But though he had acquired the limp, Einstein had lost the tattoo in his ear, thanks to Jim Keene. No one could ever prove that he was the dog from Banodyne-and he could still play “dumb dog” very well when he wished.
At times during young Jimmy’s third birthday extravaganza, Minnie regarded her mate and offspring with charmed befuddlement, perplexed by their attitudes and antics. Although she could never fully understand them, no mother of dogs ever received half the love that she was given by those she’d brought into the world. She watched over them, and they watched over her, guardians of each other.
At the dark end of that good day, when the guests were gone, when Jimmy was asleep in his room, when Minnie and her first litter were settling down for the night, Einstein and Travis and Nora gathered at the pantry off the kitchen.
The scrabble-tile dispenser was gone. In its place, an IBM computer stood on the floor. Einstein took a stylus in his mouth and tapped the keyboard. The message appeared on the screen:
THEY GROW UP FAST.
“Yes, they do,” Nora said. “Yours faster than ours.”
ONE DAY THEY WILL BE EVERYWHERE.
“One day, given time and a lot of litters,” Travis said, “they’ll be all over the world.”
SO FAR FROM ME. IT’S A SADNESS.
“Yes, it is,” Nora said. “But all young birds fly from the nest sooner or later.”
AND WHEN I’M GONE?
“What do you mean?” Travis asked, stooping and ruffling the dog’s thick coat.
WILL THEY REMEMBER ME?
“Oh yes, fur face,” Nora said, kneeling and hugging him. “As long as there are dogs and as long as there are people fit to walk with them, they will all remember you.”
