Watchers

out of the barn, into the yard, he said, “Is it getting closer?”
    Upon being asked that question, Einstein went through his usual routine, though with less exertion, less sniffing of the air, and less study of the shadowy forest around them. Returning to Travis, the dog whined anxiously.
    “Is it out there?” Travis asked.
    Einstein gave no answer. He merely surveyed the woods again—puzzled.
    “Is it still coming?” Travis asked.
    The dog did not reply.
    “Is it nearer than it was?”
    Einstein padded in a circle, sniffed the ground, sniffed the air, cocked his head one way and then the other. Finally he returned to the house and stood at the door, looking at Travis, waiting patiently.
    Inside, Einstein went directly to the pantry.
    MUZZY.
    Travis stared at the word on the floor. “Muzzy?”
    Einstein dispensed more letters and nosed them into place.
    MUFFLED. FUZZY.
    “Are you talking about your ability to sense The Outsider?” A quick tail wag: Yes.
    “You can’t sense it any more?”
    One bark: No.
    “Do you think ... it’s dead?”
    DON’T KNOW.
    “Or maybe this sixth sense of yours doesn’t work when you’re sick—or debilitated like you are now.”
    MAYBE.
    Gathering up the lettered tiles and sorting them into the tubes, Travis thought for a minute. Bad thoughts. Unnerving thoughts. They had an alarm system around the property, yes, but to some extent they were depending on Einstein for an early warning. Travis should have felt comfortable with the precautions he had taken and with his own abilities, as a former Delta Force man, to exterminate The Outsider. But he was tormented by the feeling that he had overlooked a hole in their defenses and that, come the crisis, he would need Einstein’s full powers and strength to help him deal with the unexpected.
    “You’re going to have to- get well as fast as you can,” he told the retriever. “You’re going to have to try to eat even when you have no real appetite. You’re going to have to sleep as much as you can, give your body a chance to knit up, and don’t spend half the night at the windows, Worrying.”
    CHICKEN SOUP.
    Laughing, Travis said, “Might as well try that, too.”
    A BOILERMAKER KILLS GERMS DEAD.
    “Where’d you get that idea?”
    BOOK. WHAT’S BOILERMAKER?
    Travis said, “A shot of whiskey dropped into a glass of beer.”
    Einstein considered that for a moment.
    KILL GERMS BUT BECOME ALCOHOLIC.
    Travis laughed and ruffled Einstein’s coat. “You’re a regular comedian, fur face.”
    MAYBE I SHOULD PLAY VEGAS.
    “I bet you could.”
    HEADLINER.
    “You certainly would be.”
    ME AND PIA ZADORA.
    He hugged the dog, and they sat in the pantry laughing, each in his own way.
    In spite of the joking, Travis knew that Einstein was deeply troubled by the loss of his ability to sense The Outsider. The jokes were a defensive mechanism, a way to hold off fear.
    That afternoon, exhausted from their short walk around the house, Einstein slept while Nora painted feverishly in her studio. Travis sat by a front window, staring out at the woods, repeatedly going over their defenses in his mind, looking for a hole.
     
     
    On Sunday, December 12, Jim Keene came out to their place in the afternoon and stayed for dinner. He examined Einstein and was pleased with the dog’s improvement.
    “Seems slow to us,” Nora said fretfully.
    “I told you, it’ll take time,” Jim said.
    He made a couple of changes in Einstein’s medication and left new bottles of pills.
    Einstein had fun demonstrating his page-turning machine and his letter-dispensing device in the pantry. He graciously accepted praise for his ability to hold a pencil in his teeth and use it to operate the television and the videotape recorder without bothering Nora and Travis for help.
    Nora was at first surprised that the veterinarian looked less sad-eyed and sorrowful than she remembered. But she decided his face was the same; the only thing that had changed was her perception of him. Now that she knew him better, now that he was a friend of the first rank, she saw not only the glum features nature had given him but the kindness and humor beneath his somber surface.
    Over dinner, Jim said, “I’ve been doing a little research into tattooing— to see if maybe I can remove the numbers in his ear.”
    Einstein had been lying on the floor nearby, listening to their conversation. He got to his feet, wobbled a moment, then hurried to the kitchen table and jumped into