Nobody's Fool

wandered along the perimeter of the fence aimlessly, drooling out of one side of his mouth, as if in search of his lost aggression. Visitors he’d previously made nervous with deep-throated growls he now nuzzled affectionately with his long snout, then licked their fingers. All except Sully.
    It is possible a dog will not forget his poisoner. When Sully pulled up and parked by the fence, Rasputin, who had been lying asleep in his favorite spot—the one where he’d collapsed the night Sully’s hamburger changed his life—woke up, growled deep in his throat and tried to stand, an activity that always drew a crowd. Carl Roebuck and two of his men, just emerging from the Tip Top Construction trailer, stopped to watch this excellent entertainment. Once Rasputin was on his feet he could limp along well enough, but getting up from the cold ground after a long nap required, on the average, half a dozen attempts. The problem seemed to be that the animal’s good side, which responded as it always had, was impatient with the defective side, which refused to function at high speed, causing the dog to circle itself, like a boat with only one oar in the water, until finally the animal collapsed and had to start over again. Only when the dog was sufficiently exhausted for the functioning side of his body to go slowly enough to meet the requirements of the stroke-damaged side could he stand. By then he was ready for another nap.
    The men on the trailer steps watched several of these aborted attempts, shaking their heads in good-humored disbelief. Sully and Will watched for a moment also, the boy’s eyes growing wide and round with wonder and fear.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with him, Grandpa?” the boy asked.
    â€œHe had a little accident a couple weeks ago,” explained Sully, who had seen the dog a couple of times in the interim. “You want to ride on my shoulders?”
    When Will nodded enthusiastically, Sully swung him aboard.
    â€œLook who’s here,” Carl Roebuck said when he noticed Sully and the boy approaching. “You come to admire your handiwork?”
    â€œIt’s not my fault you got a spastic Doberman,” Sully said, setting Will down on the step. The boy was still warily watching Rasputin circle. Hearing Sully’s voice, the dog was now emitting small howls of frustration.
    â€œI think it
is
your fault,” Carl said. “I just wish I could proveit.” Then, to the two men who were watching the dog, “I know you guys’d love to stay here all afternoon and watch this dog have another stroke …”
    â€œI would,” one of the men said. “I admit it.” But he and the other man headed for the gate, and Carl and Sully and the boy went inside the trailer.
    Carl Roebuck went around behind the small metal desk and sat down, put his feet up and studied first the boy, then Sully. “Don Sullivan,” he said knowingly. “Thief of Snowblowers, Poisoner of Dogs, Flipper of Pancakes. Secret Father and Grandfather. Jack-Off, All Trades. How they hangin’?”
    Sully took a seat. “By a thread, as usual,” he said. He motioned for Will to go ahead and sit on the sofa. “Don’t ruin that,” he warned.
    Will looked at the sofa fearfully. It was torn to shreds, stuffing exploding from slits in the upholstery. Will climbed on carefully and found both men grinning at him.
    â€œYour grandfather tell you how he poisons dogs?”
    Will’s eyes got big again.
    â€œHe steals people’s snowblowers, too.”
    â€œDon’t pay any attention to him,” Sully said. “He just can’t keep track of his possessions.”
    â€œYou hid it pretty well, I’ll give you that,” Carl said.
    Sully nodded. “I think you’ve lost it for good this time,” he said. He’d told Miss Beryl to expect Carl Roebuck to come nosing around after the snowblower, and sure enough, Carl had. He’d told her to let him search the flat too, if he felt like it. But when she offered, Carl had declined, observing sadly that Sully wouldn’t hide it anyplace so obvious and he didn’t have anything up there to encourage collateral theft.
    â€œIt’ll turn up eventually,” Carl said. “When it snows, for sure.”
    â€œI’d like to see it snow,” Sully admitted, thinking again about Harold Proxmire’s snowplow blade and the money he could make with it.