one another. It’s all pulled apart. I mean people.”

“I do kind of recall something about that,” said Tucker. “She had a fit and fell in it over one of the presidential debates.” The corgi remembered the night in front of the TV during the winter. “All that jawing on TV provoked her rant about public transportation.”

Sneaky laughed. “And here she has a candidate in her own house. Just underfoot. Of course, we must get her to see that.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Pewter stretched, then jumped down. “Look.”

They looked toward the river, a quarter of a mile away. Tiny dots of light appeared, then began moving up to the higher meadows.

“Lightning bugs.” Tally jumped up, ran in a circle.

“Tally.” The C.O. started to say something to the dog, then she, too, saw the first of the flying insects. “Magic!”

The peepers sang. The owl did, too, the fireflies swirling along to their own music, it seemed. It was the true beginning of summer. The human closed her book and clicked off the flashlight.

“Doesn’t get any better than this,” she happily spoke, and her four friends agreed.