Beatrix raced across the moor, wagging her tail as she ran in sizable circles. The refreshing spring air blew through her coiled coat, just the same way it used to when she was a little pup, rummaging around her owner’s farm for truffles. But by now, Beatrix was far past her truffle hunting days, a senior dog, at the ripe old age of thirteen. Her old owner, Mr. Johnson had given her as a gift to his daughter, assuming that Beatrix had lost her keen sense of smell.
Beatrix thought little Miss Johnson was a fine girl and loved all of the care and attention she got from the young lady, yet she knew that Miss Johnson didn’t care about truffles, at least not as much as her father did. There wasn’t a moment when Beatrix thought of anything other than truffles. She knew she could still find them, and if that delectable scent ever caught her nose again, she would prove to Miss Johnson that she could still perform her old job. Nevertheless, Beatrix was content to frolic around the moor, as long as she had a ready nose and a feasible means for finding truffles.
Little Miss Johnson sat about a half-mile away, nearly covered by the long grasses that filled the moor. She was reading Pride and Prejudice, one of her many romance novels, and one that she had read numerous times before, and despite not yet finding her ‘Mr. Darcy,’ she was utterly enamored by the thought of any man who cared enough to yearn. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the moor, flipping Miss Johnson to a spoiler in her novel, and bringing Beatrix a rich scent, one she knew all too well.
Woof! Woof!
Beatrix began to bark rapidly, running towards the source of the smell. This was it! She was finally going to find a truffle! She could be a truffle dog again! When little Miss Johnson closed her book, frustrated by the assaulting wind, she noticed the flailing movements of her canine.
“Beatrix.” Miss Johnson stood up, trying to make herself seen. “Beatrix! Stop!”
While Beatrix heard the wails of her concerned owner, she didn’t stop. This truffle was the ticket to her old life. Miss Johnson began to run behind her, although she could never compare to the pure biological speed of a desperate pup. Beatrix shot across the moor, eventually spotting an old Victorian-style home along with a willow tree, her target.
Just as she made it to the tree, she sniffed the ground to double-check her findings. Yep. This was it. She marked the spot with her paw and parked herself down next to it, looking towards Miss Johnson, who was only about 40 feet away, wheezing and very upset.
Woof! Woof!
Beatrix barked happily, wagging her tail as Miss Johnson finally made it to her position, ready to give her a piece of her mind, before noticing the mark she had left in the dirt.
Little Miss Johnson knelt down and ruffled Breatrix’s fur, “Trixie! Did you find a truffle?”
Beatrix jumped up to lick little Miss Johnson’s face affirmingly, and she chuckled, allowing Beatrix to dig up her find. Beatrix drilled into the dirt, easily plowing through what used to be so difficult to reach, before finding something strange. Beatrix stopped digging and retreated to the surface, tilting her head, perplexed. Inside this freshly excavated hole lay a small wooden box, something that Beatrix had never encountered before.
“Come on girl! Go get it!” little Miss Johnson urged, nudging Beatrix to the hole.
Beatrix crept slowly towards it, and gently picked up the box, setting it in front of Miss Johnson, ashamed. The box was made of willow wood, fitting, for its current placement, with an engraving right across the front.
Miss Johnson grabbed the box and began to read the inscription. “Mary Johnson… Why, that’s my name!”
“Don’t open that box!” A boy’s voice echoed from above.
Beatrix looked up, only to find a freckled boy, flushed red, sitting on a tree branch. He wasn’t unfamiliar, however, he was the ranch hand back at the farm when little Miss Johnson was even littler. It had been a number of years since then, but Beatrix remembered their late-night conversations next to the riverbend. The boy climbed down the willow, trying to grab the box from Miss Johnson’s clutches, but she snatched it away, guarding it.
“Clyde… Why is my name on this case?” Miss Johnson asked, teasingly.
The boy twiddled his thumbs, now on solid earth next to her, his face as red as a spotted ladybug. Beatrix didn’t think much of the boy, although she appreciated how he’d hand her the carrots the horses never ate. The boy was nothing more than something else to stare at for Beatrix, and she knew that little Miss Johnson loved staring.
Little Miss Johnson opened the wooden box, much to the dismay of the young ranch hand, only to find a shiny metal chain. What was the appeal to a chain? Beatrix wondered. She was sure if she ever tried to court a dog, food would be the best present.
Miss Johnson gasped, “ Clyde! This – this is beautiful!”
“I’m glad you think so Miss Mary…” He muttered, pushing his hair behind his ear.
“Clyde-” Miss Johnson spoke, grabbing one of the boy’s hands, “-I love it. I’m glad you’ve been thinking of me.”
Miss Johnson softly kissed the boy’s cheek, flushing him to a seemingly impossible deeper red, before leaning down to face Beatrix.
“Dad was right, You do have a knack for finding things.”
Beatrix wagged her tail blissfully. Maybe she was good for finding more than just truffles.