Cormac: The Tale of a Dog Gone Missing by Sonny Brewer Read Free Book Online Page B

him, then the blessed event took place almost a year later.
    “You’ll especially like Sostie,” I said to Cormac. “She’s such a cutie, and get this, as much a hound for peanut butter as you,” The doggins hiked up his ears and scooted over on the seat closer to me as if to indicate, “tell me more.”
    I took my eyes off the road for a second and lowered my voice. “My pal Scott did time in Ethiopia in the Peace Corps. Now listen up, Mick. This gets technical.” I thought about Diana asking if we could skip my discourse on ancient Irish kings when telling people how Cormac got his name. “In Amharic, what they speak in Ethiopia,” I said, “the word for three is sost. Get my drift?”
    Cormac looked at me like I’d grown antlers or something. I took my right hand off the steering wheel and put it on Cormac’s head. “Here,” I said, “I’ll quote Scott Cannon himself: ‘Sostie is the name for our 3-legged rescue mutt-puppy because I didn’t want Tripod or Lucky or some such goofy name.’”
    I looked over at Cormac. “Oh, I said, she’s an older woman, and very pretty with her three legs. What else do you need to know?” I’d done my bit at matchmaking, but his expression asked if there was more to be told. I patted him, and he accepted that I was finished.
    I stopped by Latte Da coffee shop and picked up a pound of full-city-roast Costa Rican beans for my guests. In my store I ground the coffee beans and got a pot going. Twenty minutes later, Scott and Betty and Sostie walked into the bookstore. Cormac had pranced to Sostie’s side before the door even closed. He was bigger than Sostie. They did the requisite sniffing, and some low-key posturing, and then settled down together in the middle of the bookstore floor on a braided oval rug in front of a burnt-sienna couch with lumpy cushions and well-worn arms. I poured the three of us a cup of coffee. Before I sat down I went back to the kitchen and got the peanut butter. I tossed the jar to Scott, along with a spoon.
    “You do the honors,” I offered. Both dogs were on their feet. Scott spooned out a treat for Sostie and Cormac, right onto the floor.
    “On the carpet?” Betty said. “Come on, Scott.”
    “It’s okay,” I said. “Look at this carpet.”
    “That’s not the point, Sonny,” said Betty. “I’m still trying to train the dog.” She pointed to Scott. “Him.”
    “Oh, just you watch,” Scott said. “Two tiny wet spots that will be dried and disappear within a week.”
    Cormac finished his peanut butter and came to lie at my feet. Sostie jumped on the sofa between Betty and Scott. Scott asked about Cormac, said his face and demeanor reminded him of the Yellow Labrador who had stayed by his father’s side for fifteen years. I told him about Zebbie, about Drew adopting him, and about our finding Cormac some seven months ago. “He’ll be a year old March 21,” I told Scott and Betty.
    “He’s going to be a big fellow,” Scott said.
    “I think so. Maybe seventy-five pounds when he’s fully grown,” I said.
    Betty stayed quiet. “So, Betty, how’s the new novel going?” I asked.
    “Three weeks on the top ten best-seller list,” she said, offhandedly, as though the information were not important. “Look, Sonny, what about you? On this tour, I’ve heard of three independent bookstores closing. I’m talking about shops that have name recognition. T-shirt worthy. I want to know what’s going on with your store.”
    “Well, I think I’m going to have to close Over the Transom,” I said, the words tumbling out. I couldn’t believe I’d just spoken aloud the thing that I’d been thinking in a dusty, cobwebbed corner of my mind for some weeks now. Saying it was like making real what had been before only a possibility. I was disconcerted as though I just got the news myself.
    “You have to fight for it,” Scott said flatly. He got up and walked over to a bin of T-shirts. Sostie followed. So did Cormac. They sat