Becky Phelps liked to keep her curtains open to let the moon in.
Depending on her mood, she would either stay in bed and wait to fall asleep again, or else she would get up and look out her window. If it wasn't too cold, she would lift the sash and press her nose to the screen, inhaling the scent of the night air. When she had breathed in enough moonlight, Becky Phelps would go back to bed.
She didn't think this habit strange at all.
On this particular night, Becky Phelps' eyes popped open at precisely 12:17am. It was terribly cold and terribly bright out. The moonlight sliced through the shadows in her bedroom and bounced off the mirror on the far wall, bouncing right back into the now-concious face of Becky Phelps. Tonight, she thought, was a night to open the window.
Now tall enough to open the window easily without standing on a chair, she clambered out of bed and pushed the window sash up with the heels of her hands. The night hit her face like ice water. Becky Phelps took a deep gulp of sharp winter air, taking in the smell of snow and stars. Bright-eyed, she gazed out over the gravel path that snaked out across the yard, meandering towards Burnt House Road.
And in the wash of moonlight she saw her dog, Ugly Beauregard, doing a most curious thing.
The snaggle-toothed, wiry, bedraggled little terrier was walking along on his front paws, like a circus performer walking on his hands. Every once in a while the dog would lose his balance, his legs dropping unceremoniously down, but then he would be at it again. If not a handsome dog, he was surely persistent.
Becky Phelps thought this was very odd indeed, and decided to sneak out and ask Ugly Beauregard what he was doing.
She did not find talking to animals strange at all.
Clutching her blanket tight around her shoulders, Becky made her way down the hall in gentle steps. Her parents slept with the bedroom door closed, but she still took extra care to avoid the squeaky floorboard in the middle of the upper hallway. You never know who else might be awake smelling the night air at 12:17am. Counting thirteen steps, she softly padded down the stairs, small bare feet hardly making any noise at all. When she reached the front door, she slid on a pair of still-damp rain boots, her pajama bottoms bunching comically around her knees. Carefully turning the lock, slowly twisting the knob, Becky Phelps pulled the front door open and stepped into the full-moon snow-cloaked night.
"Ugly Beauregard!" Becky Phelps whispered as loud as she dared, "What are you doing walking on your front paws outside in the snow in the middle of the night? You look like you're practicing to be in the circus!"
The dog's head turned sharply to face his girl, legs flailing every which way as he let out a small grunt, tail wagging in happy greeting.
"Becky!" he said with a wide doggy grin, "I'm practicing indeed, but not for the circus."
"Then what for?" she asked, brow furrowed under a mop of uncombed hair.
"Why the Fern Crested Piffle is due to emerge from hibernation in just a few days, my girl!"
"What's a - a Fern Crusty whatsit?"
"Fern Crested Piffle," Ugly Beauregard said with a snorty huff, "It's the rarest bird in all the world. It only comes out of hibernation once every hundred years, and sings the most beautiful song anyone has ever heard. All of the animals gather together in celebration, and there's a great dance. I've got to practice my part, it's a very grand occasion!"
"Oh, that sounds lovely!" gasped Becky Phelps, "Do you think.. could I come? To the dance? I'd very much like to see a Fern Crested Piffle."
Ugly Beauregard licked his nose, his tongue not quite making it all the way back inside his mouth, resting instead just beside one of his prominent lower teeth.
"Well," he pondered, "I'm not sure how a, ah, human would be received. But, you are quite an extraordinary human as humans go. Not many can communicate with animals like you can, Becky. If anyone would be extended an invitation, it'd be you. I'll take it up with the head of the Canine Council, how does that sound?"
"Oh it's sounds wonderful, Ugly Beauregard! Thank you!" Becky whisper-shouted, wrapping her arms around the scruffy dog and planting a kiss on the side of his snout, "I hope they'll let me come! How exciting that would be! I should go back to bed though, school tomorrow. Good night, Ugly Beauregard. Good luck practicing your dance!"
"Good night, Becky Phelps," said the dog as he went back to his unusual rehearsal.
Sneaking back into the house just as silently as she had snuck out of it, Becky Phelps returned to her small bedroom, closed the window, and crawled back into bed. She was almost too excited to go back to sleep, but soon her eyes closed and she drifted off, as she always did, dreaming of what a Fern Crested Piffle might look like.
