It’s the weekend once again, and if you’re like me, that means more time for reading. Here’s an excerpt from Imperfect Beauty to help your weekend get off to a good start:
Cheerful voices surrounded Alasdair Buchanan as he strolled through the Highland games, following the occasional dull thud of a caber hitting the ground. Strains of lively music floated on the warm breeze and stirred him clear through his Scottish soul. A wee bit of home in this foreign land brought him a small measure of comfort in a disconcerting environment.
Although he imagined the games to be a colorful event, to him it was as black as a cloudy midnight on a Highland moor. Ay, ’twas strange indeed to sense everything yet see nothing.
The crowd thickened and Foster planted his big furry paws in the grass, refusing to move a centimeter. Try as he might, Alasdair could not get his guide dog to take another step, even though his cousin, Trevor MacLachlan, tugged his arm and attempted to lead him forward.
“You stubborn cur,” Alasdair muttered under his breath. Raising his voice he addressed his American cousin, who had released his arm. “Trevor, what’s in front of me?”
No response. Alasdair sighed and fought back his rising uneasiness. He knew his cousin to be unreliable, but surely Trevor wouldn’t have left him alone in a crowd such as this. Not when he knew Alasdair had never even been to Fort Wayne until he arrived two days ago.
Alasdair strained his ears, listening for his cousin’s voice. All he heard were unfamiliar voices and a loud speaker crackling to life with the result of the last caber toss. Foster’s stubborn refusal to move only added to his uncertainty. Trevor knew he didn’t handle crowds well, had sworn to stay close since neither Alasdair nor Foster knew the area. So where was he now, when Alasdair needed him to explain his dog’s refusal to take another step?
The training he had gone through to get Foster sprang to mind. He sighed and quit resisting the pressure the dog applied to his harness. “All right, Foster. Have it your way.”
The golden retriever-lab mix guided him to the right instead of the left like Trevor had wanted. The crowd thinned out, and Alasdair breathed a little easier. Fewer people meant less chance of accidentally knocking into someone.
Finally. He turned toward Trevor’s voice, and Foster turned with him. “What happened back there?”
Trevor’s voice came from right in front of him. “You mean when your dog stopped? There were a couple of coolers in front of you. I tried to lead you between them, but I guess your dog thought there wasn’t enough room.”
Somehow, Alasdair trusted the dog’s judgment over his cousin’s.
Be sure to visit Sweet Saturday Samples for more delicious bites from a variety of books and authors. Enjoy the weekend!