Dean Koontz - Winter Moon

Maybe the change of weather would bring a change in her mood, as well, and help her finally shed the city jitters that plagued her. It ought to be hard to cling to all the old paranoia-soaked expectations of life in Los Angeles when they were living in a white wonderland, trkling and pristine, like a sequined scene on a Christmas card.

In the kitchen, as she opened a can of Pepsi and poured it into a glass, she heard a heavy engine approaching. Thinking it might be Paul Youngblood paying an unexpected visit, she took the tablet from the top of the refrigerator and put it on the counter, so she would be less likely to forget to give it to him before he went home. - By the time she went down the hall, opened the door, and stepped onto the front porch, the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the garage doors.

It wasn't Paul's white Bronco, it was a similar, metallic-blue wagon, as large as the Bronco, larger than their own Explorer, but of yet another model, with which she wasn't familiar. She wondered if anyone in those parts ever drove cars. But of course she had seen plenty of cars in town and at the supermarket.

Even there, however, pickup trucks and four-wheel-drive truck-style wagons outnumbered automobiles… She went down the steps and crossed the yard to the driveway to greet the visitor, wishing she'd paused to put on a jacket. The bitter air pierced even her comfortably thick flannel shirt.

The man who climbed out of the wagon was about thirty, with an unruly mop of brown hair, craggy features, and light-brown eyes kinder than his rugged looks.

Closing the driver's door behind him, he smiled and said, "Howdy. You must be Mrs. Mcgarvey."

"That's right," she said, shaking the hand he offered. "Travis Potter.

Pleased to meet you. I'm the vet in Eagle's Roost. One of the vets.

A man could go to the ends of the earth, there'd still be competition."

A big golden retriever stood in the back of the wagon. Its bushy tail wagged nonstop, and it grinned at them through the side window. Seeing the direction of Heather's gaze, Potter said, "Beautiful, isn't he?"

"They're such gorgeous dogs.

Is he a purebred?"

"Pure as they come."

Jack and Toby rounded the corner of the house. White clouds of breath steamed from them, they had evidently run from the hillside west of the stable, where they'd been playing. Heather introduced them to the vet.

Jack dropped the Frisbee and shook hands. But Toby was so enchanted by the sight of the dog that he forgot his manners and went directly to the wagon to stare delightedly through the window at the occupant of the cargo space.

Shivering, Heather said, "Dr. Potter-"

"Travis, please."

"Travis, can you come in for some coffee?"

"Yeah, come on in and visit a spell," Jack said, as if he had been a country boy all his life. "Stay to dinner if you can."

"Sorry, can't," Travis said. "But thanks for the invitation. I'll take a rain check, if you don't mind. Right now, I've got calls to make-a couple of sick horses that need tending to, a cow with an infected hoof. With this storm coming, I want to get home early as I can." He checked his watch.

"Almost four o'clock already." Ten-inch snowfall, we hear," said Jack… "You haven't heard the latest. First storm's built strength, and the second's no longer a day behind it, more like a couple hours. Maybe two feet accumulation before it's all done."

Heather was glad they had gone shopping that morning and that their shelves were well stocked. "Anyway," Travis said, indicating the dog,

"this was the real reason I stopped by." He joined Toby at the side of the wagon. Jack put an arm around Heather to help her keep — warm, and they stepped behind Toby. Travis pressed two fingers against the window, and the dog licked the other side of the glass enthusiastically, whined, and wagged his tail more furiously than ever.

"He's a sweet-tempered fella. Aren't you, Falstaff. His name's Falstaff."

"Really?" Heather said. "Hardly seems fair, does it? But he's two years old and used to it now. I hear from Paul Youngblood you're in the market for just such an animal as Falstaff here." Toby gasped. He gaped at Travis. "Hold your mouth open that wide," Travis warned him,

"and some critter is going to run in there and build a nest."

He smiled at Heather and Jack. "Was this what you had in mind?"

"Just about exactly," Jack said. Heather said, "Except, we thought a puppy…"

"With Falstaff, you get all the joy of a good dog and none of that puppy mess. He's two years old, mature, housebroken, well behaved.

Won't spot the carpet or chew up the furniture. But he's still a young dog, lots of years ahead of him.

Interested?" Toby looked up worriedly, as if it was beyond conception that such an enormous great good thing as this could befall him without his parents objecting or the ground opening and swallowing him alive.

Heather glanced up at Jack, and he said, "Why not?" Looking at Travis, Heather said, "Why not?"

"Yes!" Toby made it a one-word expression of explosive ecstasy.

They went to the back of the wagon, and Travis opened the tailgate.

Falstaff bounded out of the wagon to the ground and immediately began excitedly sniffing everyone's feet, turning in circles, one way and then the other, slapping their legs with his tail, licking their hands when they tried to pet him, a jubilation of fur and warm tongue and cold nose and heart-melting brown eyes. When he calmed down, he chose to sit in front of Toby, to whom he offered a raised paw.

"He can shake hands!" Toby exclaimed, and proceeded to take the paw and pump it.

"He knows a lot of tricks," Travis said. "Where'd he come from?" Jack asked. "A couple in town, Leona and Harry Seaquist. They had goldens.all their lives.

Falstaff here was the latest."

"He seems too nice to just be given up." Travis nodded.

"Sad case. A year ago, Leona got cancer, was gone in three months.

Few weeks back, Harry suffered a stroke, lost the use of his left arm.

Speech is slurred, and his memory isn't so good. Had to go to Denver to live with his son, but they didn't want the dog. Harry cried like a baby when he said goodbye to Falstaff. I promised him I'd find a good home for the pooch."

Toby was on his knees, hugging the golden around the neck, and it was licking the side of his face. "We'll give him the best home any dog ever had anywhere anytime ever, won't we, Mom, won't we, Dad?"

To Travis, Heather said, "How sweet of Paul Youngblood to call you about us."

"Well, he heard mention your boy wanted a dog. And this isn't the city, everyone living in a rat race. We have plenty of time around here to meddle in other people's business." He had a broad, engaging smile.

The chilling breeze had grown stronger as they talked. Suddenly it gusted into a whistling wind, flattened the brown grass, whipped Heather's hair across her face, and drove needles of cold into her.

"Travis," she said, shaking hands with him again, "when can you come for dinner?"

"Well, maybe Sunday a week."

"A week from Sunday it is," she said. "Six o'clock."

To Toby, she said, "Come on, peanut, let's get inside."

"I want to play with Falstaff."

"You can get to know him in the house," she insisted. "It's too cold out here."

"He's got fur," Toby protested. "It's you I'm worried about, dummkopf.

You're going to get a frostbitten nose, and then it'll be as black as Falstaff's."

Halfway to the house, padding along between Heather and Toby, the dog stopped and looked back at Travis Potter. The vet made a go-ahead wave with one hand, and that seemed sufficient permission for Falstaff. He accompanied them up the steps and into the warm front hall… Travis Potter had brought a fifty-pound bag of dry dog food with him.