Atheneum Books for Young Readers
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, New York 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2007 by Cynthia Kadohata
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Book design by Ann Zeak
The text for this book is set in Garamond BE.
First Edition
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kadohata, Cynthia.
Cracker!: the best dog in Vietnam/Cynthia Kadohata.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: A young soldier in Vietnam bonds with his bomb-sniffing dog.
ISBN 978-1-43910-709-6
1. German shepherd dog—War use—Juvenile fiction. [1. German shepherd dog—War use—Fiction. 2. Dogs—War use—Fiction. 3. Vietnam War, 1961-1975—Fiction. 4. Human-animal relationships—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ10.3.K1005Cr 2007
[Fic]-dc22 2006022022
To my editor, enforcer, and great friend, Caitlyn Dlouhy, and
to the brave dogs and men who served together in Vietnam
GRRRR! FOR I AM THE ALL-POWERFUL CRACKER! Cracker spotted a bird carcass lying in the alley. She picked it up between the tips of her front teeth and flipped it into the air, growling as it sailed above her. When it plopped down, she pushed at it with a paw. She growled more, then leaned the side of her head on the asphalt, staring right into its face. It might have been dead for a week, but who cared? She would kill it again. That’s how powerful she was. She hopped to her feet to attack it—and spotted a mouse! Alive! This was for real! She took off.
Somewhere in the background she heard a voice calling, “Cracker! Cra-a-a-acker! Cracker!”
The mouse had a head start, but she would catch him. She bounded forward and leapt through the air just as the mouse slipped through a chain-link fence.
She reared up and pawed higher on the fence, pushing wildly at the metal to search for weakness. The mouse didn’t move. Just sat in the dirt. Cracker whined. She even licked the fence in the place where the mouse had slipped through. She thought she could just taste his fur … mmmm.
She reached her paw into a loose area of chain near the ground, but the mouse sat just out of reach. It was as if he were taunting her now. She. Was. Going. To. Kill. That. Mouse. She stared at him as hard as she could. There was nothing in the world except for her and that mouse.
“It’s just a mouse,” Willie said, out of breath from chasing her. “It’s dead. D-E-A-D. Dead.”
Cracker started. She had almost forgotten about Willie. But he didn’t sound angry. Her ears perked. She could hear Willie’s mother calling. Willie picked up a stick and poked at the mouse, sending it scampering. Huh? Cracker looked at Willie sorrowfully: Why had he made the mouse go away?
“Oh, stop it,” said Willie. Then he said, “Good girl,” rubbing Cracker’s head. All thoughts of the mouse drained quickly from Cracker. She wagged her tail. Good girl! She didn’t even glance at the bird as she and Willie trotted toward home. Who cared about a dead bird?
Willie petted her head again. “Shake!” Willie said, and she fell over … no, that was “play dead.” She leapt up in the air and ran in a circle around him. He laughed, and they continued down the alley.
Willie felt invincible as he walked with Cracker. His mother was used to a better neighborhood and didn’t like them walking through the alley in the evenings, but Cracker’s muscles were stronger than any man’s, and Willie always felt safe with her. Willie’s father had worked as foreman of a taffy apple factory, but when he was laid off, they’d had to move to an apartment while he worked a lower-paying job. And the apartment didn’t allow dogs. The landlord had given Willie’s family one month to get rid of Cracker. That was twenty-five days ago. Willie felt a sharp pain in his stomach at the thought.
Cracker felt Willie’s unhappiness and whined. When they stopped in front of their apartment building, Willie suddenly fell to the ground in front of her and hugged her so hard, it actually kind of bothered her neck. What was going on? “You’re the best dog in the world,” Willie said. “Good girl!” Willie stood up again and looked sadly at Cracker. Anxiety filled her. She jumped up and placed her paws on Willie’s shoulders, almost knocking him over. Willie cracked a smile, and Cracker felt a little better.
At the top of the stairs she scratched at the door to his third-floor apartment. She could never open that door. Willie had to use his “key.” Every day he did the same thing: held up the key and said to her as if she were slow-witted, “Key. Need key.” At the other place they’d lived, the door had pushed open when she grabbed her paws just right around the knob.
Willie opened the door and immediately headed for the bathroom. “Mom, I’m gonna take my bath!” He didn’t want his parents to see him crying. They already felt bad enough. But he hesitated just inside the bathroom as he thought maybe he did want them to see him crying. Maybe then he would be able to keep Cracker. But he knew that wasn’t true. He’d already cried a lot, and nothing had changed. Crying wouldn’t get his father’s job back. He closed the door.
“All right!” he could hear his mother call out. She and his dad were watching TV.
He took off his Cubs jacket. As far as Willie was concerned, the Cubs were going to win this year’s Eastern Division, and Willie thought about them almost as much as he thought about Cracker. Some people thought the stupid Mets or Pirates would win the division. Willie wasn’t allowed to use the word “stupid” out loud, but he liked to think the word to himself whenever he felt annoyed.
He’d heard his father use the word just once, during an argument with his mother about the Vietnam War. His parents, uncle, and aunt were all playing bridge, and then all of a sudden they were yelling about the war. There were several hundred thousand American troops in Vietnam, and every day the news reported protests against the war. Ever since Willie’s favorite cousin, Derrick, had been drafted, Willie wrote all his school current events reports about Vietnam. Willie’s father supported the war, and his mother didn’t. And then with the job layoff and the move, well, things weren’t going that well for Willie.
Except for the fact that Cracker was a girl and Willie was a boy, Cracker and Willie were—as his mother liked to say—peas in a pod: They both weighed 110 pounds, and they were almost the same age, Willie eleven in human years and Cracker one year and four months, which Willie had decided was actually eleven in dog years. They both had sandy brown hair in the exact same shade. And Mom also pointed out that Cracker and Willie thought alike. For instance, they probably agreed on two of the biggest problems in their lives: that they lived in a small apartment without a yard and that Willie went away for several hours a day. But once Willie came home from school, life was pretty much perfection, even without a yard. They went out to play with the neighborhood kids until dark, came inside for dinner, went outside for a walk, and then slept on their twin bed together.
And now Cracker was about to make Willie’s life miserable. But he just smiled at her. He’d tried to tell her, but she hadn’t understood.
Cracker felt life was bliss too, though it wasn’t quite perfection, and for precisely the reasons that Willie’s mom thought. Furthermore, Cracker considered Willie a bed hog, but if Cracker held her ground, Willie behaved himself and squeezed up against the wall while she stretched out across the bed, with maybe just
a paw or two hanging over the edge. Cracker liked to feel Willie’s back against hers. She also liked it when he slept with his arms around her. Bliss.
On evenings of the three weekends they’d so far lived in this new place, Willie’s parents let them sleep on the floor in the small front room that jutted out with windows on three sides. It was like floating in a boat through the apartments of Chicago. Cracker knew this because she and Willie had been on a boat together once. They’d both liked that. She liked water. She liked it at the lake, and she liked it in the bathtub. Willie started the water going. She didn’t see why she couldn’t get in the bath with Willie. She jumped halfway in the tub and licked Willie’s face.
Willie heard his mom calling out, “Sweetheart, please don’t let Cracker in the bathtub—her hair clogs the drain.”
“Yeah, Mom!” He grunted as he pushed Cracker out of the tub. When she gave him a forlorn look, he said, “Maybe if my dad takes me to the Cubs game Saturday, Mom will take you out for a walk. But don’t pull so hard on the leash.” Willie knew that the Cubs weren’t even in town this Saturday, but the lie made him feel better.
Cracker’s ears perked up at the words “walk” and “leash,” but she relaxed again as Willie kept talking. “If she doesn’t take you out, I’ll take you for an extra-long W-A-L-K when we get back.” Cracker jumped up. She loved it when they went on a “double-you-ale-kay.” That was the same as a “walk.”
Willie dunked under the water with his eyes open, watching the ceiling waver. He stayed under until he couldn’t hold his breath any longer. He was lying to her. By Saturday, Cracker would no longer be his dog. He’d begged everyone he knew, and his parents had even taken out a newspaper ad. But neither he nor his parents could find a new owner for Cracker. They’d taken her to the pound, but then when they got there, he couldn’t give her up. The pound told him that she would probably end up getting put down. Hardly any of the dogs were adopted.
In the bathtub Willie came up for air. Cracker was licking one of her front paws. She’d been doing that ever since they moved to the apartment and she’d actually licked away a raw spot. That’s how Willie knew Cracker was worried.
When Willie had checked his own newspaper ad, he’d noticed another. The U.S. Army needed German shepherds and Labs to go to Vietnam.
Willie hopped out of the tub and dried off. He pulled on his pajamas, and Cracker followed him into their bedroom. He didn’t even call out good night to his parents, just shut the door and got in bed.
Willie pressed up against the wall, and Cracker stretched across the rest of the bed. He lay with his eyes open. Tomorrow Cracker would be on her way to dog-training school, and then to Vietnam, where she could serve her country, and—more importantly—live. Hopefully. Live.
Cracker sniffed at Willie as he drifted off. Something was wrong with him lately. He was acting funny, and that made him smell a little different. Whatever was wrong with him made her feel kind of sad. She stood up on the bed and pushed her nose onto his cheek, then lifted her nose a bit and sniffed at him. She did smell a little bloody spot on his knee, but she didn’t think that was what was bothering him. She lay down lethargically. Whenever Willie didn’t feel good, she didn’t feel good either.
Cracker opened her eyes when Willie’s parents walked into the room. She thought they were going to scold her, as they sometimes did, for taking up so much space or for being wet. Or something. Except for scolding, they hardly ever paid much attention to her. Now they petted her head and scratched her ears and called her “good girl” over and over. That was nice. Weird, but nice. Then they left. Cracker stared a moment at the crack of light under the door. She felt even more disturbed than before. She licked her paw for a while. But Willie was here and everything was peaceful, and so finally, she fell asleep.
In the morning, as always, Willie rushed around the apartment. He fed Cracker, took her out to run a few times up and down the alley, took her home, and changed her water. Then, instead of running out the front door with his books, he threw his arms around Cracker’s neck and hugged her so hard, she squirmed and had to pull away.
Willie’s mother hovered over them. Cracker whined, completely confused. “Willie, you poor thing,” said Willie’s mother. “Why don’t you stay home today?”
“I can’t watch,” he said. “I don’t want to watch them take her.”
Cracker pawed at his shirt so hard, her nails ripped through the material. Uh-oh. She didn’t move for a moment. But nobody scolded her. Things had gotten really weird around here.
Willie took her face in his hands and said, “Bye, Cracker. You’re going to be the best dog in Vietnam!”
Then he ran out the front door with his books. When Willie hurried down the sidewalk in the mornings, Cracker liked to watch from the third-floor window in the boat room. She always felt the same sadness and slight sense of abandonment. Today she yelped at him as she watched his back. Instead of turning around, he started to run. She yelped more. Willie didn’t even stop to wave before turning the corner and going wherever he was going. He’d always waved before.
His mother petted her more than she ever had before. A lot of time passed before she said, “You’re a wonderful dog.” Cracker whined and felt the urge to lick her raw spot. Then his mother left for wherever it was that she went all day. After everybody had gone, Cracker always just lay around the apartment. Her biggest decisions were whether to sleep in the bedroom or the boat room (she wasn’t allowed in the living room) and whether to sneak a pee somewhere that Willie’s parents wouldn’t find it (she did this only once, but she thought about it a lot).
On this particular day Cracker decided (1) not to sneak a pee that morning and (2) to sleep in the bedroom. Willie would be gone for a while, so she made herself comfortable. For some reason, he always pulled the sheets and covers evenly over the bed before he left. It wasn’t comfortable that way. Before she lay down, Cracker pawed and pawed at the covers until they were perfectly scrunched up in the middle. She snuggled into the covers and fell asleep.
She lifted up her head when she heard Willie’s parents come home and a strange man talking with them. That was odd, but Cracker was only mildly interested. She was Willie’s, and Willie was hers, and nothing else much mattered.
She started getting more interested—a lot more interested—when Willie’s father walked into the bedroom carrying a leash and a leather contraption. This was not usual procedure; still, Cracker had learned to tolerate Willie’s parents, even listen to them. A couple of times Willie’s father had taken her to a place where a man poked and prodded her. So when the leather slipped over her nose, she didn’t growl at all, or even protest. The leather prevented her from opening her mouth wide enough to bite. She could have knocked Willie’s father right to the ground—and, actually, the thought did flash through her head—but she rejected that possibility pretty quickly. Even when he slipped a chain around her neck and pulled it tight, she figured he might be taking her to that place where she would be poked and prodded. Something felt wrong, but she basically trusted Willie’s father.
When they reached the living room, however, Cracker saw a stranger in a uniform, and she smelled something uneasy in the air. People smelled different, acted different, looked different, and just plain were different when they felt uneasy. Willie’s mother was crying. Willie’s father and the man in uniform looked at the ground. Cracker was stronger than Willie’s father as well as stronger than the new man. She was probably stronger, and definitely faster, than both of them put together. She didn’t like the way this new man smelled. She started to snarl. That always scared people. She tried to open her mouth and then snarled even louder.
Willie’s father responded by handing the leash to the man in uniform. He cooed, “Nice dog. Good girl, Cracker.” She snarled again and began to lunge at the man, who jerked hard on her chain. Cracker heard a very uncourageous squeal from her own throat. She tried to pull away, but the man jerked back even harder this time, and the same
squeal involuntarily jumped from Cracker’s throat. The funny thing was that the man didn’t seem mean, just firm. He said, “Sit! No! Sit!” Finally, Cracker sat. The man looked at Willie’s parents and said, “She’ll do well in Vietnam.”
“Thanks for packing her up for us,” said Willie’s mother. “We just couldn’t bear to do it ourselves.”
Willie’s father said, “She’s smart as the dickens. Stubborn, though. She and Willie flunked out of obedience school twice—she needs a good handler to really teach her right. She’s strong, too. Feel her muscles.” Willie’s father reached down to squeeze one of her legs.
“I’ll take your word for it,” the man said. “Don’t worry. The army will take good care of her.”
Willie’s father said, “Good luck, Crack.”
The man laid a hand on the front doorknob. Cracker knew she shouldn’t have let Willie’s father put the chain and leather on her. She trusted Willie’s parents only because they were Willie’s parents, but she trusted Willie because, well, because he was Willie. He would help her as soon as he got home. The man took his hand off the doorknob and shook hands with Willie’s father. “Let your son know she’ll do fine.” Cracker could see he was planning to take her somewhere now. She growled and started to leap at him. The man jerked the chain upward, briefly hanging Cracker in the air. She felt her throat constrict, and for a moment everything went black.
WILLIE LOOKED UP AT THE THIRD-FLOOR WINDOW where he always saw Cracker waiting for him. He gasped when he saw that Cracker wasn’t there. That might mean they’d already taken her. She had ESP, so she always knew when he was coming home, even when he was early. He started to trot. He’d probably get in trouble the next day for the way he’d jumped up from his desk and run from the classroom, but his parents could write a letter making up some excuse.
Willie called out to the closed window: “Cracker! Cra-a-a-acker!” She didn’t appear, and Willie broke into a sprint.
Cracker! Page 1
