Free Eyes at the Window by Deb Donahue Page A

song to herself that reminded her of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
    She’d almost fallen asleep when she heard Rufus gagging behind her. Sitting up so fast her head spun, she looked over the back of the couch to find him throwing up, shoulders hunched as he disgorged a smelly mess on the floorboards. Finished, he staggered a few steps away, almost falling sideways, then paused to vomit again, this time spewing more liquid than chunks, his stomach heaving like he was never going to stop.
    Alarmed, Miranda ran into the kitchen to grab paper towels. It was not so unusual for Rufus to throw up. If he grew overly excited or ate something that didn’t agree with him. Was it the casserole making him sick? She shouldn’t have given it to him, changing a dog’s food should always happen gradually and people food was seldom a good idea. Or maybe he’d ingested something when he caught that bird.
    Whatever it was, she’d never seen him so sick. By the time she cleaned up the floor, he’d ceased vomiting, but had retired to his bed and lay there looking weak and miserable, one eyebrow cocked her way like he was asking why she wasn’t doing something to help him.
    Why hadn’t she pushed harder to get a phone installed right away? Miranda tried to remember if she’d seen a veterinarian’s clinic when she was in town yesterday. Patty would probably know where there was one, but the post office would already be closed for today. Sissy, Sissy would know. The woman had lived on a farm all her life, she’d told Miranda while they cleaned up. She might even be able to tell how serious the dog’s illness was.
    The drive to Hunter’s farm seemed to take forever, especially since she took a wrong turn twice. She had to turn around once when she reached a dead end. After that she drove slower, so she could find the right road. Rufus lay limp and unresponsive in the passenger seat, so she was relieved to finally find the huge mailbox at the head of a driveway with HUNTER written in bold black capitals.
    The farm consisted of a huge white barn, a brick house and several small outbuildings. As Miranda pulled up in front of the porch, a Bassett hound who had been sleeping on the porch stood up and started baying. The dog’s tail was wagging, but still Miranda hesitated to get out of the car until Sissy herself came outside. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she yelled at the dog to be quiet and peered at the car with narrowed eyes like she couldn’t quite see who was visiting them.
    She seemed delighted to find out it was Miranda, until she found out the reason for the visit. “Come in, come in,” she said, waving them in.
    “If you could just tell me where I can find a vet. My phone isn’t working and I just don’t know—“
    “Well now, I’m no vet, but I’ve had dogs all my life. Let’s take a look at the poor thing and see if there isn’t something we can do for him here.” She waited while Miranda carried Rufus inside and then lead them to the kitchen at the rear of the house. “Here, sit down here with him.” She shooed a cat out of a rocker that sat near a breakfast nook. Three other cats stared out at them from under the kitchen table.
    Miranda sat down, cradling Rufus gently on her lap. “He killed a bird earlier, or found one already dead. I don’t know. Could that be what’s wrong? Do birds carry rabies?”
    “Let’s take a look here.” Sissy squatted down beside them and took Rufus’s head in her hands, looking into his eyes. The dog licked her hand. “This isn’t rabies, believe me. I saw a rabid raccoon once. Scariest thing I’ve ever faced. You say he got a bird. Did he eat it? Could he have eaten anything else that’s got his tummy upset?”
    Miranda thought of the casserole and how funny it tasted, but didn’t want to offend Sissy by mentioning it, so just said, “He could have. Something had been chewing on the bird before he brought it to me. Plus he’s been running around