But what bothers me almost as much as the actual bet is what Brad said. He really got to me about my dad. I didn’t think anyone could do that anymore. I thought I’d dealt with my father leaving, sealed it away as just one of those terrible things that happen and you get used to. Now I realize I was wrong. In an instant Brad ripped away my best defenses, leaving me completely exposed. Like anything could come along and…obliterate me.
To make the day perfect, Mrs. Minneman hands out yet another novel for us to read. This one’s called Fahrenheit 451 by a guy named Ray Bradbury. Orange flames fill the book’s cover.
I stare at them, wishing they would burn me into nothing.
The week begins its painful crawl toward Saturday and the regional Frisbee meet. I don’t tell my mom or Grandpa about my bet, but Grandpa looks slightly relieved when I come home without a broken nose after school on Monday. I can barely look at Streak, I feel so guilty, but Luke recovers his good attitude and tries to help me put a positive spin on things. And I tell myself that if he can do that with what his family’s been through, I can somehow get through this thing with Brad. I don’t know how, but there’s got to be some way.
After school on Tuesday, Luke and I take Streak to the park and give him a good workout. Luke doesn’t stay as long as usual because he has to go to the hospital to visit his dad, but Streak and I keep at it until it starts getting dark.
Unfortunately, on Wednesday the weather turns from autumn-chilly to butt-freezing cold. By the time we get to the park a northern wind is screaming down from Canada and the icy air turns my fingers to stone. Streak loves it and bounces around like a SuperBall, but I’m wearing every sweater and sweatshirt I own and still feel like an igloo.
“I hear it’s supposed to snow by the weekend,” Luke tells me, taking a turn with the Frisbee while I try to thaw out my frozen fingers. He’s obviously not as bothered by the cold as I am. “A big front’s coming in.”
“Do you think they’ll cancel the contest?” I ask, rubbing my hands together.
“Aw…Guy, this is Montana, remember?”
“Does that mean no?”
“They might cancel if there’s a couple of feet of snow on the ground. But we hardly ever get that much this early in the season.”
I’m disappointed, but we start in on our workout session. Luke walks to the sideline of our Frisbee field and yells, “Go!”
I start throwing the disc. Streak flies after it like this is what he lives for. In a way he does, I think with yet another stab of guilt. He chases them down, one after another. He only misses the ones I screw up and I realize that both of us have gotten about as good at this as we’re going to get.
After four or five trial runs, we stop for a rest. With the exercise, my core body temperature has risen from sub-freezing back up to forty or fifty degrees.
“Hey, how’s your dad doing?” I ask Luke. He hasn’t mentioned anything for a couple of days now.
A small smile turns the corners of Luke’s mouth. “Aw…he’s doing better. The doctors say we got him to the hospital in time. He might have a little trouble with his left arm and his speech, but he’s going to be okay. He’ll be able to come home this weekend.”
“That’s great,” I say, meaning it.
Then a cloud passes over Luke’s face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“Well, uh…”
I wait. Luke doesn’t usually have trouble talking, so I’m guessing it’s something bad.
“It’s just that…”
“Yeah?”
“My parents are talking about moving.”
I don’t get it at first. “You mean to another house?”
Luke shakes his head. “Moving from Coffee.”
A lead weight drops into my small intestine. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
“Aw… Since my dad’s stroke, they’re saying they might be ready for a change. They said they’ve always wanted to move to Washington or Oregon.”
“When?” I say, my voice cracking.
Luke shrugs. “Maybe after Christmas.”
The weight in my intestines gets heavier. I can’t believe what Luke’s saying. I mean, I finally find a good friend in this town and now he’s going to leave? This can’t be happening.
“Can’t you talk them into staying?” I ask.
“I already tried. Anyway, it’s not for sure yet,” Luke adds, trying to make me feel better. “That kind of reminds me. I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”
I watch Streak as he sniffs at some squirrel poop near a chestnut tree. “Sure,” I mumble, still reeling from the bombshell he’s dropped. “What is it?”
Twenty minutes later, Streak and I are waiting outside a service door at the back of Community Hospital. The door opens and Luke silently motions us in. With Streak on his lead we tiptoe into a large room packed with cardboard boxes.
“It’s a good thing Streak doesn’t bark,” I tell Luke. “Are you sure about this?”
Luke looks at me. “No.”
We both stifle laughs and already I’m feeling better about what he told me about moving. Luke said it wasn’t a sure thing, after all. Also, once his dad recovers maybe he’ll realize what a huge hassle moving is. The more I think about it, the more I convince myself that they’ll end up changing their minds.
Luke leads Streak and me up a back stairwell of the hospital. He obviously knows his way around and when we reach the fourth floor, he whispers, “Wait here. I’ll make sure it’s clear.”
He eases the door open and steps out. A moment later, he’s back. “Okay. Let’s go.”
I feel my heart pounding, but in an excited way. Following Luke, we sneak down a couple of hallways and slip around corners. Streak wants to stop and sniff everything, but I pull him along before he pees on a wall or some million-dollar piece of equipment. Finally we reach a door marked “440” and Luke opens it. Inside, I see a woman sitting in a chair. She’s talking to a man propped up in a hospital bed.
Luke goes in and Streak tugs me in after him. The woman stands up.
“Luke,” she says, “what are you doing?”
“Mom,” he says. “This is my friend Guy. And we brought a special visitor along. This is Streak.”
The woman’s face immediately softens. Streak sniffs the hem of her pants and she extends her hand to me. “Glad to meet you finally, Guy. Luke’s told me all about you and what you’ve been doing for him. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.” She bends over and scratches Streak’s ears. “And lucky to have you, too!”
Streak wags his stump.
“Oh, uh, thanks,” I mumble. “Nice to meet you.” But I’m thinking that Streak and I are the lucky ones.
“And Guy,” Luke continues, “this is my dad.”
Luke’s father is almost a spitting image of Luke, but I can’t believe how old he looks. His hair is almost completely gray, and wrinkles run like little canyons around his eyes and mouth. Life’s definitely taken a chunk out of this guy.
The man starts to lift his hand to shake, but before he can, Streak leaps onto the bed.
“Streak!” I shout. “Streak, off. Right now!”
But Luke’s father’s eyes sparkle and he waves away my commands. Now I understand why Luke wanted me to bring Streak. As Streak plants a paw on the man’s chest and licks his cheeks, twenty years seem to fall off Luke’s dad’s face. He’s obviously been missing animals way too long.
“Glad to meet you, Guy. And Streak.” Luke’s dad speaks slowly and with effort, but he doesn’t appear to be in any pain. He pets Streak and Streak settles down and lets him, almost as if he understands that Luke’s dad isn’t well.
“Well, uh, glad to meet you, too,” I say and we all laugh.
We stay for about fifteen minutes, mostly talking about dogs and school and stuff like that. Finally Luke’s mom says, “You know, Luke, having pets in here is really not—”
Just then the door to the room bursts open and a woman
with short brown hair and a stethoscope stands in front of us.
Streak leaps off the bed and the doctor jumps back.
“Streak, no!” Luke and I both shout at the same time, but Streak is too keyed up. He starts licking the doctor’s feet and I see a series of expressions shoot over her face: surprise, fear, anger, and—fortunately—amusement.
Composing herself, the doctor says, “I must have the wrong hospital. I didn’t realize I was at the veterinary clinic.”
We all laugh nervously as the woman bends down to scratch Streak behind the ears. “And who might this be?”
“Aw…that’s Streak,” Luke says. “It’s my fault he’s in here. I just thought…”
As Luke struggles to finish, the doctor stands up and says, “I think I understand. But if the nurses catch you in here, I can’t be responsible for their actions.”
The doctor says this in good humor, but Luke and I take the hint. We thank the doctor and say good-bye to Luke’s parents. Before we leave, Luke’s dad says, “Good luck…with Streak…Saturday.”
“Thanks,” I say. “We’ll need it.”
Heading home, all Luke says is “Thanks, Guy.”
I shrug. “It was fun.”
We walk a few minutes and I get an idea. “You know, your dad should start up his practice again here in Coffee. I bet people would come. Five years is a long time and this place seems to have animals out the wazoo.” Also, I think, it would keep Luke here in Coffee with me.
“Aw…I think so too,” says Luke. “I’ve told my dad before. So has my mom, but he keeps saying he’s not ready to do vet work again. Maybe after this, he’ll change his mind…”
That night I try to study for a social studies test, but my mind keeps wandering off to Luke and his family. Man, I sure hope they don’t decide to leave. I mean, I know it’s been bad for them, but isn’t there a chance they could get things right again?
Thinking about Luke also makes me think about my own family—and face something for the first time. Even though we moved all the way to Montana, I guess in the back of my mind, I’ve kept hoping my dad would suddenly show up and make everything better again. Now, I'm finally figuring out that’s not going to happen. Not to me. Not to Luke, either. Sometimes crappy things happen and they don’t ever get fixed. You just have to keep breathing and hope that someday they’ll stop hurting as much.
But that doesn’t mean you can’t try to keep crappy things from happening in the first place. I look down at Streak lying on the floor next to me and for the thousandth time wonder how I could have bet him on a stupid contest. I tell myself I was upset and I didn’t know what I was doing, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.
What if we lose? I wonder. Is it even conceivable I’d give Brad my dog?
I slam my social studies book closed and hope there’s some angle, somewhere, I’ve been overlooking.
Chapter Sixteen
The weather worsens through the rest of the week. By Saturday morning, when my mom and I are eating breakfast, fluffy white flakes are drifting down from the sky.
Mom is excited to see it. “Wow, I haven’t seen real snow like this in twenty years, since I moved away from here! Isn’t it neat, Guy?”
I grunt and shove a last bite of cereal in my mouth.
“Come on, let’s see some enthusiasm!” my mom says. “You’ve seemed down all week. Isn’t the snow cool?”
“I’m just worried about the contest,” I say, which is technically true, though I haven’t dared tell her about my bet with Brad—and what’s really at stake.
“Oh,” she says. “Well, if anyone deserves to win, it’s you. I’ve been impressed by how hard you’ve been practicing.”
“We’d better get going,” I say, switching subjects.
We say good-bye to Grandpa, and the three of us—my mom, Streak, and I—get into the Honda. We pick up Luke and pull onto the highway for the eighty-mile trek to Missoula. For the first time, Mom seems concerned about the weather.
“You’re the expert, Luke,” she says, turning on her wipers to brush away the flakes. “Is it going to get worse?”
“It’ll be okay,” Luke says. “You have chains, don’t you?”
Mom and I look at each other. “Chains?” I ask.
“You know, to put on your tires in the snow. They give you better traction.”
This is the first I’ve ever heard of them. “We don’t have chains, do we, Mom?”
“I was going to get some the next time I got paid,” she says, “but…”
“Aw…we’ll be okay,” Luke assures her. “This is nothing. Yet.”
“Besides,” my mom says, “we’ve got Streak. If we run into trouble, we’ll just hitch him up and sled along behind.”
Luke and I chuckle politely, and I look around at the landscape. The highway cuts through a narrow valley bordered by pine- and fir-covered mountains. A scenic river meanders alongside the road, but I know that this area’s pretty dry. A few inches less rainfall each year and this would probably be desert—at least, that’s what Grandpa’s always saying.
As we get closer to Missoula I can feel my adrenaline pick up. In addition to my nervousness about the contest, I’ve only been to Missoula once before, when we were moving up here last summer. By California standards, it’s puny—about the size of an L.A. suburb. But it’s Montana’s second-largest city and I find myself looking forward to seeing civilization again. After an hour, we drive through one last canyon and the town spreads out before us. Luke points out the landmarks.
“There’s the University of Montana over there,” Luke tells us, motioning to the left. “See that big M up on the mountain? That marks Mount Sentinel.”
Streak eagerly wags his stump and tries to work his way up to the front seat with Mom and me. “Back!” I tell him. He scoots back with Luke for a moment, but then makes another stab at the front.
“I guess he’s excited about seeing the city, too,” Mom says with a chuckle.
By the time we pull off the interstate, snow is beginning to stick to the road. The qualifying round of the contest isn’t scheduled to start until two o’clock, though, and we’ve got plenty of time. Mom takes us to a local fast-food place called Del’s for an early lunch. Then, about noon, we head toward the fairgrounds.
When we arrive, we discover that the Frisbee contest is only a small part of the day. A full-on dog show is underway, and Luke gets as keyed up as the dogs that are yipping and yapping around us. “Aw…come on!” he says. “Let’s look around.”
“Go ahead,” Mom tells us. “I’m going to snoop through the crafts displays.”
I put Streak on his lead and Luke and I start making the rounds. Man, I’ve never seen so many different breeds of dogs. I recognize a few—retrievers, black Labs, beagles—but a lot of them look like mutant experiments from another planet. Streak’s in heaven. He sniffs every dog tail in sight and pees on anything resembling a fence post. Most of the dog owners don’t mind, but some look pretty huffy about it, as if to say, “How dare you let such an uncouth beast sniff my dog’s derriere!”
The show buzzes with events. We pass a big sign announcing a competition for basic obedience skills. In another area, it looks like they’re giving prizes for well-groomed dogs. Then we get to the best part.
“Look at that!” Luke exclaims.
Up ahead, we see a large ring full of man-made obstacles. As we draw near, an official shouts, “Go!” and a Border collie and his owner rush out to the beginning of the course. Running alongside her dog, the owner barks commands and the Border collie tears through tunnels, leaps over hurdles, and scrambles up ramps, making lightning-fast twists and turns the entire way. When he darts past the finish line, an official shouts, “Time!” and all the spectators cheer.
“What is that?” I ask, pulling so hard on Streak’s leash I’m practically choking him to keep him from shooting into the ring.
Luke’s eyes are as big as jawbreakers. “Aw…I’ve read about this. They ca
ll it agility training. It’s the hottest thing now with dogs. Owners train their dogs to run through all these obstacles, and they compete with each other to see who goes the fastest and makes the fewest mistakes. Look,” he says, pointing to the group of contestants. “Over half of them are Border collies. I’ll bet Streak would do great at this.”
I look down at Streak and try to imagine it. But when I look up, my head spins.
“Hi, Guy! Hi, Luke and Streak.”
“C-Catherine,” I gasp. She’s the last person I expect to see here. Her cheeks are pink in the brisk temperatures, and they match the purple corduroy pants and wool winter coat she’s wearing. Big white snowflakes land like diamonds on her brown hair, and her green eyes sparkle as they peer at me through her enormous red-rimmed glasses.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I ask, my heart doing a swing dance.
“My sister is showing our Jack Russell terrier today and I came up for moral support.”
“Oh.”
“I also thought it would be fun to watch Streak in the Frisbee contest. Are you ready?”
My spirit rebounds. “Oh yeah. We’re ready,” I say, noticing that Luke has drifted off for a closer look at the other dogs.
Catherine kneels down to scratch Streak under his chin. “He looks ready,” she tells me. “You’ve done a great job with him.”
Suddenly the day is feeling a lot warmer. “It’s mostly Luke,” I tell her, at the same time realizing this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.
“Have you finished reading Fahrenheit 451?”
“Uh, no. Not yet.” I’m about to make up some excuse, but decide to be honest. “I’ve been too worried about the contest and other stuff.”
“Yeah, I know how that is,” Catherine says. “I wouldn’t have read it either if I had something like this coming up. Anyway, good luck today. I’ll be rooting for you.”
“Uh, thanks,” I stammer. “Good luck to you, too. I mean, to your sister.”
Catherine smiles and walks away.
I hope I didn’t sound like too much of an idiot.
Dog Sense Page 10
