Brave

by Jennifer Li Shotz

As if to confirm Dylan’s fear, Brave zigzagged around an idle pickup truck and headed straight for a field teeming with cattle. The dog ducked behind a row of barrels and was out of sight.

  “Come back!” Dylan ran at top speed around the truck and followed the sound of Brave’s barking. He came around the back of a covered, open-sided building filled with stacks of hay and found himself on the edge of a wide paddock.

  At the center of the flat, grassy area, a young girl perched atop the back of a horse. She held on to the reins with one hand and, in the other, swung a rope in the air and flung it outward—toward the leg of a giant-horned bull that clearly did not want to be roped. A handful of cowboys leaned on the fence surrounding the corral and cheered her on, whooping and shouting, “Git him!”

  Dylan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It looked like a scene from a cowboy movie. The girl on the horse had missed with the rope, so she reeled it back in. She clucked her tongue and tugged on the reins, spinning the horse around in a tight circle. He saw her face screwed up with concentration and realized that he knew her.

  It was Grace Garcia. She was in the same grade as him at school, but had a very different friend circle. Grace hung out with what Dylan thought of as the cowboy crew—but what Jaxon called the Ranch Kids. She wore cowboy boots to school every day and let her dark black braid poke out from underneath her cowboy hat and trail down her back.

  Grace whistled and called out to a gray and white sheepdog who looked shaggy and sweet but moved with lightning speed and precision. The dog reacted instantly, running in a wide circle around the bull, then closing in closer and closer until it nipped at the bull’s back right hoof. It was like Grace was telling her dog what to do, and the dog was passing the message along to the enormous bull. The dog steered the bull into a pen on the far end of the paddock, where a handful of cows stood calmly munching grass. Grace rode up fast and slammed the gate shut behind it. The cowboys erupted in cheers, and Grace broke out in a huge grin.

  Dylan had never seen anyone work a bull before, and he was fascinated. How on earth did a girl his age know how to ride a horse and herd cattle—or command a dog like that?

  Grace spotted Dylan and blinked, like she was trying to figure out what he was doing there. Before Dylan could say anything, Brave suddenly appeared out of nowhere and shot across the corral, barking like mad and heading straight for the pen—and the bull.

  “Brave—no! Stop!” Dylan shouted hopelessly.

  But Brave didn’t listen. He jumped through the gate, his eyes wide with panic. At the sight of the strange dog, the bull pressed its ears flat back on its head, swished its tail, and stomped its hooves, kicking up dust and making a huge racket. Brave flinched and squatted low to the ground, but he was too scared to move away.

  Dylan had always thought of cattle as slow and friendly—at least that’s how they were when he saw them in a pasture from a distance. But, he realized then, up close they were huge and strong and kind of scary—and they could hurt him.

  “Brave! Get out of there!” Dylan yelled.

  “Hyah!” Grace shouted. She dug her heels into her horse’s sides and, in one smooth movement, rode to the gate, opened it, and steered her horse into the pen. She positioned herself between the dog and the bull, shielding Brave from the angry animal’s hooves. Grace spoke softly to the bull in a calm, soothing voice. The bull raised its head and flicked its tail. Grace was buying Brave time to get out, but Brave didn’t understand what was happening. He was just as scared of her and her horse as he was of the bull. In a desperate attempt to get to safety, he darted forward.

  But that just put him in more danger.

  “Watch it, Brave!” Dylan shouted, but the dog couldn’t hear him over the bull’s loud snorts and grunts. It was getting more and more agitated, and Dylan watched in horror as it lowered its head and pawed at the ground with its front right hoof. Even Dylan could recognize that as a sign that the animal was getting ready to attack.

  The bull flung a back leg out sideways—a warning kick in Brave’s direction. Brave yelped and backed up, only to realize he was trapped between Grace’s horse, the bull, and a cluster of nearby cows. There was nowhere for him to go. The muscles in the bull’s powerful haunches twitched, and it let out one angry snort before raising its back hooves in a half kick off the ground.

  “No!” Dylan cried. He couldn’t just stand there watching. Without thinking, he dove through the first fence and crossed the paddock in a flash, then ducked through the gate and into the smaller pen. He was under Grace’s horse, grabbing Brave by the scruff at the back of his neck and pulling him away from the bull just as the larger animal arched its back and flung its hind legs outward, lifting itself into the air. Slipping and sliding on a patch of muddy ground in the corral, Dylan carried Brave to safety all the way across the ring and outside the fence.

  Dylan and Brave flopped down, exhausted and breathing hard. Dylan looked over to find the dog staring at him with big eyes. Still shaking, Brave edged forward and put his head on Dylan’s thigh, as if thanking him for his help.

  ★ Chapter 5 ★

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  Adrenaline still pumped through Dylan’s body. He let out a relieved laugh. “You almost got yourself stomped on,” he said, giving Brave a good scratch around the ears. Brave licked Dylan’s hand over and over as they sat together on the side of the ring.

  “That dog needs help,” Grace said as she hopped down off her horse and ducked through the fence to join them. She squatted down next to Dylan and reached out to pat Brave.

  “I’m so sorry,” Dylan said. He felt ridiculous—he and Brave had just appeared out of nowhere and nearly gotten themselves killed on Grace’s ranch. “My dog—well, my new dog—well, he’s sort of my dog . . .” He stopped and took a breath. “This is Brave, and he’s a little out of control. He ran onto your ranch and I followed him. I’m sorry he—we—caused trouble.”

  Grace raised Brave’s chin with her hand and looked him over. “Seems like your sort of new dog Brave might have a little Blue Lacy in him.”

  “A lazy?” Dylan asked, unsure of what he had heard.

  “Blue Lacy. You know, the Texas state dog.”

  Dylan didn’t know. He’d had no idea states even had dogs—and what were the odds that he’d find one that represented Texas? Wasn’t that just further proof that he and Brave were meant to find each other? “That must be why his coat is a little blue.”

  “Exactly,” said Grace. “These dogs are known for their high energy. But it also means they can have a mind of their own.”

  Dylan had to laugh. Brave definitely had both of those qualities and then some.

  Brave looked quickly from one person to the other, his eyes bright and curious.

  “He knows we’re talking about him,” Grace said. Brave blinked at her and stuffed his head into her hand. Dylan could tell that the dog liked her—and that she was good with animals. “How long have you had him?”

  “He’s actually a stray,” Dylan said. “I just found him today.”

  “Oh, wow. Today? Do you think he has a home?”

  Dylan shook his head. “No tags. And he’s pretty dirty and hungry.”

  “Well, let’s feed him then.” Grace stood, spun around on one booted heel, and headed toward the large ranch house, kicking up dust as she went. Her dog ran along beside her. Dylan wasn’t sure at first whether he should follow them until Grace called out “Come on!” without turning back. He scrambled after her, and Brave followed him.

  Grace circled around the house to the garage, where a four-door pickup truck and a couple of three-wheel all-terrain vehicles were parked. In a back corner, a fifty-pound bag of dog food leaned against the wall. Grace reached her arm in and pulled out a full scoop of kibble, which she dumped into a nearby bowl.

  Brave’s eyes practically bugged out of his head at the sight of such a scrumptious meal. He charged forward and nearly inhaled the food. If Dylan hadn’t heard crunching,
he would have thought the dog wasn’t even chewing before he swallowed it.

  “Mustang—sit,” Grace said to her dog, who looked deeply unhappy not to get to share in the feast. But she obeyed without hesitation. She stayed perfectly still and watched Grace carefully, probably hoping her owner had a treat in mind. “It’s not dinnertime for you yet,” Grace said.

  Brave was done eating almost as soon as he’d started. He slurped water from Mustang’s bowl and pawed at the bag of kibble, whining for more.

  “Not too much at once,” Grace said. “We don’t want you to get a stomachache.”

  Dylan peered out through the open garage door and surveyed the ranch, which sprawled out around them in every direction. “Did you grow up here?”

  “Yeah,” Grace said. “Three generations of Garcias have lived on this ranch. It was my grandparents’ land before it was my parents’.”

  Dylan thought of his comfortable but small one-story house with its square backyard and tiny front porch. “What’s it like? To have all this space, I mean.”

  “I don’t really know any different.” She shrugged. “But I love it here—there’s a little bit of everything. If you want to be with the horses or the ranch hands you can be. If you want to get away, you can go sit by the creek and be alone. I can’t wait to get home after school. It’s kind of like its own planet, you know?”

  Dylan didn’t know, but it sounded pretty great.

  “Want a tour?” Grace asked.

  “Oh—uh . . . sure. That would be cool.”

  “Mustang, Brave—come!” The dogs fell in line behind Grace as she led them all out of the garage. Dylan could barely believe his eyes when they circled around the paddock and climbed up a low rise. Below them was a giant field that spread out in every direction. A glimmering creek ran through it, and tall trees lined its perimeter. Beyond the trees were acre upon acre of Texas Hill Country—a tawny tangle of shrubs and trees and rock formations that rose up sharply, then dropped off into shallow valleys and more creek beds. Mustang shot off down the hill and headed for the creek, with Brave right behind her. The dogs splashed into the water and chased each other around.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said.

  Grace smiled sadly. “It is. But right now it’s also kind of a mess.”

  At first Dylan wasn’t sure what she meant. He shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted down at the field and woods. He scanned the tall grass and tree line. That’s when he noticed it. Debris. Everywhere. Splintered tree trunks, piles of plywood, a toppled post-and-rail fence, and even a wrecked outbuilding on the far side of the field. In the woods, the trees that were still standing were bare at the top, stripped of their leaves and smaller branches.

  Dylan let out a low whistle. “The hurricane did all this?”

  Grace nodded. “But we were lucky. None of us got hurt and all of our animals were safe. Most of our buildings made it too. It’s just”—she sighed—“a lot of work to clean up.”

  “Who’s going to do it?”

  “Me. My sisters and brother. Everyone.” She turned her attention to the creek below, where the dogs were still frolicking. She put her thumb and forefinger into her mouth and let out a whistle so loud that Dylan’s ears vibrated. “Mustang! Brave! Come back!” she shouted.

  The dogs shot out of the water and up the hill, headed straight for them, sending up a spray of water from their coats as they ran. When the dogs reached Dylan and Grace, they tumbled into a dusty blur at their feet. They were wrestling, and Mustang had her mouth around Brave’s snout in a playful hold. Brave had his front paws wrapped around her shoulders and kicked at her with his back legs.

  “Ah, Brave!” Dylan cried. “You just gave yourself a bath and now you’re getting all dirty again!”

  “I guess they like each other.” Grace laughed. “He gets along well with other dogs—that’s a good sign.”

  “Is it?” Dylan asked.

  Grace shot him a funny look. “Have you ever had a dog before?”

  Dylan shook his head, feeling a little sheepish. “Nope.” He let out a sad sigh. “And I’m not sure I’m ever going to. I don’t think my mom is going to let me keep Brave.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, he kind of destroyed her couch, and she never agreed to me having a dog, so if we did get one now, he would have to be really good. You may have noticed that Brave isn’t exactly the best listener.”

  Even as he said it, Dylan felt his heart twist. He’d only had Brave for a few hours, but already he couldn’t imagine giving him up.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Grace said, studying the Blue Lacy as he hopped up and ran in a wide circle while Mustang chased him. “I think he’s a pretty good boy, especially for a stray.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He’s not wild or anything. I mean, once he got some food in his belly, he stuck around with us. He followed us out here instead of running off again, and he just came when I called him, didn’t he?”

  Dylan thought about that for a second. “I guess you’re right. But maybe it’s not him.”

  “Huh?”

  “Maybe it’s you, Grace. He really responds to you. Have you trained a lot of dogs?”

  Brave and Mustang ended their chase and, panting heavily, both plopped to the ground and caught their breath. Brave yowled happily and lowered his head onto his paws, as if the day’s excitement had caught up to him.

  “I trained Mustang,” Grace said. “And there are always other dogs around the ranch. Plus I work with horses and cows and all kinds of animals, so I guess I’m pretty comfortable with them.”

  “That makes sense.” Dylan felt Grace’s eyes on him, as if she were thinking something over.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” she finally said.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll help you train Brave.”

  “Wait, what? You will?”

  “Sure. It seems like you’re already pretty close, so it’d be a bummer if your mom didn’t let you keep him.”

  Dylan wasn’t sure what to say, his mind already racing with the possibilities of what it would mean to train Brave and keep him as his own. “That’s super nice of you. And that would be awesome. But wait—what’s the other part of the deal?”

  “I’ll help you train Brave if you help me out on the ranch with all the hurricane debris.” Grace shrugged like it was a simple exchange.

  The offer took Dylan by surprise. He had never worked on a ranch before—the most physical labor he’d ever done was raking leaves on his front lawn. He scanned the debris-strewn field below them, then glanced down at his sneakers. They were fine for school, but now they were caked in mud and—as he’d discovered just a moment before—basically useless for getting around the ranch. He stole a peek at Grace’s cowboy boots. They were the real working kind, not the Sunday church kind she usually wore to school.

  Dylan suddenly felt self-conscious, his cheeks warm as Grace stared at him. He could definitely use her help with Brave. But how much help could he really be to her?

  “Doing cleanup?” he asked uncertainly.

  “Don’t look so scared.” She chuckled at him. “I promise it won’t be that hard.”

  He let out a relieved laugh. “Even for me?”

  “Even for you. You could start bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  “I have to ask my mom. Since I have to convince her first to let me keep Brave.”

  “Right. Totally.”

  Dylan considered the offer. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to work outside, instead of being stuck inside. It would mean he couldn’t hang out with Jaxon, but it wasn’t forever—and it was for Brave. If Brave was a good dog, then his mom would have a hard time saying no. “But if my mom says yes, I’ll help you, for Brave. Promise.”

  “For Brave. Pinky swear.”

  They locked their fingers together to seal the deal, and Brave let out a woof of approval.

  ★ Chapter 6 ★

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  Dylan and his mom stood in their living room, Brave sitting between them.

  Together they looked at the remnants of what had been their couch. Deep scratch marks crisscrossed the seat cushions. The filling of the pillows Brave had destroyed was scattered around the living room like fresh snow.

  Dylan looked at his mom. Her face was red with renewed anger, and he knew he was on thin ice. He had to tread carefully if he was going to talk to her about working on the Garcia Ranch and training Brave. Any shot he had depended on how he presented the idea to his mom—and how quickly he could get her to forgive them for the couch incident. Which, at the moment, didn’t look too promising.

  “Mom, I’m really sorry about th—” Dylan started to stay, but his mom shushed him. She clamped her teeth together and pointed toward the kitchen.

  “Broom and dustpan” was all she managed to say.

  Dylan didn’t argue. He got to work.

  While he swept the larger chunks into piles, his mom got the vacuum cleaner and started to work her way through the room, sucking up the smaller pieces and chasing down stray feathers.

  When the vacuum cleaner started, Brave startled and rushed to Dylan’s side, quaking with fear.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” Dylan said. “It’s just the vacuum cleaner. I hate it too.” He reached out a hand to comfort the dog, but Brave skittered away.

  Dylan’s mom turned off the vacuum and wiped sweat from her brow, just as Dylan put the last pieces of cushion into a big garbage bag.

  When the vacuum finally stopped, Brave’s whole body relaxed. As an experiment, Dylan reached out a hand again. This time, Brave didn’t flinch. Dylan lightly brushed the side of the dog’s snout with his knuckle, and to his surprise, Brave let him. Dylan forced himself to play it cool so he wouldn’t spook the dog, but he was amazed at how soft Brave’s fur was. He looked up to see his mom watching them both.

  “You said there was a loud noise right before he attacked the couch, right?” she asked.