Young Fredle - Louise Yates [15]
“I’m the go-between, remember? It’s my job to show you how to survive outside, although—frankly?—not many house mice can do that. In fact, there’s never been one that did, but I like to think there’s always a chance.”
It took Fredle a minute to think to ask, “Have there been others? Other house mice, I mean.”
“The cats drop one every now and then, and if it’s not too cut up it can sometimes make it to shelter. But that happens in summer and those mice don’t last long, in any case. You’re a little earlier than the others and you didn’t get here by cat, so who knows? You might be up to it.”
“None of them just—somehow—came out of the house?” Fredle asked. Bardo shook his head. “And what’s summer?”
“Summer’s warm weather, the opposite of winter. I’m here to give you a tour of the farm,” Bardo said. He looked into the shadows as if expecting to find out hidden things, his paws moved on the ground as if ready to start running, and the end of his long tail twitched. “Stay close and keep quiet or I can’t answer for your safety.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for night?”
Bardo gave his short, sharp, sarcastic laugh. “Ha-ha. You house mice just don’t know, do you? Out here, night’s as dangerous as day. Owls,” he said, “foxes, and never forget those cats. All of them are out at night. Hunting.” He turned back to the lattice wall, scrambled up and through, then stuck his head back in to add, “Not to mention the raccoons. They’re the worst of all, real omnivores. You coming?”
Fear made Fredle want to say No. Curiosity made him want to say Yes.
“Or not?” asked Bardo.
“Yes,” Fredle decided, but he didn’t move.
“I don’t have all day,” Bardo said.
So Fredle scrambled out into daylight. He blinked as fast as he could, because even though it wasn’t as bright as before, when he first stood out in it, daylight still hurt his eyes.
“You’ll get used to it,” Bardo told him. “Keep looking down at the ground until you do. Lucky for you it’s cloudy today.”
Fredle, sticking close behind his guide, didn’t know what cloudy meant, but he wasn’t about to ask. He was tired of asking questions, as if he didn’t know anything and Bardo knew everything.
They crept along beside the lattice wall, and it was a good thing they hadn’t come to the end of it when they heard a stamping, just ahead of and above them. “Back! Back inside!” Bardo ordered as he scrambled up through an opening, and Fredle followed. They huddled close up against the back wall and listened.
The stomping ceased and they heard Missus. “Have a drink of water. Then I want you two to burn off some of that energy. Run around, wrestle, chase cats, whatever. If it starts to rain, I’ll let you back in, I promise.”
At the splashing and slurping, Fredle whispered, “Only the dogs.”
Bardo shook his head, impatient. “Be quiet!” he hissed.
Fredle shook his head right back at Bardo, and whispered, “You don’t know dogs. They don’t eat mice.” He crossed to the lattice wall. Bardo either didn’t understand or decided to pay no attention. He neither moved nor spoke. The two mice both kept very quiet and listened carefully, one huddled up against the farthest wall in case of danger, the other close to the lattice, so as not to miss anything.
The dogs were large, clumsy creatures, spilling water all around as they drank out of the same large bowl. When he had drunk his fill, Angus decided, “We’d better check on the chickens, in case of foxes. Or raccoons—those raccoons like to come in close. Or weasels. We better smell around the chicken pen for anything suspicious.”
“Do you smell mouse?”
“Not again, Sadie. How about you stop with all this mouse-smelling?”
“This is a different mouse. This is a mouse under the porch.”
“All mice smell the same.”
Sadie wasn’t listening. She came snuffling up to the lattice wall. At the approach of her large black snout, Fredle froze. With her dog’s sharp ears, Sadie might hear him moving. Were a dog’s sharp ears sharp enough to hear even the almost soundless brush of mouse paws on soft ground? Fredle wondered.
The snout blocked a whole opening,