Albert looks nervous but Esther has already perked up. She aims her big brown eyes directly at her father and croons, “Please, Papa? Please?”
He gives in, as would I, as would anyone with half a soul under such a sweet, charming stare. “Go on then, but be gentle. That wolf is a noble creature, and you must be kind.”
“Yes, Papa.” Esther’s on me in a heartbeat, tiny hands in the long fur of my ruff, giving my neck a very nice scratch indeed.
Oh I like her.
My tail wags like it has a mind of its own. It likes her too.
She kneels in front of me and tells me I’m handsome. I would tell her how pretty she is if I could. I try to let her know with my eyes. She giggles and sits back on her heels. The moment her hand drops, I nudge my snout against it and put my chin in her palm. When she scratches there too, I melt. I love that spot.
“What’s your name, boy?” she asks me directly as if she absolutely knows I could answer her if I wished to.
I glance to Bowie, who for once is at a loss for words. He can’t rightly call me Andras. It isn’t a name used for dogs. And I know he won’t say Mongrel, though it really wouldn’t bother me in this situation.
Both the parents and the girl clearly expect him to say something. All eyes are on him, including mine.
“It’s really quite silly,” says Bowie, and I think he’s just stalling for time until I see the mischievous sparkle dancing in his eyes. “His name is Beans.”
Esther giggles. Even Rahel cracks a small smile.
“Beans?” asks Albert. “Heavens, why?”
I’m thankful wolves can’t fall over laughing because surely that’s what I’d do in my other form.Buttered Toast and Beans.Bowie really is ridiculous. I wonder to which level of hell Dante would condemn him for this atrocity of naming.
Bowie’s grin is careful, but present. He doesn’t show his teeth, but he’s no doubt amused with himself. “He likes to eat them. Learned that the hard way when he stole more than one of my dinners as a pup.”
“Such a handsome boy, Beans,” says Esther, her little hands like magic running through my coat. She asks Bowie, “Does he know any tricks?”
Now I’m in for it because there’s no way he’ll let that one slide. And really, I don’t want him to. This family deserves a moment of levity, even if it must come at my expense.
“Does he know tricks?” says Bowie, as if the question is preposterous. “Well of course he does, fair Lady Esther. He knows dozens. What would you see him do?”
Esther squirms with barely contained enthusiasm. “Can he shake hands?”
“Indeed, he can. You must stand in front of him, hold out your hand and say, ‘How do you do?’”
Esther hesitates, suddenly shy. She glances back to her mother.
“Go on,” says Rahel. “Ask how Beans is doing.”
She climbs to her feet and follows Bowie’s instructions to the letter. I wait for her to stick out her hand, then reach out my paw to meet it. Her laughter is a treasure to my ears, tinkling with the sort of delight only young children possess.
“Now,” says Bowie. “Ask him to dance for you. Move your hand like this.” He elegantly flails one pointer finger in little twirling circles.
“Dance, Beans.” Esther copies his movement.
I’m not entirely sure what they want me to do, but I spin in a tight circle and hope that’s enough. The joy on her face tells me it is. Bowie looks positively gleeful.
“All right,” says Albert. “Very good, Esther. Very good, Beans. But we should let the wolf rest now, don’t you think?”
Esther happily goes back to petting my forehead. I collapse at her bare feet, completely content to let her pet me the rest of the night.
But Bowie’s not quite done with his show. “One more,” he says, and I glare from my spot on the floor. “Esther, give him a good scratch just behind his right ear.”
Oh no.
Esther shifts her hand to obey.
