Ruffly Speaking

Nonsense. Any healthy, happy, hungry dog will work for food. Yours won’t? Bake a slice of liver in sherry and garlic powder, cut it into little bits, and shazam! Billy Batson turns into Captain Marvel.
    With Rowdy and Kimi, I don’t have to fuss. I swear that either one would actually work for garbage. For steak, salmon, rice, peas, French bread, and salad—even with packaged croutons and bottled dressing—Rowdy would have instantly mastered the trick of flying through the air and landing smack in the middle of a glass-topped dinner table. Consequently, before I took my place, I hitched him to a deck post that was a little closer to the gas grill than I liked, but near my seat, where I could keep an eye on him. At the table, I again found myself stuck next to Matthew, who was on my left, but to his left was Leah, who’d talk so much that his silence wouldn’t matter; and on my right were Doug and then Rita, so I didn’t mind.
    As I was spreading my napkin on my lap, I must have thrown a worried glance toward Rowdy and the grill. Doug leaned toward me. “There’s nothing wrong with the valve. The entire grill is perfectly safe. I’ve half started to wonder if Stephanie didn’t imagine the whole thing to begin with.”
    Like everyone else, I’d taken Stephanie’s word that she’d found the valve open. Nothing else suggested that the gas had ever been left on.
    “But then,” I asked, “why not use the grill today?” Doug’s expression was wonderfully disgusted. “Phew! Gas! Sickening associations. Morris and I had terrible arguments about it.” Doug politely turned his attention to Rita. “What lovely things Stephanie has!” He ran an appraising eye over the table. His voice dropped. “This is Spode.” The tone was reverent. “Not my favorite pattern,” he murmured. “But Spode nonetheless.”
    Rita gave him a wry smile. “Indeed,” she replied, “Spode nonetheless.”
    When their quiet laughter ended, Doug gallantly offered another toast to Stephanie. Serving dishes circulated. The talk became general. Stephanie asked Matthew and Leah how the Avon Hill play was progressing. Matthew complained that Ivan was messing it up by trying to add a new scene.
    “But isn’t that the idea?” Stephanie demanded. “Creative student participation and that sort of thing?”
    “Yes,” Leah answered, “except that it’s so gory. It’s all about hand washing and daggers.”
    Matthew explained the obvious: "Macbeth.”
    “Ivan absorbs everything,” Leah commented proudly.
    “Defending him again,” Matthew said. “He bought you off.”
    “With what?” I asked. I was serious.
    Leah avoided my eye. Matthew answered. “Flowers.”
    “Ivan gave you flowers?” Stephanie beamed at Leah and then gave Matthew a knowing smile that he must have hated. “Leah, Ivan must have a mad crush on you. And how enterprising of him! To go out and buy flowers.” Matthew and Leah exchanged looks. Before Leah could stop him, Matthew said, “Yes, except that—”
    Leah cut in. “Matthew!”
    I couldn’t stop myself. “Leah, let Matthew finish. Except what, Matthew?”
    “Except that Ivan didn’t, uh, buy them.”
    Doug spoke with deliberate drama: “Ah! The case of the purloined roses.”
    “Delphiniums,” Matthew said.
    “Ivan stole Miss Savery’s flowers?” I said. “He raided her garden? He didn’t."
    “He did,” Matthew said.
    For the next few minutes, everyone caught everyone else up on Ivan, Ivan’s pranks, Alice Savery, and Alice Savery’s delphiniums.
    “The classic dilemma of highly gifted children,” Rita commented. “Peer relations. This, uh, shall we say mildly antisocial behavior, from an adult viewpoint, is probably an adaptive effort in the direction of normalizing himself in the eyes of his peers.”
    While Stephanie was adding something, I leaned in back of Matthew, tapped Leah’s shoulder, and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    Leah shrugged. “It was no big thing.” She turned her attention to Rita and Stephanie. “It’s true. Getting in trouble is probably the most normal thing Ivan can think of to do, which is one of the reasons:—”
    Matthew groaned and finished her sentence: “—that Ivan needs a big dog. Leah—”
    “Well, he does!” Leah’s face flushed. “Ivan’s problem is that he wants to be just like everyone else, just another normal, ordinary kid. A boy and his dog. What could possibly be more normal?”
    I almost heard the answer: a