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Sadie Sapiens
Sadie Sapiens
Sadie Sapiens
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Sadie Sapiens

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High school, junior year, and Emma is barely getting by, head down as she stays low on the social radar. Sadie, her best friend and constant companion, craves attention and understanding as much as Emma does. The two of them find strength and comfort in their friendship while surviving one crisis after another.

Thing is, Sadie only weighs four pounds, stands ten inches tall and talks to Emma by barking. Until Emma notices something very unusual - Sadie displays a high degree of intelligence.

Way intelligent. As in Emma and her learn how to communicate intelligent. Just the two of them, by jointly creating a special language only they know.

Way special. Emma soon realizes the benefits of owning an intelligent dog with superior senses. Hiding Sadie in a converted purse sure makes for loads of classroom hijinks.

Follow their story as the two risk discovery, an unexpected family tragedy, dog fighting, puppy mills and a glimpse into the secret world of canines through Sadie’s senses. This is Sadie’s challenge, a dog enduring her own teenage angst, struggling to find respect and acceptance in human society.

SADIE SAPIENS blends the pleasures and pains of a dog and young woman growing up together, proving that some bonds are strong enough to survive across species.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJeff T Bauer
Release dateMar 1, 2014
ISBN9781311732552
Sadie Sapiens
Author

Jeff T Bauer

Jeff T Bauer is a cave diver and scuba instructor living in Tallahassee, Florida with his wife, adult children, and an alarming number of rescued Chihuahuas.

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    Sadie Sapiens - Jeff T Bauer

    Chapter 1 – Emma

    The high pitched scream cut through the earphones pumping music into Emma’s ears. She jumped up from her unmade bed, pulled out the ear plugs, cocking her head to one side.

    Another unearthly moan, louder, full of pain.

    She threw open the door to her bedroom and ran down the hallway, past Ryan’s room. Seconds later she entered the kitchen, skidding on the tile floor in her stocking feet.

    Buck, their huge chocolate lab, lay writhing on the floor. She could see he was in pain, his dark brown eyes moist and moving.

    Dad! It’s Buck! she cried out. She leaned down to touch the suffering dog, unsure of what was going on and what she should do.

    Emma, what’s wrong? her father asked, coming into the kitchen.

    She looked up at him, his silhouette against the kitchen spot lights glimmering through the nascent tears in her eyes.

    Something’s wrong, Daddy! Help him! she cried, fear in her voice.

    Buck moaned again, a heart wrenching howl of agony. His front paws moved spastically, grotesquely.

    Her father crouched beside the family pet and looked closely at Buck. Emma sat back on her legs, left hand on her quivering lips.

    Buck screamed one last loud time and collapsed, all signs of life instantly gone, as if the electricity powering his body and soul had just switched off.

    Her father rolled the heavy animal onto his back and reached across the dog’s broad unmoving chest. His hands flitted on the dog, unsure of what to do.

    I know CPR but not on a dog! he exclaimed. He tentatively pushed on Buck’s chest near the point where the massive rib cage stuck straight up.

    She remembered the gentle dog’s chest being the warm place of unconditional love where she’d bury her head in her youth to find comfort, the large moving bellows of Buck’s lungs and dog smell reassuring.

    Her father pushed harder at the hollow formed by the neck of the dog and the top of the rib cage rhythmically.

    Come on, Buck… he whispered, low and urgent.

    She could hear the panic and despair in her father’s voice. Squishing sounds emanated from each of the chest compressions. It only terrified her more.

    He grabbed Buck’s snout, closing his loose jaw, black wet jowls flopping obscenely and blew into the dog’s nostrils. Buck’s chest rose encouragingly with the breath. He repeated the process, switching between rescue breaths and chest compressions.

    Emma held her own breath, hoping the dog would wake up. She loved Buck; he had been a steady companion for fourteen of her seventeen years. He had been a warm blanket, living jungle gym and protector during her childhood. Lately, though, her interactions with the dog had declined as her life became more and more defined outside of the house and his energy slowed due to age.

    Her father continued working, his breathing rate increasing due to the exertions.

    Is there anything I can do, Dad? she asked, touching his shoulder.

    He stopped and looked back at her, sweat popping up on his face, his eyes showing fresh pain. They both looked at Buck. The lab’s body eased down to the left, his paws brushing the white plastic grill on the bottom of the refrigerator. The dog exhibited no signs of life.

    Her father’s shoulders slumped. He lowered his head and looked sideways at his daughter.

    I’m sorry, Emma. I think he’s gone, he said quietly.

    Emma crawled on her knees and collapsed into her father’s embrace, sobbing loudly. She could feel his chest heaving with suppressed grief, trying desperately to be strong for her. This was another place of comfort and safety from her childhood that she rarely used in her teenage years. She knew Buck had selected her father as his primary human in the family and that he was just as shaken as she was. She retreated into her grief, folding herself into her strong parent’s embrace.

    Minutes passed as the two hugged in their sorrow. Her father pulled her away, rubbed her back gently and looked into her eyes. She wiped tears with her fingers and looked into his brown eyes tinged with complex violets, yellows and a touch of green. Eyes like her own.

    You know he had a great life, right? We all loved him very much. He was very fond of you, especially, said her father.

    Emma simply nodded. She slid off of his lap and reached over to Buck, her hands tentative. She knew he was gone. She buried her face into the side of his neck, the fur still warm and folds of skin still pliant. Fresh tears streamed from her eyes and landed on the deep chocolate fur, still shiny and richly thick. She slowly rubbed the dog, feeling his muscles move underneath the skin. She reached over and closed his eyelids, completing the illusion that he was sleeping.

    You tried, Daddy, she said, looking back up at her father from Buck’s side.

    He gave her a small smile in reward.

    What’s up, peeps? Ryan’s voice cut through her grief.

    Buck died, Ryan, she said quietly, rubbing the large animal’s back. She knew he couldn’t feel her petting but it felt right, at least for now.

    That smelly old dog? ‘Bout time. He was always peeing in the house. I’m tired of scooping his poop too, said Ryan. He stayed near the bar that formed the kitchen, distant in his physical space and in his demeanor.

    Ryan! Have some respect. Buck was old and it was his time but there’s no call to talk like that, said her father sharply.

    Her thirteen year old brother had always been a thorn in her side and had been too young to remember Buck’s strong years. Emma suspected he’d been jealous of the triangle of love between the dog, herself and her father.

    Ryan snorted. Yeah, sorry, Emma. I know you guys liked him, he said in a snarky tone.

    Go get his old blanket from the back porch, Ryan, her father said.

    Ryan shot her a sulking look before walking back deeper into the house.

    It’s OK Emma. That’s just Ryan’s way of dealing with this. He’s at that age. You understand, right?

    She smiled up at her father. He was always the ambassador, always calm and supportive. Ryan had been a difficult child from the get go, despite her Dad’s caring style. Ryan was more like her mother, aloof, distant and difficult to please.

    What are we going to do with Buck, Dad? she asked.

    He sighed and exhaled deeply.

    Well, we’ve talked about this before, remember?

    She nodded. Yeah, I’m OK with him being cremated. Seems a bit creepy, but I might like having him around, even if in a powder form.

    He smiled at her weak joke, reaching down to rub the still head.

    A brown blanket hit the ground next to Buck. Thick dark brown dog hairs flew from the blanket and settled onto the tiled floor.

    Ryan! You could have shaken it out first! Really! exclaimed her father.

    You gonna bury him before he starts stinking up the house? Ryan responded, ignoring his father’s complaint.

    Help me wrap him up in this blanket, you two, her father said, ignoring her brother’s jibe.

    This was the now-familiar father-son pattern since Ryan had entered his teens. Both sparring indirectly, throwing verbal punches that always missed but got close, like two boxers testing each other, reluctant to make the first real move. It made Emma feel sadder, smaller.

    Ryan obeyed, spreading out the blanket next to the dog. Her father picked up the large lab, grunting under the one hundred pounds of dead weight. Buck’s limbs and head lolled listlessly against his arms, rubbery and loose in early death. He set the deceased dog down gently onto the blanket.

    Emma rubbed Buck’s back one more time and gently folded the blanket in half, covering the entire animal. She tucked in the sides, wrapping him up comfortably.

    Ryan, we’ve agreed to have him cremated. Let’s put him in the garage until I can take him to the vet first thing Monday morning, said her father in a calm voice. Emma could still hear a trace of anguish in his deep voice.

    Man, it’s pretty hot in there. He’s gonna be pretty ripe. Why don’t we just bury him in the back yard? Ryan’s voice held a touch of petulance. He didn’t like being ignored.

    "Ryan. Stop. Now."

    Emma raised her eyebrows. Her father’s tone was strong and strict, rarely used this loudly. This time the verbal punch connected. Ryan clammed up.

    Good. Help me lift him. We’ll wrap him up again in that blue tarp. He’ll be fine.

    The three of them lifted the blanket containing the dog and stutter-walked out of the kitchen, through the washroom and out into the garage.

    Emma could still feel the warmth and suppleness of the animal. For a moment she thought he was still alive and smothering. She wanted to pull back the blanket and let him breathe unencumbered, let him give a gentle chuff and lick with his massive canine tongue before settling down for a well-deserved senior dog nap. Instead she reached into the kitchen closet for the vacuum cleaner.

    Chapter 2 – Emma

    I’m so sorry, Emma. I know how much you loved him.

    Her mother’s words sounded soothing but for Emma they did nothing. She mechanically helped her mother unload the groceries from the plastic bags and place items where they belonged. Her mother had arrived home not long after Buck’s death, breezing into the house in her busy style, always moving, always doing. The world was a problem she was constantly trying to solve.

    Ryan had retreated to his room and her father to the large screen TV in the family room. A vague thought from years of watching sharks on TV floated across Emma’s consciousness as she watched her mother efficiently unload and store a clump of refrigerated items. Her mother stood directly where Buck had died.

    She’s like a shark, has to keep moving to stay alive, Emma thought. She immediately felt guilty for thinking of her mother as a shark. Her mother wasn’t predatory, at least not openly. Her teeth were her words, shredding away at Emma’s life in succinct nibbles of criticism as she devoured her self-esteem.

    She kept thinking of Buck, resting in the garage. It both saddened and scared her, thinking of a dead animal wrapped up in her garage.

    Are you OK? asked her mother. She paused and turned to look at her daughter, one eyebrow arched questioningly. Emma had always admired, and feared somewhat the perfect beauty of her mother; the short raven hair, always in place, and her flawless pale complexion. Ryan shared her physical traits expressed in a rough-hewn male style. Emma’s darker imperfect skin tone, mousy brown hair and eyes came from her father.

    I’m fine, Mom. Dad really did try to save Buck. I just miss him, she said, knowing her mother wouldn’t rest until she had revealed some of how she felt.

    Her mother tsk’ed gently, shooting her a tight smile.

    Well, he did live a long time. I know you and your father loved him dearly. He was a loyal dog, even if we did go through four vacuum cleaners in as many years because of his fur, she said.

    Emma smiled faintly, knowing this was her mother’s idea of disarming humor.

    Well, enough depressing talk. Your father will get the dog cremated and we can put him up on the fireplace mantle, in a place of honor. You’d like that, right, Emma?

    Sure, Mom. I’d like that, she responded, squelching the sadness of the event from leaking out. She knew her mother would accept it as a challenge, as something that had to be fixed right then and there. Nothing lingered long in the Taylor household, whether it was errant dog fur or teenage angst.

    OK, then. It’s settled. Help me get dinner ready. The boys will be hungry, I’m sure, if we can pry your Dad off the couch and your brother from his video games.

    Emma lurched forward with the last of the plastic grocery bags and unloaded it, swimming through her sense of loss as if through molasses.

    Chapter 3 – Emma

    The next week started normally enough. The blanket containing Buck disappeared from the garage before she drove herself and her brother to school, for which she was grateful. She thought she caught a slight whiff of death from Buck, having sat in the garage for almost two days in the warm North Florida October temperature.

    Luckily Ryan spent his time in the passenger seat with his nose buried in his Nintendo 3DS XL, shooting aliens with ray guns or whatever it was that kept his fascination glued to the screen.

    She shook her head, remembering the massive marketing campaign Ryan had unleashed on the refrigerator before his last birthday. It’s no wonder she remembered the actual model name of the game, even if she had no desire to play it. Of course his parents had succumbed to the onslaught, supplementing his considerable digital assets.

    She was pleased with her sleek and lightweight Macbook Air laptop. She couldn’t understand his need for a massive desktop with the best gaming video card (whatever that was). All she knew was that he had a huge set of monitors and spent many hours in front of them.

    She didn’t really care if he chose his games over human interaction during their drives to and from school as long as it kept them from talking, which invariably led to an argument. She knew Ryan could only play with the popular portable game while outside of school, leaving it in her car during the day. It gave her time to think about her own life and to talk on the phone, or to text Amy, her classmate and best friend.

    She twirled the white plastic wire from her phone that lead to her ear. The small, inline microphone dangled inches from her mouth.

    Yeah, I was there when he died. It really sucked, she said. She stole a look at Ryan, who remained engrossed in his game, his fingers flying rapidly across the black device.

    Wow, Emma. Sorry ‘bout that. I know you loved that dog. He was a sweetie, said Amy, her voice tinny in Emma’s right ear.

    Thanks. It’s OK. He was sorta old anyway.

    You guys gonna get another dog?

    God, I hope not! I can’t go through that again. School and all has me too busy anyway. I’ll be going off to college soon, which means it’d have to be Ryan’s dog anyway. She stole another look at her brother, still engrossed in the flickering colorful screen.

    Yeah, we’re gonna have tons of fun in high school anyway. Juniors rule!

    Emma smiled. Amy always had a way of cheering her up. She felt the weight of the family’s mild tragedy lift as she began to think more of her bigger life -- the life of girlfriends, boys, and the delicious drama of high school.

    She parked her grey Camry alongside the curb of their house. Ryan hopped out, head still in his game and strode to the house, his backpack nudging him along with every step. She could see her mother’s blue Volvo poking out from the garage. Her father’s Miata was not there. He was probably working late again at his engineering firm. He was the primary breadwinner. Her mother’s real estate dabbling helped buy little things.

    She pulled out her backpack from the back seat and closed the door, looking critically at the car. It was a few years older, the paint fading and headlight plastic filming over. Still, it was her car and her Dad made sure it was always safe and sound, if not necessarily pretty. Usually she felt like that.

    Hi Mom! I’m home! she announced brightly crossing the threshold. It was always best to be chipper and happy around her mother, even if she felt the opposite.

    A tiny cry floated through the formal dining room into the kitchen.

    Emma! Come look what I’ve got for you, said her mother from the kitchen.

    Curious, Emma walked into the kitchen to see her mother and brother crouched down, looking into a brown cardboard box. The walls of the box quivered. She peeked inside.

    Nestled in a faded pink terry cloth towel, a small puppy looked up at her, scratching furiously on the side of the box. Bright black eyes shined up at her from a cute round dog face, light brown fur accented with white spots. A small diamond-shaped smudge of white fur reminded Emma of the mark women from India placed on their foreheads.

    She looked at her mother. What’s this? she asked.

    It’s a puppy, stupid, said Ryan.

    The women ignored him.

    I think it’s a Chihuahua puppy, said her mother.

    Why did you get a puppy?

    Her mother frowned at her.

    Why, to replace Buck. I know how much you loved that dog, said her mother, her tone cleanly logical.

    Emma took another look at the tiny puppy, clearly scrabbling for attention on the side of the box, tiny tail a blur. Fury boiled up in her. Her mother didn’t get it. Buck was her dog. He had been in her life at the right time, but that time was past. She didn’t have time for dogs, especially a tiny puppy. Her mother couldn’t just buy her comfort and happiness.

    Why didn’t you ask me, Mom? I don’t want it. I don’t want any pets. No dogs, no cats, not even a gerbil or a goldfish. Take it back, or give it to Ryan, I don’t care, she said, surprised at her vehemence.

    She turned, strode around the bar and headed to her room. Behind her the soft plaintive cries of the puppy cut off as she slammed her door, threw her backpack on her bed and buried her head into her pillow.

    Chapter 4 – Emma

    Emma didn’t know of any of her friends’ families who actually ate dinner together at a table, unless it was a special occasion, like a holiday or a birthday. Her family was no different, despite her mother’s attempts to corral them together at mealtime. She piled some spaghetti on a plate, sprinkled it with parmesan cheese, plucked a cold can of soft drink from the fridge, and headed back to her room. She had lots of homework to do anyway. She made good grades, enjoyed the English assignments, but had to work hard on math and science.

    She felt something under her forward foot and pulled up just in time as a loud canine scream issued from the floor.

    The tiny puppy scrambled away from her awkwardly. Luckily all of its limbs seemed to be moving just fine. Last thing she needed was to deal with stepping on and hurting a puppy.

    Ryan! Come get your dog! she yelled towards the bedroom side of the house.

    In a minute. Sorta busy, came back Ryan’s reply over the soundtrack of a video game.

    She could see multicolored lights from the open door of his room flickering in the hallway. She looked down at the little puppy.

    The small dog sat in its haunches, looking up at her expectantly, black shiny eyes fixed on hers.

    Emma figured the puppy was mastering the art of begging. She wondered if the poor creature was hurt or damaged in some way. Maybe she had hurt it after all.

    She figured the little thing’s age to be around eight weeks or so and she remembered dogs this young were usually sleeping, or moving non-stop. The still body and fixed gaze were slightly unsettling, even if the tiny puppy was incredibly cute. Still, the dog didn’t look like she was in any pain.

    Move. Shoo, she said gently to the small dog. She walked around the animal towards her room.

    The dog, still looking directly at her, followed behind in a bumbling puppy gait.

    What a strange little dog, she thought.

    She walked half way into Ryan’s room.

    Get your dog, Ryan. She’s following me around. She’s your dog, not mine, she said.

    Ryan hit a key and the scene on his computer screen froze. He sighed, scooped up the dog roughly and deposited her in the cardboard box sitting next to his unmade bed.

    Emma peeked into the box. The tiny dog stared up at her.

    Your dog needs more water and you need to swap out that towel. She’s messed it up.

    Yeah, whatever. Not your problem, mumbled Ryan, facing his monitor again. He had already unpaused his game and was blasting away at whatever it was that needed vaporizing.

    Emma resisted looking at the small dog one more time.

    Ryan’s right. It’s not my problem, she told herself.

    She turned and walked towards her room, plate of food still in hand.

    Emma woke suddenly, unsure why. Something had pulled her out of a deep sleep. Hours of studying, sprinkled with text message distractions from Amy, had made her tired and sleep had been welcome.

    She heard a noise outside her window. A thin scream of pain followed by a coarse giggle. The scream reminded her of Buck’s last cries, except they were much higher pitched.

    She threw on her comfy pink robe, opened her door and ran quietly through the dark house. She paused, looking at the crack of space underneath her parent’s door. It was dark.

    Best to let them sleep, she thought.

    She opened the back door, bracing herself against the cool night air.

    A flicker of light from the edge of the porch caught her eye. She made out somebody sitting outside in one of their portable canvas chairs. Wriggling in the outstretched arm of the person was the little Chihuahua puppy. The acrid smell of burnt fur assaulted her nostrils.

    She strode through the screen-in porch and out the propped-open door.

    Ryan! she hissed, loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to wake her parents. At least, she hoped not.

    An owl hooted in the forest behind their house.

    Ryan, startled, dropped the small dog and turned towards her. The tiny puppy yelped and ran off into the yard, heading towards the darkest areas.

    Emma looked closely at her brother, lit by the dim glow of mixed city glow and star light.

    What the hell are you doing? she hissed again, leaning towards him. The dewy grass tickled her toes.

    He moved slowly, pulling a can of beer from the drink holder built into the chair. Hey, big sis… he drawled. His breath smelled of beer.

    Damn, you’re drunk!

    He smiled, his white teeth almost shining in the natural evening light.

    She grabbed the can from him and poured the remaining liquid into the grass. Two other cans sat on the ground, clearly empty and discarded.

    Hey! he complained, reaching up hesitantly. She saw a small object in his right hand.

    Shh! You wanna wake up Mom and Dad?

    His loose smile faltered momentarily. Hell, no…, he said.

    What’s that?

    What’s what?

    She pointed to his right hand. That!

    Ryan flicked the object in his hand. A bright tongue of yellow light licked up into the air.

    What have you been doing? With your puppy? she asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

    Just testing its pain threshold…you know, like a science experiment, said Ryan, words slightly slurred.

    "Ryan! Are you serious? That’s animal torture! Plus you’re drunk! People go to jail for things like this!" she hissed, her voice rising.

    Ryan dropped his hand and extinguished the flame.

    She stopped and turned, looking at her parents’ bedroom window at the other end of the house. No sign of lights or movement, thankfully.

    Damn. I don’t want to wake them!

    She didn’t really like her brother right then but she did love him and occasionally her big sister protectiveness kicked in. This was one of those times. She recalled her first time getting beer drunk with her friends and was glad Amy had protected her. Her parents had never found out.

    Let’s get you back to your room, now. You need to sleep this off, she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him up out of the chair.

    He allowed himself to be lead away easily. She quietly entered the house, Ryan in tow, and headed towards his room. He hit the bed hard in the dark room.

    Whee! The world’s spinning! he exclaimed.

    Shh! Try to get to sleep! she whispered fiercely.

    Within a few seconds she heard his breathing pattern lengthen and slow.

    Good. Now to go clean up his mess.

    She closed his door slowly, walked back outside and picked up the three beer cans. She walked around the far side of the house, away from her parents’ bedroom and went to the large black plastic trash can provided by the city. She opened the lid and buried the cans underneath some trash. Emma hoped her parents didn’t count the beer cans in the fridge and notice three missing. She hadn’t given them any reason to do so and Ryan hadn’t either – until now, of course. Sighing gently, she lowered the heavy plastic lid slowly.

    She walked around to the back yard, ready to return to bed. Tomorrow was a busy school day, with two exams. She stepped on a hard object and moved her foot to see what it was. It was the butane lighter Ryan had been using.

    The puppy!

    She admonished herself for forgetting the tiny life. It was probably out in the yard somewhere, quietly suffering. She began walking the perimeter of the yard, along the six-foot-high privacy fence.

    Here little puppy… she whispered, eyes straining in the light of the night. She continued along the back wall, where the oak trees blocked much of the meager light.

    A hoot from an owl behind her and off to her right was answered by another owl nearby, louder and slightly higher in pitch.

    She completed her walk across the back part of the yard, quietly calling for the missing dog. No puppy. She was certain it had gone that way. Arching her toes, she looked over the top of the fence. Nothing.

    There!

    A slight

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