Ruffly Speaking

down the walk, I heard nothing but the slap of Reebok soles on concrete, but when I reached the street and slammed to a halt, Highland suddenly burst into sound. From somewhere between Alice Savery’s house and her prize fence, a childish imitation of a rebel yell rang out, followed almost immediately by whoops, giggles, and a rapid-fire series of firecracker pops that emanated, it seemed to me, from the far side of her property. Simultaneously, Alice Savery’s front door opened, and Stephanie and Ruffly emerged from Morris’s house. Despite the recent slap by the invisible hand, Ruffly began to bark, and I suppose that he must have run toward the source of one of the sounds, too, but I didn’t watch him. Instead, I sprinted after the little boy who’d just dashed out of Alice Savery’s yard and was heading down Highland, away from Morris’s house and toward his whooping and giggling companions, who’d set off the cherry bombs and promptly fled.
    When I reached the end of Alice Savery’s fence, Ivan—unmistakably, inevitably Ivan—was briefly visible under a streetlight ahead of me, but by the time I’d passed the next two houses, I’d lost him. I jog with Rowdy and Kimi, but I’m no real runner, especially by comparison with a pack of adrenaline-powered little boys who knew every twist and turn in the maze of driveways, paths, and through-the-yard shortcuts of Highland Street. On the street and sidewalks ahead, I saw nothing, and the only sound I heard came from behind me: women’s voices. Showing Alaskan malamutes in obedience has forced me to become a good sport. I hate losing as much as ever, of course; all I’ve really learned is to behave myself.
    The path of humility led back to Alice Savery’s house, where Stephanie Benson and Miss Savery stood about a yard apart in the pool of light thrown by a globe over the front door. Alice Savery held herself rigid. With her arms tightly folded across her chest and her fingers digging into her biceps, she reminded me of a petrified first-time Novice A handler during the Long Sit and Down. A steel beam planted near Miss Savery would have looked comparatively warm and relaxed, but Stephanie’s posture and manner conveyed solicitousness as well as ease. In trying to calm Miss Savery’s fears, she was engaged in what seemed to be a familiar task. When Stephanie presented me to Miss Savery, I stretched out a polite hand. Miss Savery responded with nothing but a cursory nod. Mostly because I needed something to do with my rejected right hand, I quickly crossed my arms. In the absence of a malamute, I’m a confident handler. Besides, I’d shown under judges a lot meaner than Alice Savery. Neither she nor I acknowledged that we’d met before.
    “The kids have vanished,” I reported.
    “They’ve left a little something behind.” Stephanie held up an object so anomalous that for a moment I didn’t even recognize what it was: a canister of iodized table salt.
    “What...?”
    “It kills grass, apparently,” Stephanie explained.
    At the end of October, I would’ve caught on immediately, but this was the beginning of July. Once I under-stood, I wondered whether I needed to explain. I decided that I did, for Stephanie’s sake, anyway. People from Manhattan are capable of not knowing the most astoundingly ordinary things. The first time Rita saw a raccoon in Cambridge, she honestly did not know what it was, and when I told her, she assumed that it must have escaped from a zoo.
    “It’s an old Halloween trick,” I said. “Is the box empty?”
    “Yes,” Stephanie said, “and there’s at least one other empty one on the lawn.”
    “Usually they write things.” I felt oddly embarrassed, as if my explanation of the details of the childish prank somehow made me a participant. “Swear words. Then when the salt kills the grass...” I stopped. The rest was obvious.
    Stephanie was outraged. “What a cruel thing to do! And how incredibly silly! But, really, they couldn’t possibly have understood how hard Miss Savery works in her garden, or they’d never have done such a terrible thing.” Stretching out a robed arm toward Miss Savery, she continued. “I am so sorry that—”
    “Gypsum!” Alice Savery’s loud, dictatorial tone made the noun sound like an imperative verb.
    Stephanie looked bewildered.
    “Gypsum,” I interjected. “It helps undo salt damage. It’s worth a try.”
    Alice Savery’s icy gaze was wandering somewhere in back of