With the show over, the hounds inside the fence turned their attention to Granuaile and the owner of the ranch. They crowded around Granuaile and jockeyed for a position underneath her hands, since she was doing her best to pet all seven with only two limbs. Eventually she isolated one from the others, a cream-coated hound with kind brown eyes.
“Could I spend a bit of time with this one?” Granuaile asked, to which the owner nodded. As Granuaile and the owner walked back toward the house, all the hounds followed, not just the one Granuaile had asked about.
Oberon stopped spinning and pricked up his ears as they passed out of sight. <Hey. Where are they going?>
They’re going to chat for a little while. She’ll make a decision soon enough. Flop down and I’ll give you a belly rub while we wait.
<Okay!> Oberon dove and skidded across the lawn as he twisted to present his belly. I began to scratch him and tried to avoid getting swatted by his tail, which wouldn’t stop wagging.
Now, remember, buddy, regardless of which hound we adopt, she’s not going to know how to speak at first. We have to teach her.
<Oh, that’s right!> Oberon said, and that’s all I had to say to keep him occupied, because he began to catalog all his favorite movies and rank them according to their potential for language acquisition. He was going to start with Pulp Fiction but dismissed it for fear that she would keep asking him what Marsellus Wallace looked like. Somehow, from there, he wound up choosing to begin with Pride & Prejudice starring Keira Knightley, because there was an Irish wolfhound running around in it. Eventually Granuaile and the owner of the ranch emerged from the house with the cream-colored hound on a leash.
All right, buddy, time to be on your best behavior. Sit up and don’t move. Follow Granuaile’s lead.
<I will be the very picture of propriety.> He posed like a show dog, perfectly still except for his tail, which swished madly across the grass.
“Hello, Oberon,” Granuaile said aloud, clearly for the owner’s benefit. Dog owners were used to people talking to dogs and wouldn’t find it strange. “This lovely lady is Orlaith. Would you like to say hello?”
Oberon gave a short bark of affirmation, but mentally he said, <Would I! She’s so beautiful! Can I sniff her ass yet?>
Granuaile must have answered him, for there was a pause before he said, <Okay.>
Orlaith approached, nose aquiver and tail sawing the air, and Oberon rose to his feet, similarly enthused. He was very patient as she snuffled all around his face, and then she did a quick once-over of his torso before sliding down to his posterior.
<Aaaaand … we have target lock!> Oberon said. Orlaith’s rear end was of course next to his snout now, and he turned his head to get a good whiff of it. Swinging around his head meant pulling his shoulders along and then his rear legs, which drew him away from Orlaith’s nose. She tried to get in closer, and that had the same effect, pulling her ass away from Oberon. In no time they were circling each other, pursuing what for them was a heady fragrance, and Granuaile let go of the leash. Their tempo sped up, and I wondered how long they could maintain it without crashing. Soon they weren’t even trying to sniff, they were simply chasing each other in circles with their mouths open in doggie smiles. <She’s on my tail! I can’t shake her!>
Granuaile laughed and looked at me. “She likes him.”
I grinned and nodded. It was pretty obvious from the hound’s behavior, but it was good to have confirmation of Orlaith’s feelings from Granuaile. I would be very careful not to tap into Orlaith’s head for a few weeks, to make sure she bonded properly with Granuaile.
Oberon heard the comment, of course, and said, <She does? I like her too!>
I asked Granuaile,“Do you think you’ll get along with her?”
“Oh, yes, no problem,” she replied. “Orlaith’s quick and very sweet.”
Oberon broke out of the circle and took off across the lawn, Orlaith hot on his heels.
<She’s too fast! I can’t hold her! Waaauuuugh!> Oberon tumbled across the grass and Orlaith quickly followed, a giant mess of fur and splayed legs until they rolled out of it, and then Oberon was chasing her around the lawn instead.
The owner of the ranch chuckled and said, “Well, they certainly seem to get along.”
Granuaile clapped her hands together in delight and gave a little squee. “Yes, they do. We’d like to adopt her if that’s okay.” She introduced me to the woman, who was named Kimberly. Her mother had owned the ranch during the time I’d adopted Oberon, and now she looked after it. We couldn’t tell her Oberon had ever been there, of course, because he was far older than any normal wolfhound now. But we could show Kimberly that we were pretty good with hounds.
Oberon, come on over here and be brilliant for a second so this lady will trust us with Orlaith. Aloud I said, “Oberon! Here, boy!”
<All right, coming.> He scampered over, Orlaith close behind, and stopped in front of me.
“Sit,” I said. He sat. “Lie down.” He did so. “Belly rub.” He rolled onto his back.
<You’re not going to make me go get you a beer, are you?>
No worries. “Come to heel.” He got up and moved to my right side, facing the same way I was facing, and wagged his tail. Orlaith did the same thing with Granuaile, standing on her left side, though Granuaile hadn’t said anything aloud.
Kimberly let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Well, I guess you know your hounds,” she said.
<She’s easily impressed.>
We filled out paperwork with Kimberly and made a generous donation to the rescue, then we left with Orlaith and shifted through Tír na nÓg to our cabin in Colorado, where Orlaith would have plenty of time to bond with Granuaile and begin to learn a few words here and there.
You’ll need to be very patient with Orlaith on the talking thing, I explained to Oberon. You’ve been with me many years now and probably don’t remember how tough it was at first.
<Oh, I do, Atticus! Don’t worry, I’ll be nice. When do we get to talk?>
When Granuaile thinks she’s ready. It will probably be a while, buddy. Bonding them too soon might overwhelm Orlaith, and I needed to remember to remind Granuaile of that. You can just enjoy her as she is in the meantime, right?
<Absolutely! She’s awesome!>
The days passed quickly with training and play until it was time to travel back to Tír na nÓg. I’d asked Hal Hauk to start liquidating some of my assets and converting them to gold, and one of his pack members, Greta, was tasked with delivering it to the cabin. It was her second trip there—a rather long one from Tempe—and she made it clear that she hated the drive. She turned her car around on the road and honked, never getting out. Once I walked around to the driver’s side, she rolled down the window and dropped a heavy sack on the ground in front of me.
“A giant bag of gold I can understand, but making me drive up here to deliver those Girl Scout Cookies and whiskey? That makes you a whole new species of asshole,” she said, then stepped on the accelerator and peeled down the hill, leaving me in a cloud of dust. I coughed a bit but grinned. I knew what to get her for the holidays. I hefted the sack and, after bidding farewell to Granuaile and the hounds, took it with me to pay Goibhniu and thereby finance the stealth war against vampires.