Pointer Owl

Pointer had not always counted.

When she was small, she bid on feelings. A hand with three pictures in it felt grand, so she would sit up tall and open the bidding with a big voice. A hand with lots of small cards felt dull, so she stayed quiet. Sometimes it worked. Often it didn't. She would open with a hand full of jacks and queens, her partner would believe her and bid high, and then together they'd fall short, trick after trick, and her partner's face would fall.

One evening, after a hand like that, she sat in the corner of the hall with her cards in a messy pile, feeling foolish. She had been so sure.

An old barn owl who kept the score sheets settled beside her. "You were bidding on how the cards looked," he said. "Pictures look exciting. But a jack is a small helper, not a hero." He spread her cards out. "Count them. Ace four, king three, queen two, jack one."

Pointer counted. Her grand-looking hand came to nine.

"Players usually open the bidding with about twelve or thirteen," the old owl said. "So this hand was a quiet one wearing a fancy costume. Next time, count before you speak. Then your partner can trust what you say."

Pointer counted every hand after that. At first it felt slow, a little sum while everyone waited. Soon it was quick, as easy as counting stairs. And something changed at the table: her partners started trusting her. When she opened, they knew she had the points. When she stayed quiet, they knew why.

She came to DealTales when she was old enough, because it was a place where players learned to read a hand properly.

The mentor met her at the door. "What do you bring?"

"A number," said Pointer. "Before the talking starts, I count my hand. Four, three, two, one. The number keeps my bids honest."

The young rabbit tried it at the next deal. She spread her cards and counted slowly, Pointer beside her.

"A king, that's three. Another king, six. A queen, eight. Two jacks... ten." She frowned. "Ten. That's less than twelve."

"So?" said Pointer.

"So I should pass this time," said the rabbit, "even though it looks like a lot of pictures. And if my partner opens, I can tell her I've got a bit of help." She looked up, surprised. "It's not a bad hand. It's just not an opening hand."

"Exactly," said Pointer, warm and pleased. "Now your partner knows something true. That's the whole job of bidding."

They played the hand. The rabbit's partner opened, the rabbit supported her gently with her ten points, and together they made their contract with a trick to spare.