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Novellas, Hotel for Dogs by Lois Duncan ch 12-1

Hotel for Dogs by Lois Duncan ch 12-1

CHAPTER TWELVE Delaney Belanger's dog, Preston, was a beagle. Debbie brought him over on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. School had let out at noon as a prelude to the holiday, and the rest of the hotel staff was waiting to greet their first paying guest.

Preston was a lively dog and terribly strong for his size. He raced up the ramp so fast that Debbie, who was holding his leash, nearly fell on her face.

“He's a hunting beagle,” she explained, handing the leash to Bruce with obvious relief. “I guess there are two kinds of beagles, the hunters and the stay-at-homes. Delaney's father is training Preston to hunt rabbits. That must be why his legs are so strong.” Preston was so excited at the sight and smell of so many other dogs that he tore around in circles. He ran from one room to another, giving shrill yelps, and bounded up the stairs and came tearing down like a wild thing.

“He sure is a lively one,” Tim commented. He looked a little worried. “I hope he doesn't upset the others.” “The other dogs are used to each other,” Andi said. “Friday and Red have been friends for a long time now, and MacTavish is so fat and easygoing that he likes everybody. The pups are too young to get upset about anything except not eating on time.” “Still,” Tim said, frowning, “I don't much like the idea of leaving Preston free to roam around the hotel. Let's put him in his room until he calms down a little.” They had decided to let Preston have MacTavish's room on the second floor and to move MacTavish in with Friday, who was lonely now that Tom, Dick, and Hairy had gone. Tim had objected at first (he always tended to favor MacTavish), but since Preston was a paying guest, Andi insisted that it was only right that he have his own accommodations.

It took some time to get Preston settled into his room, as the smell of MacTavish was still very much in it. Preston evidently had not had much experience with other dogs, and he rushed about sniffing everything excitedly.

“Perhaps he's looking for rabbits to chase,” Tiffany suggested. It was past one o'clock by the time Preston finally settled down on his bed for a nap, and Bruce felt that they could go off and leave him. As they walked toward home, they noticed that the drapes were open behind the windows of the yellow house next to Aunt Alice's and a car was parked in the driveway. “I guess that means we won't be able to cut through their yard anymore,” Andi said regretfully. “I wonder where they've been for so long.” “Aunt Alice was saying something to Mom about how they're retired people who travel a lot.” Bruce looked worried. “I wish they'd kept on traveling a while longer. They might start wondering why we're going back and forth all the time, and if the dogs start barking —” “They don't bark much,” Andi said. “They're really very well behaved.” The hotel was earning money, and the problem of supporting the dogs was solved at last. She didn't intend to ruin things by starting right in worrying about something new. Lunch was on the table when they got home to Aunt Alice's. “We expected you before this,” their mother said. “I was under the impression that school let out at noon today.” Aunt Alice's nose began to twitch as she fought off a sneeze. “Goodness,” she said, “if I didn't know better, I would say there was dog hair in this room. I think I'm going to — going to — going to — atchooooo!” “Bless you,” Andi said, and hurriedly brushed at the hairs on her sweater. The other dogs at the hotel were kept carefully brushed, but Preston had been shedding.

They had just sat down to their sandwiches when the phone rang. Mrs. Walker answered. When she came back to the table, she was smiling.

“That was Dad calling from work,” she said. “Guess what? His training program will be over at the beginning of December, and he's been assigned to his new office.” “You mean you'll be moving that soon?” Aunt Alice's round face grew sober. “I've been looking forward so much to having you here for Christmas. Life gets lonely for an old lady when the holidays come around. There have been many times lately when I've wished that Peter and I had had children. Of course, at the time we were so involved in our work —” Bruce and Andi, who had their mouths open to cheer, let them drop closed in astonishment. For months now all they had thought about was how wonderful it would be to move out of this crowded house where all the rules were so different from the ones they were used to. It hadn't occurred to either of them that their presence might mean something special to Aunt Alice. And Aunt Alice's reference to her “work” came as a surprise to both of them. Had she actually held a job when she was younger? It was hard to imagine this fluttery, unimpressive little woman as anything other than a housewife. Had she been a secretary, maybe, or a bookkeeper, or a saleslady? She did have a sewing room, so maybe she'd done alterations. But she'd said “our work,” as if she and her husband had worked together. Surely their father's uncle Peter hadn't been a dressmaker? Mrs. Walker's face grew gentle. “Why, Aunt Alice,” she said, “I'm glad you feel that way. We wouldn't want to have Christmas without you, either, and we won't have to. We won't be moving very far. John's new office is going to be right here in Elmwood! That means I may end up teaching at Andi's school.” It was then that they heard the sound. It started low and rose slowly, note by note, into a long, wretched wail.

The smile faded from Mrs. Walker's face. “What on earth is that?” “It's a siren!” Aunt Alice's plump face grew pale. “Another air-raid warning just like the one we heard last month. Oh, dear, oh, dear, this time it must really mean war!” “It isn't the same, though.” Mrs. Walker was listening intently. “That sound we heard in the night was like an alarm going off. This is more of a — a sort of — howl. It sounds almost like a hound on the trail of a rabbit.” Bruce and Andi exchanged helpless glances as the deep, mournful voice of the beagle rose again, longer and louder this time. “It is a hound!” their mother exclaimed. “I'd know that sound anywhere. My father used to have one when I was a little girl. That's the way they howl when they're hunting or when they're cooped up somewhere and want to get out.”


Hotel for Dogs by Lois Duncan ch 12-1

CHAPTER TWELVE Delaney Belanger's dog, Preston, was a beagle. Debbie brought him over on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. School had let out at noon as a prelude to the holiday, and the rest of the hotel staff was waiting to greet their first paying guest.

Preston was a lively dog and terribly strong for his size. He raced up the ramp so fast that Debbie, who was holding his leash, nearly fell on her face.

“He's a hunting beagle,” she explained, handing the leash to Bruce with obvious relief. “I guess there are two kinds of beagles, the hunters and the stay-at-homes. Delaney's father is training Preston to hunt rabbits. That must be why his legs are so strong.” Preston was so excited at the sight and smell of so many other dogs that he tore around in circles. He ran from one room to another, giving shrill yelps, and bounded up the stairs and came tearing down like a wild thing.

“He sure is a lively one,” Tim commented. He looked a little worried. “I hope he doesn't upset the others.” “The other dogs are used to each other,” Andi said. “Friday and Red have been friends for a long time now, and MacTavish is so fat and easygoing that he likes everybody. The pups are too young to get upset about anything except not eating on time.” “Still,” Tim said, frowning, “I don't much like the idea of leaving Preston free to roam around the hotel. Let's put him in his room until he calms down a little.” They had decided to let Preston have MacTavish's room on the second floor and to move MacTavish in with Friday, who was lonely now that Tom, Dick, and Hairy had gone. Tim had objected at first (he always tended to favor MacTavish), but since Preston was a paying guest, Andi insisted that it was only right that he have his own accommodations.

It took some time to get Preston settled into his room, as the smell of MacTavish was still very much in it. Preston evidently had not had much experience with other dogs, and he rushed about sniffing everything excitedly.

“Perhaps he's looking for rabbits to chase,” Tiffany suggested. It was past one o'clock by the time Preston finally settled down on his bed for a nap, and Bruce felt that they could go off and leave him. As they walked toward home, they noticed that the drapes were open behind the windows of the yellow house next to Aunt Alice's and a car was parked in the driveway. “I guess that means we won't be able to cut through their yard anymore,” Andi said regretfully. “I wonder where they've been for so long.” “Aunt Alice was saying something to Mom about how they're retired people who travel a lot.” Bruce looked worried. “I wish they'd kept on traveling a while longer. They might start wondering why we're going back and forth all the time, and if the dogs start barking —” “They don't bark much,” Andi said. “They're really very well behaved.” The hotel was earning money, and the problem of supporting the dogs was solved at last. She didn't intend to ruin things by starting right in worrying about something new. Lunch was on the table when they got home to Aunt Alice's. “We expected you before this,” their mother said. “I was under the impression that school let out at noon today.” Aunt Alice's nose began to twitch as she fought off a sneeze. “Goodness,” she said, “if I didn't know better, I would say there was dog hair in this room. I think I'm going to — going to — going to — atchooooo!” “Bless you,” Andi said, and hurriedly brushed at the hairs on her sweater. The other dogs at the hotel were kept carefully brushed, but Preston had been shedding.

They had just sat down to their sandwiches when the phone rang. Mrs. Walker answered. When she came back to the table, she was smiling.

“That was Dad calling from work,” she said. “Guess what? His training program will be over at the beginning of December, and he's been assigned to his new office.” “You mean you'll be moving that soon?” Aunt Alice's round face grew sober. “I've been looking forward so much to having you here for Christmas. Life gets lonely for an old lady when the holidays come around. There have been many times lately when I've wished that Peter and I had had children. Of course, at the time we were so involved in our work —” Bruce and Andi, who had their mouths open to cheer, let them drop closed in astonishment. For months now all they had thought about was how wonderful it would be to move out of this crowded house where all the rules were so different from the ones they were used to. It hadn't occurred to either of them that their presence might mean something special to Aunt Alice. And Aunt Alice's reference to her “work” came as a surprise to both of them. Had she actually held a job when she was younger? It was hard to imagine this fluttery, unimpressive little woman as anything other than a housewife. Had she been a secretary, maybe, or a bookkeeper, or a saleslady? She did have a sewing room, so maybe she'd done alterations. But she'd said “our work,” as if she and her husband had worked together. Surely their father's uncle Peter hadn't been a dressmaker? Mrs. Walker's face grew gentle. “Why, Aunt Alice,” she said, “I'm glad you feel that way. We wouldn't want to have Christmas without you, either, and we won't have to. We won't be moving very far. John's new office is going to be right here in Elmwood! That means I may end up teaching at Andi's school.” It was then that they heard the sound. It started low and rose slowly, note by note, into a long, wretched wail.

The smile faded from Mrs. Walker's face. “What on earth is that?” “It's a siren!” Aunt Alice's plump face grew pale. “Another air-raid warning just like the one we heard last month. Oh, dear, oh, dear, this time it must really mean war!” “It isn't the same, though.” Mrs. Walker was listening intently. “That sound we heard in the night was like an alarm going off. This is more of a — a sort of — howl. It sounds almost like a hound on the trail of a rabbit.” Bruce and Andi exchanged helpless glances as the deep, mournful voice of the beagle rose again, longer and louder this time. “It is a hound!” their mother exclaimed. “I'd know that sound anywhere. My father used to have one when I was a little girl. That's the way they howl when they're hunting or when they're cooped up somewhere and want to get out.”