Watchers

later, she tried to take the cap off him. He kept it on most of the day.
    Jim Keene and Pooka arrived in the early afternoon, and Einstein herded them straight into the living room to look at his portrait above the mantel. For an hour, watched over by Jim and Travis, the two dogs played together in the back yard. That activity, having been preceded by the excitement of the morning’s gift-giving, left Einstein in need of a nap, so they returned to the house, where Jim and Travis helped Nora prepare Christmas dinner.
    After his nap, Einstein tried to interest Pooka in Mickey Mouse cartoons, but Nora saw that he met with only limited success. Pooka’s attention span didn’t even last long enough for Donald or Goofy or Pluto to get Mickey into trouble. In respect of his companion’s lower 10, and apparently not bored with such company, Einstein turned the television off and engaged in strictly doggy activities: some light wrestling in the den and a lot of lying around, nose to nose, silently communing with each other about canine concerns.
    By early evening, the house was filled with the aromas of turkey, baked corn, yams, and other goodies. Christmas music played. And in spite of the interior shutters that had been bolted over the windows when the early-winter night had fallen, in spite of the guns near at hand, in spite of the demonic presence of The Outsider that always lurked in the back of her mind, Nora had never been happier.
    During dinner, they talked about the baby, and Jim asked if they had given any thought to names. Einstein, eating in the corner with Pooka, was instantly intrigued by the idea of participating in the naming of their firstborn. He dashed immediately to the pantry to spell out his suggestion.
    Nora left the table to see what name the dog thought suitable.
    MICKEY.
    “Absolutely not!” she said. “We’re not naming my baby after a cartoon mouse.”
    DONALD.
    “Nor a duck.”
    PLUTO.
    “Pluto? Get serious, fur face.”
    GOOFY.
    Nora firmly restrained him from pushing the letter-dispensing pedals any more, gathered up the used tiles and put them away, turned off the pantry light, and went back to the table. “You may think it’s hilarious,” she told Travis and Jim, who were choking with laughter, “but he’s serious!”
    After dinner, sitting around the tree in the living room, they talked about many things, including Jim’s intention of getting another dog. “Pooka needs to have another of his kind,” the vet said. “He’s almost a year and a half old now, and I’m of the belief that human companionship isn’t enough for them after they’re well past the puppy stage. They get lonely like we do. And since I’m going to get him a companion, I might as well get a female purebred lab
    and maybe wind up with some nice puppies to sell later. So he’s going to have not only a friend but a mate.”
    Nora had not noticed that Einstein was any more interested in that part of the conversation than in any other. However, after Jim and Pooka had gone home, Travis found a message in the pantry and called Nora over to have a look at it.
    MATE. A COMPANION, PARTNER, ONE OF A PAIR.
    The retriever had been waiting for them to notice the carefully arranged tiles. Now he appeared behind them and regarded them quizzically.
    Nora said, “Do you think you’d like a mate?”
    Einstein slipped between them, into the pantry, disarranged the tiles, and made a reply.
    IT’S WORTH THINKING ABOUT.
    “But, listen, fur face,” Travis said, “you’re one of a kind. There’s no other dog like you, with your JO.”
    The retriever considered that point but was not dissuaded.
    LIFE IS MORE THAN INTELLECT.
    “True enough,” Travis said. “But I think this needs a lot of consideration.”
    LIFE IS FEELINGS.
    “All right,” Nora said. “We’ll think about it.”
    LIFE IS MATE. SHARING.
    “We promise to think about it and then discuss it with you some more,” Travis said. “Now it’s getting late.”
    Einstein quickly made one more message.
    BABY MICKEY?
    “Absolutely not!” Nora said.
     
     
    That night, in bed, after she and Travis made love, Nora said, “I’ll bet he is lonely.”
    “Jim Keene?”
    “Well, yes, I bet he’s lonely, too. He’s such a nice man, and he’d make someone a great husband. But women are just as choosy about looks as men are, don’t you think? They don’t go for husbands with hound-dog faces. They marry the good-looking ones who half the time treat