Zal and Seemo were as shy as any pair of strays, but they didn’t go entirely unnoticed. Early one morning, Madeleine Dorah, a middle-aged dairyman’s wife, found them rummaging through her garbage. She offered them a proper breakfast, but they only ran. She began to leave food out for them, but the food was mostly untouched, and even when it was touched it didn’t look like it had been touched by a boy and a dog. She kept at it, though, and after a week she got a bite, and then another, and another. Finally, she ambushed them with a plate and bowl of bacon and eggs. “Here you go,” she greeted them, put the food down, and backed off. “You’re both welcome to stop by for breakfast anytime, but you’re going to have to eat at the table from now on.”
Land o'Lakes, Inc.
A couple days later, Zal caught the aroma of breakfast rising over the sour but rich bouquet of the dairy. He knocked on Mrs. Dorah’s door with Seemo at his side. “Come in,” she said. “My name’s Madeleine. What’s yours?”
“Sam,” he answered, taking a quick name from memory as an alias du jour. “And he’s Buck,” he added, not having much time for imagination. She led them into her kitchen and introduced them to Mr. Dorah.
The kitchen was immaculate and bright. The walls and cabinets were white, without the slightest hint of fingerprints. Every corner was immaculate and dust-free. The ceiling light showed no sign of moth carcasses. The window glass was almost too clean to be seen—she must have cleaned it on the outside too. The sill was populated with a couple of Swedish horses and a Christmas cow. Brightly colored towels hung from cabinets on white rods beneath the sink. Zal wondered whether Mrs. Dorah ever used them. It all seemed so artificial, and yet honest and real. He’d never felt so out of his element, so alien. It was all so clean and he and Seemo were so dirty. He couldn’t help but think that Mrs. Dorah must have wanted to sweep them right out of her kitchen. She would surely have to clean the kitchen once they left.
Mrs. Dorah motioned for Sam to be seated. Looking at the nearest chair at the kitchen table, he hesitated before sitting down, wondering whether a towel should be laid on the chair first. As though the soil of his deeds were not enough. He clinched his teeth and sat down, a little surprised that he didn’t hear the chair complain.
Eggs over easy, toast with butter and jelly, and bacon. Bacon. All of it was so hot and aromatic. Sam waited for his hosts to begin, and then he lost his restraints. He and Buck ate without talking, but not silently. Buck finished his serving quickly then lay under the table, placing his snout upon Sam’s foot.
Mr. Dorah’s graying hair already showed a cap ring from his early morning chores. He pulled up his napkin and dabbed his face with frowning lips. His eyes glistened. “Sam. Wha’ do you think of my wife’s cooking?”
“Good, sir,” Sam gulped and replied.
“Just—good?”
“Really good, sir.”
“Well you know, it takes a lot of hard work to get this food to the table.”
“Yes sir,” Sam refrained.
“What do you say you and uh, Buck, help us next time around?”
“Yessir, but—I’ve never put food on a table before.”
“That we can teach you. You willin’ to pull your weight?”
“Yessir. I don’t know if I can speak for Buck, sir.”
“I’m sure we can find gainful employment for a good dog. He a good dog?”
“Oh, yes sir.”
“That’s good to know. We haven’t had a good dog around for, well, near on a year.”
Thus began the life of Sam Dorah, dairyman’s son.