The Last Philosopher

The trick to fetching Rascal

The unusual looking Fannie Bloomer was standing with her side to him, rubbing down her beloved bar counter as usual. A tall blond was a rarity among Agalians. Her looks would've gotten her a lot of snide remarks, if she wasn't also a Bloomer. Bern's wasn't the only thing she'd inherited, and her upturned Bloomer nose enjoyed a bit of cult status in town. As this was where everyone in town ended up sooner or later.

Except for the gleaming finish on the korzan-teak bar, Bern's was half-way to shabby. Most of the interior was untreated and fading wood, with random spots of dusty carpeting on walls and floors. She wasn't much bothered about cleaning, except in the kitchen. Fannie felt the wear and tear was part of Bern's. It was the kind of place where one could come in from a days hard work, empty out the dust in one's boots, and still get a hot meal and a pint of lukewarm grog-blossom.

There weren't much in the way of rules. But Fannie's word was final in Bern's and she was one of the few people who held real sway over the town drunks. Yet, there was one thing to remember. Never ever put anything down on her bar without a coaster, and Zissmus forbid you put your greasy elbows on it by accident. Because she'd holler at you in-front of everyone, even if you were the town marshal. All of a sudden Earl felt heat rising in his ears, but his trusty brown hat hid his shame.

"Bewitches in a sec!" Fannie abused the Anan language near as much as Seamus.

Earl waited until she looked to tip his hat at her. "Ma'am."

"Earl, ya tool! Ya've comin' in 'ere for I dunna know 'ow many years, an' every time I've told ya to stop callin' me ma'am!"

It was their usual banter. Her grey eyes glinted with fake anger, but her smile told another story. Most days they could go for half an hour without either of them tiring. Since Earl started it, usually he'd feel obliged to contribute, but he was feeling restless.

"Fannie, I was wondering if I could borrow that dog of yours?"

"Charlie sa' sometin' about ya takin' 'im, an' maybe I'll let ya, but wat's in it for mi?"

"Um, well, I can't pay or anything, what are you looking for?"

This was taking the exact turn he'd hoped to avoid. As she was getting out from behind the counter, Fannie untied the knot on her back and took off her cover-slut. She never dressed up. But she had a hodgepodge of cheerfully coloured aprons, which hid her dull work clothes.

"Ya could start wi' usin' some manners and take off tha' hat when ya come in 'ere!"

Earl's jaw dropped. The only good reason he knew to remove his hat was so Charlene could do what she called the de-shagging. Other than that, he kept it on pretty much all the time. Even in bed it covered his face. If he was forced to start taking it off, he'd have to have a hard think on whether it was worth coming to Bern's. But to see Fannie it probably was.

When he looked up, she was about to burst. "You're pulling my leg!"

Pointing at him, Fannie snorted out a series of chocking laughs.

"Well, now you're just being mean."

"Have'ya nay heard, mean's tha new funny! I've been waitin' for ya ta come begging." She wiped a tear from her eye. "Rascal's in the back, sleepin' in 'is corner. Ya can take 'im ifin ya can get 'im to come witchya."

Earl backed away from the bar, pointing at her with fake menace. He hesitated before opening the back-room door. A while back, Bern's regulars had started entertaining themselves with breaking ever thicker branches over the dog's head while it slept. It'd begun when someone tripped over the sleeping Rascal, and the dog hadn't even flinched. That was taken as an invitation to see what would wake it up.

Things quickly went arseways from there. One night, one-armed Harry took a running start at Rascal with a thick plank. He was going for the record, and felt he needed the speed. A few steps before the strike, Rascal woke up. Seeing Harry coming sent the thing running amok. Before that incident, one-armed Harry had just been regular old Harry. To their credit, no one had blamed Rascal. Or if they had, no one dared say so in front of Fannie.

Earl cracked the door open with a sound of wood scratching on wood. Rascal was gnawing on a large rock, it sounded like a small quarry full of teeth. The sound put his teeth on edge. It had no interest in bones, like a normal dog, but with a fresh a rock it was happy for hours. Over time, it turned them round and smooth. Which had the side-effect of covering the floor in stone-dust.

As it looked up and waved its short tail, Earl grinned back with some uncertainty. It was just a mid-sized garden variety mutt, but it was a lot heavier than one would think. With its brown tufts of short fur, and the sickly bald spots, it was the ugliest dog Earl'd ever seen. Still, it had a sad sort of charm, and it wasn't unfriendly even if you considered the Harry incident.

"I suppose you're trying to be a good boy, aren't you?" Rascal tilted its head at him.

"Well, at least you don't bark, so you won't warn off any suspects."

He bent down and picked up one of the smooth rocks. When he'd first started training Rascal, he couldn't get it to do anything. Not until he found the trick.

"Look at this pretty rock I found, and it's all mine," Earl said waving the rock at the dog.

Rascal dropped the stone it was chewing. It hit the plank floor with a hollow thud. Earl put his rock in an empty saddlebag, which he slung over his shoulder. On his way out, he nodded a mischievous goodbye to Fannie as Rascal followed along looking at him like he had the key to salvation.

"Sumday ya'll've to tell us 'ow ya get 'im to follow ya like that!" He pretended not to hear.

Updated: 30.10.2023