Little Anna and MuShu the Shih Tzu were
like a donut and its hole, Mama used to say. Where you had one, you
would surely find the other. Seeing Anna's dark braids swinging past
was a guarantee that MuShu's plumed tail would be not far behind.
And for Little Anna, MuShu's companionship was the
greatest joy of her childhood. In a house overrun by loud, careless,
older brothers (three, to be exact), the love of a little Chinese lap
dog was just what a quiet, sensitive girl needed.
MuShu had come to the family as a
teacup sized puppy, silky hair and curling tail, an incongruous gift
for Mama from a childhood friend who had not married a farmer right
out of school, but instead had shockingly chosen to explore the
world. She came for one brief unexpected Christmas visit and left
the tiny brown and white dog as a remembrance. At first Mama was
annoyed. What place on a busy farm was there for a lapdog from the
far east? There was a wise old sheepdog and two boisterous hunting
dogs as well as a wily, secretive mouser living out by the barn but
those were working, contributing hands rather than pets. But then
Mama watched as MuShu and Little Anna made their acquaintance and
Mama found she was quite happy to make room in the family for her
girl's new best friend.
In good weather, the two could most
often be found behind the old farmhouse, under the swing arbor where
Little Anna liked to stage exciting dramas for an approving audience
of one. The players were an old rag doll, a dingy stuffed elephant,
and a woe-begone ceramic horse. These versatile actors could take on
any form or personality and Anna, the playwright, director, and
narrator was wide ranging in her choice of story, moving easily from
tragedy, to comedy, to melodrama. MuShu would lie stretched out, his
little nose resting on his paws, round brown eyes almost hidden
behind long bangs, watching every motion, listening to every plot
twist. He was sometimes consulted about the production and
invariably, the curling tail would gently wave in approval of
whatever creative choice the small girl was considering.
Papa, passing behind the swing arbor on
his way out to the barn would hear her small voice rising with
excitement and confidence, tones that were seldom heard in the
presence of any of the big people of the house. He often worried
about his Little Anna, she seemed so quiet, so easily cowed, in a
family of loud extroverts, a shadow in the corners of the bright,
bustling house. Papa was reassured that his littlest was not mute or
struck when he eavesdropped on her conversations, standing in the
sweet fragrance of the honeysuckle vine that climbed the swing arbor
and hid the small girl and her small companions as they created
another world. He'd smile and shake his head as he continued walking
down the path. She would grow out of her shyness soon, he felt sure,
and that vivacity of personality that he heard behind the honeysuckle
would no longer be only reserved for the little dog and her toys.
One day, Mama discovered that Isaac,
the oldest of the big brothers, had forgotten to return Missus
Harper's best glass pie plate when he went in to town that afternoon
to meet up with Sweet Lilly Anderson. Missus Harper had made a
lovely scuppernog pie for the family just the other day as a thank
you for the boys catching and returning her run away pig. A widow
lady who managed alone often leaned on her neighbors and repaid her
debts with her considerable baking talents. The boys had enjoyed
that pie but now the plate needed to be returned quickly as a sign of
courtesy. Mama was fussed. She didn't have time to go the three
quarters of a mile down the road, what with the laundry to boil and
dinner to get on with. She glanced out the window and noticed a
brown and white feathered tail protruding from the honeysuckle that
climbed over the swing arbor. She knocked on the glass loudly and
repeatedly until two small shapes emerged, a small, dark girl with
long braids and a tiny brown and white dog with feathered ears and a
curling, plumed tail. Mama threw up the sash, “Little Anna, take
this plate down to Missus Harper, right quick.” She passed the
ornamental dish out the open window, patiently waiting as Anna
reached up and gripped it. “Be careful, now. Don't drop it and be
sure to hurry on back.” The sash was slammed back down and Mama was
gone, back to her bustle and busy.
“Come on, Moosh,” Little Anna said,
holding the big plate against her chest. She needn't have said it,
for MuShu was, as usual, right at her heel, ready to walk anywhere
his girl might lead.
The pair walked on the grass beside the
asphalt road, where bluebonnets and indian paint brush were growing.
Anna was tempted to stop and gather some, but discussed with MuShu
the impracticality of such a pursuit. “It'll take too much time
and how could I carry them?” Moosh seemed to agree as he looked up
at his mistress. “They are pretty, though. Maybe we will pick a
bouquet on our way home, once I don't have to carry this big plate.”
Satisfied with her plan, Anna continued on down the road, the tiny
dog trotting with her.
When MuShu stopped, his body tense, and
looked off across the field, Anna stopped, too, turning to see what
had caught his attention. Coming over a slight rise was a large
black form—it was the Peters' big Pit, off his customary chain and
two farms away from home. He stopped at the top of the rise,
watching the girl and her dog, and Anna felt her heart freeze as she
sensed menace in his tense form. Quickly, she turned and continued
walking, her little legs moving with urgency. “Come on, Moosh.”
The little Shih Tzu stood for a moment more, watching the other dog,
then trilled a warning before turning to follow Anna.
The other dog did not follow them at
first, but he never took his eyes off the pair as they moved away.
Anna was as aware of him as he was of her, watching him from the side
of her eye, turning her head quickly. Her breath was quick and tight
but she held her panic in check, seeing the Harper farmhouse just
down the way. She would get through the gate and then shut it. And
Missus Harper would let her stay until that bad dog went away. She
might even call Amos Peters to come and get his mutt! And she'd give
him a talking to about letting such a creature off the chain to
terrorize small girls and small dogs!
No one can know what made the big Pit
decide to stop watching and come off that hill after Little Anna and
her dog. He came silently but MuShu knew just when his pursuit began
because he spun to face the other dog, trilling and huffing (a Shih
Tzu's version of snarling and barking), fierce as a mama bear
protecting her cub. Anna turned as well, and froze, the large glass
pie plate still clutched to her chest, staring at the demon streaking
toward her. His teeth were bared, ears back, focused on her ten
pound defender. MuShu's trilling resolved into genuine snarls as he
faced off with the dog five times his size and then sprang up and bit
into the wet black nose. The other dog squeaked in surprise and
pain, shaking his head violently and sending MuShu flying, to land on
the asphalt. Anna stared at the unmoving pile of silky brown and
white fur and her frozen heart sprang back to life as the panic she
had held down came welling out of her mouth in a scream. Her little
friend was broken and dead. “You are a BAD DOG!” She shrieked.
She raised the glass plate over her head and brought it down with all
her strength onto the head of the big black dog. It broke down the
middle as the dog yelped and cowered. In the space of a thought, the
Pit turned, his tail between his legs, and ran back over the hill,
the way he had come. Anna did not watch him go, but dropping the
broken plate, she turned to the road where the little dog was dazedly
tottering to his feet, bruised and winded but not broken after all.
Snatching him up into her arms, the little girl ran to the neighbor's
gate, tears running down her cheeks as she struggled to hold him and
slam shut the barrier. The dog and his girl sat behind the fence,
comforting each other with licks and pats until Missus Harper came
down the walk to see what was what.
