Chapter 22 #2
Sometimes she said that, and other times she used the specific terms “piddle” and “poop.” Snuffles knew all the words, but this morning the whole world had been transformed into something new and intriguing.
She took a few cautious steps across the crusted surface and dropped her nose to the stuff. Wow, that’s intense!
Shuffling forward, she sniffed and sniffed.
Every smell was sharper, brighter. Thousands of scents, usually dispersed around the city, now lay trapped beneath the snow, waiting for her nose to discover them.
Mommy’s boots crunched right through, forming cracks that spread as she stepped, her feet sinking deep.
But Snuffles easily traversed the top of the frigid ground cover.
Despite the chill shooting up through her footpads, she was eager.
Deeming the white stuff safe, she tore out to the end of her leash, dashing back and forth with an excited “Grr, grr.” She ran circles around Mommy before skidding to a stop and grinning up at her.
“Arf!” This is fun. Why haven’t we ever had it before?
I want to play and sniff up all the bright smells!
But Mommy looked stern and serious. “Snuffles, we don’t have time. Look,” she pointed. “Your favorite spot. I know, it’s all buried under snow, but go piddle there. Waylon will be picking us up any minute.”
Snuffles cocked her head at Mommy, then dropped her nose back to the frosty stuff.
Snow. A new word. She tucked it away in her vocabulary and wandered slowly to the base of a small tree.
There should be dirt and grass here, between the sidewalk and the street she wasn’t allowed to stray onto.
Mommy had always made it clear the street was forbidden.
Her nose told her this was the right spot, even if she couldn’t see the dirt and grass. Obediently, she squatted and piddled.
Overcome by a fresh burst of energy, Snuffles zoomed over the hardened snow.
She knew how far she could run before reaching the end of the leash and spun around before it jerked her collar, racing past Mommy to sprint the other way.
A noisy, super-big pickup truck rolled down the street toward them, smashing through the crusted snow, spraying icy crystals in every direction.
She recognized the sound of the engine, and it smelled like Waylon.
She bounded back to Mommy, slightly annoyed by frozen clumps that gathered between her toes.
“Snuffles, you didn’t poop.” Snuffles’ enthusiastic expression drooped. That was Mommy’s “you’re in trouble” tone of voice.
Peering up at her beloved human, Snuffles tucked her fountain tail. I can’t help being excited. This is something new. If you only understood how vibrant the smells are. Can’t you tell, Mommy?
Mommy picked her up and cuddled her close. Mommy was warm. She rubbed her head, radiating love and joy from her chest, assuring Snuffles she wasn’t mad. “We’ll have time to play in the snow later. Right now, Mommy has to go to work, and you have a job too—guarding the firehouse.”
The truck stopped right beside them. “Your chariot awaits,” Waylon said in his happy voice. Even though everything looked and smelled different, Snuffles understood that all was still right with the world.
Mommy climbed in, settling her on her lap. “Chariot, you say? Where are the six white horses?”
“Six?” He made a fun buzzing sound through his lips. Snuffles smiled at him, her interest piqued. “There’s four hundred horses under this hood, I’ll have you know.”
Snuffles knew he was making a joke. She had seen a horse.
Mounted police officers sometimes rode them in town.
Not even one would fit under the hood. Her grin widened as her tongue lolled happily.
In the warm, safe, comfortable cab, her mommy’s hand stroking her, and country music playing on the radio, Snuffles suddenly realized something.
I do need to poop. She always pooped first thing in the morning, but today was different. The snow and ice and smells had distracted her. The firehouse is close, she told herself. I can wait till we get there.
Flash and Snuffles had just returned from a short walk upon arriving at the station, successful this time, when the first alarm bell of her day echoed through the apparatus bay—doors closed for once. It sounded much louder with the bay doors closed.
“Engine Eight, respond to a reported natural gas leak.” Flash pushed the address into her phone’s GPS.
“Come on, guys,” she called, setting Snuffles on an inside bench. “You stay.” Letting the door swing shut behind her, she joined her crew at the ready rack and pulled on her gear.
“Wasting no time, I see,” Woods said as he thumbed his suspenders over his shoulders.
“Are you kidding?” answered a firefighter from the last shift on his way out. “We’ve been at it all night. I’m ready for some serious shuteye.”
The alarm blared again as Flash climbed into her seat. “Squad Eight, respond to Austin and Bell. People trapped in an elevator.”
Waylon turned the key, Flash flipped on the siren, and the big bay door opened. At least the street was free of traffic. Mostly. Despite all warnings from city officials, some people had ventured out in their cars. Maybe they had essential jobs to go to as well.
Ice accumulated along the wiper blades, and Waylon pushed the defrost button. It seemed to fog up the windshield more.
“Lower a crack in your window, Adams,” Woods suggested. “That’ll do the trick.”
Sure enough, it helped. Waylon turned a tight corner, and the back of the rig swung out, causing a minor panic as everyone gasped and held onto something. Luckily, no car was in the intersection, and the truck soon straightened back into its lane.
“I’m not going that fast,” Waylon said in his defense. “I didn’t know it would do that.”
“Let’s just take the curves a little slower,” Flash said. “The ice storm hit first, and now the snow is covering it up, but it’s down there. Still getting a wintry mix. OK, this is it,” she pointed to a house on the right.
Waylon eased on the brakes. The ABS chattered beneath his foot, but the engine still slid several extra feet before stopping.
A massive oak limb had snapped under the storm’s onslaught and hit the side of the house, tearing off the gas meter.
From the cab, Flash watched the invisible stream lift loose snow into tiny swirling eddies.
She notified dispatch that they had arrived and opened her door. A burst of frigid wind whipped inside. “Waylon, catch the hydrant and charge the line. Woods, call the gas company and get that turned off. Flores, with me.”
The high-pressure gas hissed as it escaped, and the rotten-egg smell was unmistakable.
Flash walked differently than she normally did, placing each boot flat with deliberate steps.
She’d gone snow skiing in Colorado one year with her church youth group and learned how to traverse icy surfaces with the least chance of slipping. Obviously, Bobbie Flores hadn’t.
“Whoa!” he called out as he caught his balance before hitting the ground. “It’s like an ice-skating rink out here.”