Anthony nodded. "Our brilliant son is correct. Just as correct as he
was when he first suggested it two months ago."
"But, Anthony, you know how much food costs here. He'd eat us out of--"
"Dogs eat animals," announced Small. "Space Dragoneer says so in his
television program."
"Small's right," agreed Anthony. "I'll bet an octerocap has eight
different kinds of vitamins, one for each head. We ought to try eating
one ourselves and save money."
"Ugh!"
"I want to eat an octerocap," said Small. "He wants to eat me, so I
don't see why I shouldn't eat him."
"Never heard more perfect logic in my life," observed Anthony with
pride. "That's my boy. However, let's put the lesson in logic aside
for a moment, and repair the damage the thing caused. Get the plastic
metal, Alice."
But Small was not to be so easily sidetracked. When the repairs to the
door had been completed, he said, as if continuing a conversation that
had been going on all the time, "Are we getting the dog soon, Daddy?"
"I think we are, Small. Then, for a change, I think your Mommy will
feel safe in the house."
"I'll call him, 'Rover'," decided Small.
"'Rover' let it be. He'll be unique--the only dog on Mars with that
name. In fact, the only dog on Mars."
"I'm unique too, Daddy. I'm the only boy on Mars called 'Small'."
"It's not your real name, you know."
"It is so," asserted Small. "'Anthony, Jr.' is just a nickname. When I
start going to television school, I'm going to tell the teacher that my
name is Small Kidd."
Alice had been thinking. She said, "Anthony, dear, instead of writing
for a dog, why don't you try again to get one of those new guns? I'm
sure that if you did fill out a form--"
"I've filled out thousands. But don't worry, dear, I'll write T. I.
Tapling again. Just don't expect too much, though."
Alice tried to pretend that she didn't, but in her heart she felt a
pang of disappointment when Tapling wrote back that additional guns
were forbidden not only by Regulation L34XC3 of Code 3, but by virtue
of certain other regulations as well. He was pleased, however, to reply
favorably to Mr. Kidd's other request, and enclosed forthwith a copy of
a catalogue published by the Central Terrestrial Dog Breeding Station.
* * * * *
Alice's first thought was that for once Mr. Tapling had done something
right, and without wrapping his action up in red tape. Alice's second
thought was, "That Idiot Tapling!"--for the catalogue, it turned out,
was three hundred years old. It had been published some time before
the first Mars expedition had taken off, and she could only wonder
from what antique waste-paper pile the bureaucratic T. I. Tapling's
bureaucratic subordinates had dug it up.
It was, nonetheless, fascinating reading, and Small was even more
fascinated by the pictures it contained. Moreover, with a catalogue
actually in the house, he seemed to regard her as definitely committed
to get Rover. He wavered in his favorites for that title between Great
Danes and Saint Bernards, and Alice, as she contemplated the size of
the two breeds, could only think of the enormous quantities of food
they would consume, and shudder in dismay.
She put up one final feeble struggle that same night, when Anthony
came home, and Small showed him the wonders in the new book. "Look,
Daddy, this one looks like a sheep!"
"It's a Bedlington Terrier."
"Can we eat it?"
"No. It may look like a sheep, but it eats like a dog. What kind do you
want?"
"He wants a big one," said Alice. "Great Dane or St. Bernard."
"How about an Irish Wolfhound?"
"Is that a big one, Daddy?"
"Tallest in the book."
"Maybe we should choose that," said Alice tentatively. "That is," she
corrected herself, "if we choose any at all. And I rather doubt whether
we should."
"It's up to you."
"Think of the cost of feeding a big dog!"
"But I told you before, it will probably feed on the animals it kills."
"Suppose it doesn't kill any?"
"It had better," said Anthony. "That's why I sent for the catalogue.
We'll have to take a look at the qualities of the different breeds,
and not depend entirely on Small's otherwise excellent criterion of
size. We want a dog that's kind and affectionate with a child; tough,
adaptable, a good hunter; and easy to care for. There are several
that seem to fit the bill, but of course it's hard to be sure from a
catalogue alone. And a lot depends on the individual dog, too. Why not
tell the Dog Breeding Station what we want, and leave the final choice
up to them?"
"But we're not sure--"
It was at that moment that for the first time there came a scratching
not at the door, but at the shutter.
Alice looked at her husband and her child, and then hugged the latter
closely. "Thank God you're home," she told Anthony.
The shutters were not as resistant as the doors, and they both knew it.
But for the moment, the creature outside seemed to have trouble making
up its mind. The scratching stopped, and then began again, at another
shutter.
"As long as it isn't at the door, I have a chance to slip out before it
can slip in--I hope," said Anthony. He picked up his gun. "Get Small
behind the other door, and bar it."
"Don't be silly. I'll put Small there, but I'm staying here. I'll keep
the explosive gun in readiness, just in case."