LAKE ISLE

By Tobi Little Deer

Tobi is a little dog living happily in New York City until his owner, Ted, leaves him on his family’s Vermont farm in a town bordering a beautiful lake where dogs roam free.  As Tobi waits and pines by the roadway, he has no way of knowing whether Ted will return.  Drawn into the vibrant life of the farm, how well can he adjust t

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOBI Books
• Release date: Feb 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781949596021

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Can you imagine me, a Chihuahua accustomed to the plush comfort of a New York City apartment, lost alone at night in a Vermont forest?  Or appreciate my alarm, each time black clouds racing across the sky obscured the summer moon, drawing a cover of impenetrable darkness over the mountain?  Or my terror, as the white disc reappeared only to reveal towering shadows all around me that quivered alive with each breeze?

An owl hooted repeatedly in the distance, then again closer by, followed by a scuffle and frantic squeaks . . . cut off by silence . . . .  Then faintly, far away, a whippoorwill called, waited, and called again. Each disembodied sound, amplified by the ponderous quiet, riveted my attention.  I shivered as much from fear as from the cold night air.

When I heard heavy paws crunching on dry leaves just beyond the thicket where I hid, I stopped breathing.  When the plodding paused, I lay motionless except for my trembling, totally alert to flee, totally still but for the deafening pounding of my heart.  The footsteps resumed and moved slowly away, too lumbering to be the fox I suspected was out there somewhere.  I’d no idea what to do, so I just shook and waited, and listened with all my might in the dark.

How I got there and what happened was so unexpected.

1. THE TRIP NORTH

My holiday with Ted began with one of my favorite things, a car ride—although I do prefer a shorter one than we took that day.  After a beautiful springtime in New York City with trees blossoming along the avenues and Sunday walks in Central Park to admire the flowers, after early weekends at our house by the ocean, Ted went out one morning after breakfast to get the car.

He’d packed travel bags the day before and set them in our apartment hallway.  I knew the routine.  After he parked on the street close by, he brought the luggage downstairs while I waited.  He carried me out last of all on his arm, out the door he locked behind us, as always.  I got a short walk along the curbside on the way.

Ted set me on the towel he’d folded for me on the front passenger seat and attached my harness to the safety belt.  He adjusted himself in the driver’s seat with a click, while I made a few turns to get comfortable on my bed. We drove off, first with the frequent turns and stops and bumps I don’t like up the avenues of New York City, and then onto straighter, smoother interstate highways, and I settled down. A sunny day warmed me through the tinted windows, comfortable with the air-conditioning set on mild, just right.  Soothed by the sound of the engine and the motion of the car, I did what I always do, I fell asleep.

By noon we reached a rest area surrounded by distant, low, green mountains, with a wide river meandering lazily below us.  Then I knew we were on our way to visit Ted’s family at the top of Vermont, a trip we made several times each summer.

Late in the day, by the time I’d grown tired of riding, we exited the Interstate for smaller roads that had sharper curves and deeper bumps.  Ted drove more slowly on them, but nevertheless the car swerved enough to make me light-headed.  Passing through miles of woodland we finally reached the little town.

When Ted made a sharp right turn up a steep hill and the car leveled on a very straight street, I knew we’d arrived.  We were on Pleasant Street that overlooked the lake called Isle.  Ted made a right turn between two grand maple trees into his family’s driveway and came to a stop in the yard, between the large, white, rambling house and the correspondingly tall, white, wood-shingled barn.

Ted unstrapped himself and stepped out of the car, then reached back in across the seat for me, as I did my eager dance, wagging my tail so hard I almost fell over.  He lifted me out and set me on the ground by his feet, and I ran around him happily.  No harness, no leash—this was North Country where dogs roamed free.

2. FAMILY

Ted turned to the elderly woman coming out of the barn who walked towards us with her arms spread wide open as she exclaimed as if it were a wonder, Oh, oh, oh, you’re finally here!

Hello, Mémère, how are you? he greeted her.  Ted is a short man, but he had to bend to hug his even shorter grandmother who wrapped her arms around him.  Heavy-set, built solidly even in old age, her face dark-skinned and lined, her silken white hair drawn back tightly into a bun beneath her beaten white hat, her long cotton dress covered by a broad, bibbed apron that reached down to her barnyard boots, she was a rough jewel glistening elegantly, the country farmwoman forged by work.  Her embrace, the light in her eyes, the laughter in her voice made evident how happy she was to see Ted.  She looked down at me.  Hello Tobi.  Aren’t you glad to be here?

I was jumping up against Ted’s leg.  He remarked,  You’d think he’d take advantage, but all he wants is me to pick him up when we’re around people.  He couldn’t very well, because then he grabbed a suitcase from the car trunk in each hand.

Ted’s family had come out of the house to greet us.  As he headed with Mémère across the yard towards them, he remembered his grandfather Pépère who used to be sitting on the second-story back porch overlooking the barnyard when we arrived.  I saw Ted turn his face upwards, and I remembered him, too.  Holding his pipe in one hand, Pépère would wave back with the other from above the array of flowers, blue morning glories, that climbed from the ground to where he sat.

I ran ahead to Rex, the farm dog, who stood and stretched where he’d been lying in the late afternoon sun on a wooden transom at the side of the house.  The big grey and white tomcat named Nanook who’d been sleeping between Rex’s front paws, disturbed now when Rex stood up, was stretching too as if just beginning his day.  Rex was a young dog, about my age.  Average dog-size, average dog-shape, with an inch-long black and white coat,  he wasn’t any particular breed, just a standard dog.  We touched noses.

Ted went to Mom first and gave her a big, wrap-around hug, and she kissed his cheek.  A small woman, her tight waist emphasized by the fullness of her skirt, she had combed her shoulder-length hair back and had on earrings for the occasion.  He shook hands with Dad, a thin, gaunt man who said, Good to see you, Teddy, and high-fived his younger brother Robert who stood to the side grinning, tall and strong.  Ted’s nephew Lucien, fair-haired like his father Robert, stepped forward to give Ted a weak, albeit willing hug, upstaged when his younger sister, small, brunette Marguerite, having waited her turn, ran up to Ted with an effusive hug and kiss.  They all walked into the house together, all talking at the same time.  I followed Ted inside, but Rex stopped at the door.  A farm dog, he had his bed and dish in the entry mudroom; he never went into the main house.  I certainly didn’t hesitate; I stuck close by Ted amid all these people, and when they sat to visit in the living room, he lifted me to his lap as I expected he would.

With Marguerite helping, Mom began setting supper on the large rectangular table in the middle of the kitchen.  She could share the conversation through the multi-paned glass doors open on her left to the living room.  Matching doors led to a dining room on her right that was reserved for major holidays.

How was your trip? Dad asked Ted.

It was gorgeous, all the way up, Ted answered him enthusiastically.  It’s a long ride, but I never tire of looking across the Connecticut River valley from the heights of Interstate 91 on a sunny day.  With a nod to me he added, Tobi gets a little restless towards the end, tickling me behind my ears as I looked out at everyone.  He always knows when we come off the Interstate and ‘head for the hills.’  He knows we’re getting close.

Ted turned to his brother.  You about ready to start haying? he asked.

In a couple more weeks, Robert answered.  Can we count on you?

Ted has his book to work on, Mom said to Robert.  We’d best not interfere with that.

Yes, I’ll devote forenoons to the book, Ted said to Mom, but he assured Robert, I’ll be glad to help in the afternoons when you truck in the bales.  I’ve always liked haying time.  I’ll drive one of the trucks, but  I’ll leave tossing the bales with the hired men to you.

Robert grew taller and broader than you, Mom offered.  He’s more used to it.

Ted laughed, I’ll help for the iced lemonade that Mom has waiting for everyone after each load through.  That alone is worth the work.

I still do, Mom told him, made with real lemons.

And Mémère will be out there with her hand rake, embarrassing Dad, Robert teased his father.  Last year, he said to Ted, he asked her not to rake near the street because, he told her, ‘people will think I’m working my old mother.’  She scolded him for the idea.  He couldn’t keep her out of the hayfield.

Dad agreed amused, She never listens to me.

As if on cue Mémère, dressed neatly now, knocked on the kitchen door and came in.  Oh, you’re just in time, Sa Mère, Mom said to her.  Mom and Dad called her Sa Mère; everyone younger called her Mémère.  She and Mom called Dad Te’dore. Mémère and Dad called Mom Rose.  Lucien and Marguerite called Mom and Dad Mémère and Pépère.  Sometimes the family called Ted Teddy, except Lucien and Marguerite who called him Uncle Ted and called their father Robert Dad.  The family had so many names; it could be very confusing.

They gathered around the kitchen table for supper.  Ted put me down on the floor, and gave me my portion beforehand.  However, during the meal I found Lucien and Marguerite quite willing to slip me bits of roast chicken, especially the skin which Marguerite called Gross!  From under the table I continued to do well from the kids.  I could get used to this.

What are you writing now? Robert asked Ted.

Another translation.  I have a deadline for it before my trip.

You’ll do fine up on Mémère’s sun porch, Mom assured Ted.

Yes, thank you, Mémère, Ted said gratefully to his grandmother.  It’ll be inspiring to work with that view of the fields and lake!  I’ll open a window at either end to let the breezes through.  I’m thinking I might even sleep there on the cot, like I used to do when I was a boy.

I busied myself with a piece of gristle that Marguerite held to me under the table.  After supper Dad and Robert changed into their barn clothes in the mudroom and went to milk the cows.  Ted stayed back and visited with Mom, gathering up the dishes for her to wash while Marguerite dried them.  When he sat down again, I was back on his lap.

That dog sure loves you, Mom said.

And I love him, Ted told her.

Later Dad and Robert returned from their chores, changed in the mudroom, showered out there, and came in finished and fresh.  We all went out to Mom and Dad’s windowed sun porch at the front of the house, directly beneath Mémère’s porch, whose twin it was.  I lay on Ted’s lap, and the family looked out on the lake view at the onset of twilight.  When Mom brought out apple pie and my favorite, vanilla ice cream, Ted got my dish and gave me some.

That dog has a good life, Robert remarked.

So does Rex, Dad said.  Happy in the mudroom.

It depends what a dog is used to, Ted countered.  In New York we don’t have a mudroom, or a barn.

Which is perfectly fine, Mom interposed.  He’s a little dog, and he’s so cute—aren’t you, Tobi, she said to me.  The tranquility of the porch was conducive to peacefulness at that hour, and Mom held her family to ending the day agreeably.

I perked up from my dish when I heard my name.  I made short work of my ice cream and returned to Ted who took me back on his lap when he finished his.  There, lulled by the dinner I’d had and the family’s soft voices, it was not long before I started to doze off and on.  I’d look up each time I heard the family’s quiet laughter.

As twilight was descending into darkness I became more alert when very fast little black birds began to fly across the lawn between the maple trees.

The bats are out, Lucien observed.

A full moon was ascending over the lake.  Without turning on any other illumination, the family conversed in its pale light.  Against that backdrop I heard a sound that reached into the back of my head and resonated down my spine.  Faint in the distance, it was the howling of wolves.  I shivered and stood up on Ted’s lap in riveted attention.

Ted laughed.  Look at Tobi.  He hears the Indians’ dogs across the lake.

The water carries the sound, Robert commented, just like you can hear the trains, too, when they’re traveling along the far shore.

Lucien spoke up,  Now if the ghost deer walked across the lawn, that would really set him off.

The ghost deer? Ted asked.

Some people claim to have sighted an albino buck lately, completely white, Robert explained.

Maybe pink elephants, too, Marguerite giggled.

What alarmed me more, though, was another sound that started up closer by, a strange high-pitched howling that was more a yapping bark.  It repeated several times, then went silent.

That’s the fox on the hill behind the barn, a vixen; I’ve seen her up there with kits, Robert remarked.  The moon affects them, too.

Maybe she’s barking because she hears the Indian dogs, Mom suggested.

Lucien snickered, She’s howling because she wants Mémère’s chickens.

That’s why the henhouse has to be closed up tight every night, Mémère told them.  You’ve got to remember to do it if ever I can’t.

  Yes, if the door is shut tight, nothing can get in, Dad said.  I built it with a cement foundation, so the foxes and raccoons can’t dig into it, either.

If the fox comes off the hill, Rex’ll be after her before she gets anywhere near it, Robert assured.

Maybe she’s howling because she’s frustrated then, if she’s got kits to feed.  You’ve got to see it her way, too, Marguerite suggested.

Dad yawned, rose to his feet, said, Time for bed, and walked into the house, where his bedroom he shared with Mom was off the kitchen on the first floor.  Mémère took his cue, said Good night, and went up the living room stairs to her comfortable three-bedroom apartment that encompassed half the second floor of the rambling farmhouse.  In turn, Robert said Good night to everyone and Let’s go to Lucien and Marguerite, and they followed him upstairs to their rooms in the other half.

Only Ted, with me, and Mom stayed on the porch for a while more.  I kept listening for the Indian dogs, and from time to time I heard them.

Can you howl like that, Tobi? Ted laughed.  He said to Mom, I have friends who have a Chihuahua that howls if you howl to it.  I’ve never wanted to get Tobi started on that.

I began to think that Ted and Mom were going to stay out there all night, and I got restless on Ted’s lap.  Tobi figures it’s bedtime, Ted said getting up.  He said Good night to Mom, and he carried me upstairs to our room next to Robert’s.

3. SETTLING IN — PRESENTIMENTS

The following morning Ted and I rose early, just as we did in New York.  However, everyone else but Lucien and Margeurite were already up before us.  Mom was cooking breakfast, and it smelled very good.  Ted gave me chicken, then oatmeal in warm milk as usual; but Mom was frying eggs, and I got a piece that included yoke, one of my favorite things.

Afterwards, Ted carried me upstairs to Mémère’s sun porch, and we settled in, Ted at his computer and me on his lap.  That’s how we always did it.  It was a sunny day.  The temperature was perfect, not so hot as New York City at this time of year.  There were no air conditioners, just screens in the windows at either end of the porch, enabling a gentle, refreshing breeze to waft past us.  When Ted paused, he’d look out straight ahead at—as I’ve heard him describe—the picturesque farm fields, golden with ripening hay, rolling down to the birch-lined shore of the deep blue lake with its dark wooded island in the middle.

It’s so beautiful.  I was so lucky to grow up here, Tobi, he’d say to me.

The view didn’t mean much to me.  When we’d take a break and stroll outside, I was much more interested in meeting up with gentle Rex.  Sometimes Ted would sit with me for a while in a lawn chair out front, absorbed by his thoughts, gazing at the view.

There were birds everywhere, robins and black birds on the lawn, swallows doing their loops in the air overhead, an occasional woodpecker in one of the maples, crows cawing as they flew overhead and perched high in the trees at the edge of the woods behind the barn.  I tried to approach the birds on the lawn at first, but they flew away much faster than New York City pigeons did.

The barnyard was a living space.  Sometimes chickens would wander in from their yard on the far side of the barn.  Rex kept them away from the lawns, so I helped him do that when I was out there with Ted.  Rex never chased them, but just herded them on.  Mémère had a couple of white geese, too, and they were nasty.  If Rex wasn’t watching, they slipped into the street to attack the occasional passers-by until, alerted by the ruckus, the faithful dog herded them back.  On the far side of the driveway the lawn was separated from the barnyard by a very tall, thick row of lilac bushes, at the base of which was a tiny pond fed by an underground pipe from a tank in the barn through which water always flowed.  Mémère’s six pure white ducks would waddle from the chicken area and splash in it, churning it muddy.  It wasn’t big enough for them to swim much.

Sometimes Ted would carry me, or I’d follow him leash-free, to the next house on the street where he’d visit with Aunt Florence, or to the house beyond that, with Aunt Linette.  His uncles Bernard and Félix insisted on giving us tours of their respective huge vegetable gardens.  Mom had a very big garden, too, and Mémère a bit smaller one, that they worked to keep clear of weeds.  Robert helped them do that; and so did Lucien and Marguerite less enthusiastically.  Mom talked about how much they would have to can, to preserve, for the winter.

When Ted’s mind was refreshed by a walk, we’d return to his computer on the upstairs porch, and he’d write for another two hours, until Mom called from downstairs that it was time for lunch.

There were rainy days, too, when we stayed mostly on the porch.  Ted would take his breaks resting on the cot, and I’d lie beside him.  It felt very cozy, with the rain all around us just outside the windows, sometimes pounding on them, but usually falling gently, while we were inside watching it, warm and dry.  Its dull, soft patter put us to sleep.

Sometimes there’d be a big storm.  The wind would dash the rain against the windows, and sway the branches of the maples back and forth, so that those big trees looked like they were dancing.  Lightning flashes and loud roars of thunder bore down upon us from overhead.  I’d nestle my face under Ted’s arm.

One such storm was particularly dramatic one evening, when Dad and Robert already had finished their chores and come in from the barn.  It arose suddenly, roaring down the valley from Canada a few miles north.  Over the lake—over us—it crashed into another storm coming west, up the Nulhegan River plain from New Hampshire.  Mémère, who was fearful of thunderstorms, hurried down the living room stairs to join the family on the ground-floor sun porch where they had gathered to watch the outburst.

Thunder didn’t bother me much in New York City, but that evening the claps were so loud that I trembled like Mémère at the roar and burrowed further into Ted’s arms.  As the family sat watching, talking softly in the growing darkness, the lightning flashes became more dramatic, as if someone were turning the lights on and off repeatedly, instant by instant.  When the height of the storm’s violence rolled over us, its breadth made it seem fixed in the sky above, crashing down continually, pummeling us, beating against the window panes mercilessly.

The family waited and watched and endured it, suddenly startled sometimes, fascinated by its raw power, until the length of the storm, having coursed from beginning to end like a long parade over the valley, slowly but noticeably subsided as it moved away, leaving in its wake outside the windows a drenched quiet.  Then everyone said goodnight and went to bed.  Ted opted to sleep on the cot on Mémère’s upstairs porch.  Somehow, high up like that and surrounded by the glass windows, I still felt exposed, and I crawled under the sheet and cuddled beside him.  Being with him, beside him as we lay there and fell asleep, made me feel safe.

Another evening, one that ended a beautiful sunny day with an orange and pink sky, Ted took me on his arm and walked with Mémère to Aunt Florence’s house next door.  She was Mémère’s oldest daughter and Dad’s big sister.  A while later Dad joined us on Aunt Florence’s wide, open porch.  They talked in subdued voices while they watched twilight diminish over the hills and lake.  I sat quietly on Ted’s lap.

Ted remarked as he often did, It’s so peaceful here, so beautiful.  I took it so much for granted when I was growing up.

Someday that beautiful view won’t be there anymore, Mémère said.

Ted clarified, I don’t just mean the view.  I mean everything here, the whole farm, our family, everything.  Then he realized what Mémère had said.  Why won’t it be there? he asked.

Mémère told them, Because someday somebody will see only cash value in that field, and will fill it with streets and houses, and the people who move in will plant trees and hedges.  You won’t see much of the lake anymore from here. Looking at Aunt Florence she added, If someone builds a house across the street right in front of yours, you won’t have any view at all.

Ted objected, We own the property, Mémère.  No one can very well do that,  Then he looked anxiously at Dad for confirmation,  You wouldn’t sell out from under Robert, would you?

Of course not, Dad reassured him.  Why would I do that when everything is just fine?

"What if your father hadn’t had