“No, Grandpa,” I said. “They’ve always been that way. They won’t take anything away from each other, and everything they do, they do it as one.”
Papa had overheard our conversation. He said, “You think that’s strange. You should have seen what I saw one day.
“One of the girls threw two cold biscuits out in the back yard to Old Dan.
He stood and looked at them for a bit, then, picking both of them up in his mouth, he trotted around the house.
I followed just to see what he was going to do. He walked up in front of the doghouse, laid them down, and growled; not like he was mad.
It was a strange kind of a growl. Little Ann came out of the doghouse and each of them ate a biscuit.
Now, I saw this with my own eyes. Believe me, those dogs are close to each other—real close.”
After Papa had stopped talking, silence settled over the camp. Grandpa stood staring at my dogs.
In a slow voice, as if he were picking his words, he said, “You know, I’ve always felt like there was something strange about those dogs.
I don’t know just what it is, and I can’t exactly put my finger on it, yet I can feel it.
Maybe it’s just my imagination. I don’t rightly know.”
Turning to my father, he said, “Did you ever notice the way they watch this boy?
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