The Dead Season by Donna Ball

Author:Donna Ball [Ball, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780977329649
Google: --MyLgEACAAJ
Amazon: 097732964X
Publisher: Blue Merle Publishing
Published: 2012-05-15T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

I wasn’t the only one who was looking at my fellow campers with a suspicious eye that morning, and the tension around the cooking fire was palpable. Tiffanie was still pouting about her scratched face, and although Rachel had almost convinced her the fall had been an accident, I wasn’t so sure. I had not imagined the half-open zipper of my tent, nor the scrambling shadows when Cisco barked. Why anyone would want to break into my tent—or be foolish enough to try, with an eighty-pound golden retriever sleeping inside—I couldn’t begin to guess.

As for the stupid trick with Cisco’s rabbit, I thought I was probably being more sanguine about it than most of the kids. Cisco had already forgotten about the rabbit, as he had forgotten about every toy he’d ever had that had ended up being shredded by the Aussies or left in a muddy ditch to rot or had accidently disintegrated in the washing machine. It was the meanness of spirit behind the joke that creeped me out, and I suspect that was what had upset most of the kids, too. One thing they taught us in therapy dog training is that children often identify with dogs, which is why they will tell secrets to a dog that they would not share with a parent, teacher, friend or counselor. I wondered how many of them were remembering a time when they had been unfairly victimized, perhaps even threatened, just as Cisco had been. I wondered how many of them had a secret they would like to share with Cisco.

I packed up my tent and sleeping bag and scooped up some hot water from the communal pot that was simmering over the fire. I added a portion of the water to the dehydrated dog food in Cisco’s collapsible bowl, and the rest to the powdered eggs in my camp mug. A few of the kids were trying to choke down oatmeal—without sugar and without salt, which in my opinion was cruel and unusual punishment on a trip like this—and they kept offering Cisco their leftovers, with the best of intentions, I’m sure.

“Cisco is on a special diet,” I told them. “People food will make him sick.” It’s what I always say to people who try to feed my dog. The truth is that, while Cisco does have a few food allergies that have persuaded me to do more cooking for him than I do for myself, I have seen him wolf down pizza, ham sandwiches and coconut cake—to name only a few—with no ill effects.

“Lucky Cisco,” Tiffanie said glumly, gazing at the goo in her cup. “This crap is making me sick too.”

She watched with interest as I sprinkled chili powder from a foil package over my eggs, and added a full packet of ketchup. “It helps the flavor,” I explained, stirring the concoction together. “A lot.”

She grimaced. “Where’d you learn that?”

“My dad. He used to take me on overnight hunting trips when I was a kid, and this was our camp breakfast.

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