“Let’s go play ball, Buddy!” Chase suggested. Now that I could respond to!
One beautiful spring day I was home alone with Ethan, napping drowsily while he read a book in the warm sunlight streaming through the picture window. Hannah had just left in the car, and, at that particular moment, our home was uncharacteristically empty of visiting family members. Suddenly my eyes snapped open. I turned and looked at Ethan, who met my gaze curiously. “What did you hear, Buddy?” he asked me. “Did a car pull up?”
There was something wrong with the boy; I could sense it. With a slight whimper, I got to my feet. Anxiety washed through me. He’d gone back to his book but laughed in surprise when I put my paws on the couch, as if to climb on top of him. “Whoa, Buddy, what are you doing?”
The sense of impending disaster increased. I barked helplessly.
“Are you okay? Do you need to go out?” He gestured toward the dog door, then pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Whew. Little dizzy, there.”
I sat. He blinked, looking off into the distance. “Tell you what, old boy, let’s you and me go back and take a nap.” He got to his feet, swaying unsteadily. Panting nervously, I followed him back to the bedroom. He sat on the bed and groaned. “Oh,” he said.
Something tore inside of his head; I could feel it. He sank back, sucking in a deep breath. I jumped on top of the bed, but he didn’t say anything, just stared at me, glassy-eyed.
There was nothing for me to do. I nuzzled his slack hand, fearfully conscious of the strange forces loose inside him. His breathing was shallow, shuddering.
After an hour, he stirred. Something was still really wrong with him, but I could feel him gathering his resources, struggling to break free of whatever gripped him the way I had once struggled to find the surface of the cold water from the storm drain, when I had the little boy Geoffrey in my teeth.
“Oh,” Ethan panted. “Oh. Hannah.”
More time passed. I whined softly, feeling the fight continue within him. Then his eyes opened. At first they were unfocused, confused, and then they lit upon me, widening.
“Why, hello, Bailey,” he shocked me by saying. “How have you been? I’ve missed you, dog.” His hand groped for my fur. “Good dog, Bailey,” he said.
It wasn’t a mistake. Somehow, he knew. These magnificent creatures, with their complex minds, were capable of so much more than a dog, and the sure conviction coming from him now let me know that he had put it all together. He was looking at me and seeing Bailey.
“How about the day of the go-karts, eh, Bailey? We sure did show them, that day. We sure did.”
I wanted to let him know that yes, I was Bailey, I was his one and only dog, and that I understood that whatever was happening inside him was letting him see me as I truly was. It dawned on me how I might do this, and in a flash I was off the bed and down the hall. I reached up and grabbed the knob to the closet just the way my first mother had taught me, and the old mechanism turned easily in my mouth, the door popping open. I nosed it aside and dove into the pile of musty things at the bottom, tossing aside boots and umbrellas until I had it in my mouth: the flip.
When I jumped back on the bed and dropped the thing in his hand, Ethan started as if I had just awakened him. “Wow! Bailey, you found the flip; where did you get this, boy?”
I licked his face.
“Well now. Let’s just see.”
What he did next was the last thing I wanted. His body trembling with the effort, he hauled himself over to the window, which had been cranked open to admit the fresh air. “Okay, Bailey. Get the flip!” he called. With an awkward motion he managed to fumble the flip onto the windowsill and push it outside.
I didn’t want to leave his side, not even for a second, but I couldn’t disobey him when he repeated his command. My toenails scrabbling on the carpet, I bounded across the living room floor and out the dog door, peeling around the side of the house and scooping the flip up from the bushes where it had fallen. I spun and raced back to the house, resenting every second the stupid flip was keeping me apart from my boy.
When I returned to the bedroom, I saw that things had taken a turn for the worse. Ethan had sat on the floor where he had been standing, and his eyes were unfocused, his breathing labored. I spat out the object I’d brought him—the time for that had passed. Carefully, so as not to hurt him, I crept forward, putting my head in his lap.
He would be leaving me soon; I could hear it in the slowing of his raspy breathing. My boy was dying.
I could not join him on his journey and did not know where it would lead him. People are vastly more complicated than dogs and served a much more important purpose. The job of a good dog was ultimately to be with them, remaining by their sides no matter what course their lives might take. All I could do now was offer him comfort, the assurance that as he left this life he was not alone but rather was tended by the dog who loved him more than anything in the whole world.
His hand, weak and trembling, touched the fur above my neck. “I will miss you, doodle dog,” Ethan said to me.
I put my face to his, I felt his breath and tenderly licked his face while he struggled to focus his gaze on me. Eventually, he gave up, his eyes sliding away. I didn’t know if he saw me now as Bailey or Buddy, but it didn’t matter. I was his dog, and he was my boy.
I felt the consciousness ebb from him as gradually as daylight leaves the sky after sunset. There was no pain, no fear, nothing but the sense that my brave boy was going where he was supposed to go. Through it all, I could feel him aware of me lying in his lap until, with one last, shuddering breath, he was aware of nothing at all.
I lay there quietly with my boy in the stillness of that spring afternoon, the house silent and empty. Soon the girl would be home, and, remembering how hard it had been for everyone to say good-bye to Bailey and Ellie and even the cats, I knew she would need my help to face life without the boy.
As for me: I loyally remained right where I was, remembering the very first time I had ever seen the boy and then just now, the very last time—and all the times in between. The deep aching grief I knew I would feel would come soon enough, but at that moment mostly what I felt was peace, secure in the knowledge that by living my life the way I had, everything had come down to this moment.
I had fulfilled my purpose.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A DOG’S PURPOSE
Copyright © 2010 by W. Bruce Cameron
All rights reserved.
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-1-4299-6027-4
First Edition: July 2010
Printed in the United States of America
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
eISBN 9781429960274
To all the people who work so hard to rescue, foster, and save animals who find themselves lost in the world
ONE
As I sat in the sun on the wooden dock that jutted out into the pond, I knew this to be true: my name was Buddy, and I was a good dog.
The fur on my legs was as black as the rest of me, but down at my paws it had, over time, become tinged with white. I had lived a long and full life with a boy named Ethan, spending many lazy afternoons on this very dock, here on the Farm, enjoying a swim or barking at the ducks.
This was the second summer without Ethan. When he died I felt a pain inside me much sharper than any other I’d ever felt. Now the pain was less, more like a stomachache, but I still felt it all the time. Only sleep soothed it away—in my sleep, Ethan ran with me through my dreams.
I was an old dog and knew that someday soon a much deeper sleep would come, as it had always come for me befor
e. It came for me when I was named Toby, in my silly first life, when I had no real purpose but to play with other dogs. It came for me when I was named Bailey, when I first met my boy and loving him became my whole focus. It came for me when I was Ellie, when my job was to Work, to Find people, and to Save them. So when the deeper sleep came for me next, at the end of this life, as Buddy, I felt sure that I would not live again, that I had fulfilled my purpose and there was no reason for me to be a dog anymore. So whether it happened this summer or the next didn’t matter. Ethan, loving Ethan, was my ultimate purpose, and I had done it as well as I could. I was a good dog.
And yet …
And yet as I sat there I was watching one of the many children from Ethan’s family striding unsteadily toward the end of the dock. She hadn’t been walking very long in her life, so every step was a wobble. She wore white puffy pants and a thin shirt. I pictured jumping in the water and pulling her to the surface by that shirt, and I let out a soft whimper.
The child’s mother’s name was Gloria. She was on the dock, too, lying motionless on a reclined chair with bits of vegetables placed on both of her eyes. Her hand had been holding a leash that went to the little girl’s waist, but the leash had gone slack in Gloria’s hand and was now trailing behind the child as she headed for the end of the dock and the pond beyond.
As a puppy my reaction to a limp leash was always to explore, and this little girl’s response was just the same.
This was Gloria’s second visit to the Farm. The previous time was in the wintertime. Ethan had still been alive, and Gloria had handed the baby to him and called him Grandpa. After Gloria left, Ethan and his mate, Hannah, said the name Gloria out loud many times over many nights, with sad emotions underlying their conversations.
They also said the name Clarity. The baby’s name was Clarity, though often Gloria called her Clarity June.
I felt certain that Ethan would want me to watch over Clarity, who always seemed to be getting into trouble. Just the other day I had sat by miserably while the baby crawled under the bird feeder and stuffed handfuls of fallen seeds into her mouth. It was one of my main jobs to terrorize the squirrels when they did this, but I wasn’t sure what to do when I caught Clarity at it, even though I knew that for a child to eat birdseed was probably against a rule. And I was right about that—when I finally barked a few times, Gloria sat up from where she had been lying facedown on a towel and she was very angry.
I glanced at Gloria now. Should I bark? Children often jumped into the pond but never when they were as young as this little girl, though the way she was going it seemed inevitable she was going to get wet. Babies were only allowed in the water with adults holding them. I looked back toward the house. Hannah was outside, kneeling and playing with flowers up by the driveway, too far away to do anything if Clarity fell in the pond. I was pretty sure Hannah would want me to watch over Clarity, too. It was my new purpose.
Clarity was getting closer to the edge. I let out another whimper, a louder one.
“Hush,” Gloria said without opening her eyes. I didn’t understand the word, but the sharp tone was unmistakable.
Clarity didn’t even look back. When she got to the edge of the dock, she teetered briefly and then fell straight off the front.
My nails dug into the wood as I lunged off the side of the dock and into the warm water. Clarity bobbed up a little, her little limbs working frantically, but her head was mostly below the pond’s surface. I reached her in seconds, my teeth gently snagging the shirt. I pulled her head out of the water and turned for the shore.
Gloria started screaming, “Oh my God! Clarity!” She ran around and waded into the water just as my feet found purchase on the mucky bottom of the pond.
“Bad dog!” she shouted as she snatched Clarity from me. “You are a bad, bad dog!”
I hung my head in shame.
“Gloria! What happened?” Hannah shouted as she came running up.
“Your dog just knocked the baby into the water. Clarity could have drowned! I had to jump in to save her and now I’m all wet!”
The distress in everyone’s voices was very plain.
“Buddy?” Hannah said.
I didn’t dare look at her. I wagged my tail a little and it splashed the surface of the pond. I didn’t know what I had done wrong, but clearly I had upset everyone.
Everyone, that is, except Clarity. I risked a glance at her because I could sense her straining in her mother’s arms, her little hands reaching out toward me.
“Bubby,” Clarity gurgled. Her pants were streaming water down her legs. I dropped my eyes again.
Gloria blew out some air. “Hannah, would you mind taking the baby? Her diaper’s all wet and I want to lie on my stomach so I’ll be the same color on both sides.”
“Sure,” Hannah said. “Come on, Buddy.”
Thankful we had that over with, I leaped out of the water, wagging my tail.
“Don’t shake!” Gloria said, dancing away from me on the dock. I heard the warning in her voice, though I wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell me. I shook myself from head to tail, ridding my fur of the pond water.
“Yuck, no!” Gloria shrieked. She sternly lectured me, pointing her finger and using a whole string of words I didn’t understand, though she did say “bad dog” a few times. I lowered my head, blinking.
“Buddy, come,” Hannah said. Her tone was gentle. I followed obediently as we went up to the house.
“Bubby,” Clarity kept saying. “Bubby.”
As we reached the front steps to the house I paused because of the odd taste in my mouth. I’d had it before—it reminded me of the time when I pulled a thin metal pan out of the trash that was lined with sweet flavors and, after licking it clean, experimentally crunched up the pan itself. The metal tasted bad, so I spat it out. This particular taste, though, I couldn’t spit out—it sat on my tongue and invaded my nose.
“Buddy?” Hannah stood on the front porch, regarding me. “What’s wrong?”
I wagged and bounded up onto the porch, leading the way into the house when she opened the door.
It was always fun to walk through that door, whether it was going inside or heading out, because it meant we were doing something new.
Later I stood guard while Hannah and Clarity played a new game. Hannah would carry Clarity to the top of the stairs and then watch while Clarity turned around and went down the stairs in a backward crawl. Usually Hannah would say “Good girl,” and I would wag my tail. When Clarity got to the bottom step I would lick her in the face and she would giggle; then she would raise her arms to Hannah. “Mo’,” she would beg. “Mo,’ Gramma. Mo’.” When she said this Hannah would lift her up and kiss her and then take her to the top of the stairs to do it again.
When I felt satisfied they were safe I went to my favorite spot in the living room, circled, and lay down with a sigh. A few minutes later Clarity came over to me, dragging her blanket. She had the thing in her mouth that she chewed on but never swallowed.
“Bubby,” she said. She dropped to all fours and crawled the last few feet to me and curled up against me, pulling her blanket against herself with her tiny hands. I sniffed her head—nobody in the world smelled like Clarity. Her scent filled me with a warm feeling that nudged me into a nap.
We were still sleeping when I heard the screen door shut and Gloria come into the room. “Oh, Clarity!” she said. I blearily opened my eyes as Gloria reached down and snatched the little girl away from where she’d been sleeping. The place where Clarity had been snuggled against me felt oddly cold and empty without her there.
Hannah came out from the kitchen. “I’m making cookies,” she said.
I eased myself to my feet because I knew that word. Wagging, I went over to sniff Hannah’s sweet-smelling hands.
“The baby was sleeping right up against the dog,” Gloria said. I heard the word “dog” and, as usual, it sounded as if I had made her mad. I wondered if this meant no cookies.
“That’s right,” Hannah said. “Clarity cuddled right up against him.”
“I would just prefer it if my child not sleep next to a dog. If Buddy had rolled over, Clarity might have been crushed.”
I watched Hannah for some clue as to why my name had just been mentioned. She put her hand to her mouth. “I … all right, of course. I won’t let it happen again.”
Clarity was still asleep, her little head against Gloria’s shoulder. Gloria handed the baby to Hannah, then sat with a sigh at the kitchen table. “Is there any ice tea?” she asked.
“I’ll get you some.” Holding the baby, Hannah went to the kitchen counter. She got things out, but I didn’t see any cookies, though I could sure smell them, sugary and warm in the air. I sat obediently, waiting.
“I just think it would be better if, when Clarity and I are visiting, the dog stays out in the yard,” Gloria said. She took a sip of her drink as Hannah joined her at the table. Clarity was stirring and Hannah patted her a little.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”
I lay down with a groan, wondering why people always did this: talked about cookies but didn’t give any to a deserving dog.
“Buddy is part of the family,” Hannah said. I drowsily raised my head to look at her, but still no cookies. “Did I ever tell you how he brought me and Ethan together?”
I froze at the word “Ethan.” His name was mentioned less and less often now in this house, but I couldn’t hear it pronounced without thinking about his smell or his hand in my fur.
“A dog brought you together?” Gloria replied.
“Ethan and I had known each other as children. We were high school sweethearts, but after the fire—you know about the fire that crippled his leg?”
“Your son may have mentioned it; I don’t know. Mostly Henry just talked about himself. You know how men are.”
A Dog's Purpose Boxed Set Page 25
