Raggs to Riches

Unable to sleep, Captain Peacock slipped out for an early morning stroll round the manor grounds. The sun was just beginning to wake; the chickens and cocks were scurrying about, clucking and crowing. Songbirds twittered and chirped in the trees. A soft breeze stirred the willows and the fresh scent of wild honeysuckle drifted on the air. Dew dripped from the leaves and a light mist rose from the duck pond. The air was cool and balmy; Stephen felt rejuvenated and envigored. He sucked in a deep breath and stretched his arms over his head.

In the tall grass along the perimeter, he spotted some bustling. Thinking it was just a pheasant or rabbit, he walked on. The bushes stirred with a scratching, rustling sound and Stephen turned round to investigate. Suddenly from within the thicket, a deep growl erupted and Stephen stood still in fear. He swallowed hard, unsure what was going to lunge out at him.

He watched wide-eyed as the grass swayed and parted. A large, greyish-brown dog with long, scraggly matted hair cowered out, timidly. Its hind legs crouched beneath it and its tail firmly tucked in between its legs. He could see cockleburs forming tangled clots in the dog's fur.

The dog came at Stephen almost groveling, its big brown eyes pleading. It looked under nourished and a bit on the bony side. Stephen looked around for an owner. No one.

"Shoo! Shoo, you cur!" He fanned his arms at the dog, trying to frighten it.

The dog approached Stephen cautiously circling round.

"Shoo!" Stephen hissed insistently.

The dog came within a few feet of him and started wagging its tail and panting. Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. The dog continued closer.

Stephen balled his hand into a fist, bent over slightly, and extended his hand toward the dog's nose. He figured it'd be more difficult for the dog to bite his closed fist than splayed fingers.

The dog sniffed his hand and rolled to the ground, exposing her belly.

"Get up! Get up!" he ordered.

The dog crouched at his feet and he reached down and scratched her head, feeling the damp shaggy and matted hair.

"Hey! You're quite friendly!" he mused, smiling.

Mr. Moulterd walked up as he made his way to the milking barn, "Hey! What've ya got there, Cap'n Peacock? Looks like you've made a friend!" he bellowed.

"I was thinking she must have come from one of the other farms," Stephen explained.

"No, he's not from any of the farms round 'ere! I knows most of the dogs round 'ere," he intoned, "People come here from the city and drops off all kinds of animals- dogs, cats and such. Most times they gets run over in the road. Other times they gets shot trying to get into the henhouses or they just dies of exposure to the weather."

Stephen's heart constricted at the thought of such cruelty.

"Looks like you've got yourself a dog! I wonder how Rachel's pussy's gonna take to 'at! But it seems to 'ave adjusted to you just fine!" he guffawed and Stephen winced at his crudeness.

"C'mon," Stephen said, slapping his thigh.

"What'cha gonna call 'at thing?" Mr. Moulterd asked.

"Well, she is raggedy and she looks like a pair of ragg wool socks…Raggs!"

The dog barked excitedly, jumping and circling round.

"You're gonna 'ave to give 'im a bath a'fore ya takes 'im in the 'ouse! Ya can use the teaseling barn; there's some good lye soap in 'ere and in the stables is some brushes you can use. You can prob'ly get some towels from Mavis a'fore she puts 'em in the wash!" Mr. Moulterd's voice beckoned, "You could ask Mavis how to get them cockleburs out of its fur."

"Thank you, Mr. Moulterd."

The whole dog wagged, shaking and slinging water and mud from her coat.

"C'mon, Raggs! Let's see what's for breakfast!" Stephen called as he strode back toward the main house, Raggs running ahead.