Claws and Effect Read Online Free PDF Page A

get the scoop on what sounded like a romance or at least a real date.
    Harry took care of that by saying, “Gee, Boom, maybe you ought to fill in.”
    â€œYou can be hateful. Really hateful.” BoomBoom turned on her heel, the heel of an expensive snow boot bought in Aspen, and stormed off.
    Isabelle’s jaw dropped at the adults’ antics.
    â€œSpike.” Coop clapped Harry on the back.

4
    In one of those weather shifts so common in the mountains, the next few days witnessed temperatures in the middle fifties. The sounds of running water, dripping water, and sloshing water filled everyone’s ears as rivulets ran across state roads; thin streams crossed the low spots of meadows spilling into creeks; streams and rivers rose halfway to their banks, and were still rising.
    The north faces of ravines held snow in their crevasses, lakes of pristine snow trackless since animals avoided the deep drifts. Ice, turquoise blue, was frozen in cascades over rocks on the north face of outcroppings.
    Fearing the onslaught of another sweep of Arctic air soon, farmers scrubbed and filled water troughs, suburban gardeners added another layer of mulch on spring bulbs, car dealers washed their inventory.
    An early riser, Harry knocked out her farm chores, rode one horse and ponied the other two, climbed up on the ladder to sweep debris out of the barn gutters and the house gutters also.
    Mrs. Murphy hunted mice in the hayloft, careful not to disturb Simon, the sleeping possum, the hibernating blacksnake, or the huge owl dozing in the cupola. Pickings were slim, since the owl snatched everything up, so Simon ate grain from the tack room. However, neither the owl nor Murphy could eradicate the mice living in the walls between the tack room and the stalls. The mice would sit in their cozy home and sing just to torment the cat.
    Pewter, not one to get her paws wet, reposed in the house, flopped on her back on the sofa. Tucker followed Harry, whom she considered her human mother, which meant her stomach was filthy but she too felt a great sense of accomplishment. She picked up the small twigs and branches which had fallen, dragging them over to the toolshed. Small though the corgi was, she could pull four times her weight.
    She’d grab the fat end of a branch, plant her hind legs, jerk the weight up a bit, then backpedal. Her yard work always made Harry laugh.
    By eleven Harry was ready to go to town this Saturday. Fox-hunting was canceled since the rigs and vans would get stuck in the mud. Parking was always a problem on rainy or muddy days.
    â€œTucker, let’s clean you up in the wash stall. You’re not getting in the truck like that.”
    â€œI could sit in one spot. I won’t move.”
Her ears drooped since she wasn’t thrilled about a bath in any way, shape, or form. On the other hand she’d happily sit in a puddle, leap into the creek. But there was something about soap married to water that offended her canine sensibilities.
    â€œCome on.”
    â€œWhy don’t you wash off Mrs. Murphy’s paws, too?”
A gleeful malicious note crept into Tucker’s voice as she headed into the barn.
    â€œI heard that, you twit.”
Murphy peeped over the side of the hayloft.
    â€œAny luck?” Harry called to her beloved cat.
    â€œNo,”
came the growl.
    â€œSlowing down, aren’t you?”
Tucker wanted to get a rise out of her friend. She was successful.
    â€œI could smoke you any day, lardass. Tailless wonder. Dog breath.”
    â€œHa. Ha.”
Tucker refused to glance upward, which further infuriated the sleek, slightly egotistical cat.
    â€œAll right. If you won’t stand I’m going to put you in the crossties,” Harry warned the little dog.
    Turning on the warm water, she hosed off Tucker’s stomach, which now returned to its lovely white color.
    Mrs. Murphy, keen to enjoy her friend’s discomfort, hopped down from the hayloft to sit