he wanted to cry.
But his mother was standing there,
so he didn’t.
Miss Klein smiled at the mayor.
“Hello, Patricia,”
she said.
“I’m glad you’ve found your dog,”
Mark’s mother said.
Miss Klein nodded.
“The truth is,”
she said,
“I don’t seem to be doing very well
by my dog.
In fact,
the real truth is
I’d be glad if she could find
a better home.”
Every muscle
in Mark’s body
went still.
Even his heart seemed
to quit beating.
“Mom?”
he said,
his voice trembling.
But his mother went right on talking
to Miss Klein
as though he hadn’t spoken.
“Perhaps,”
she said,
“you could put up a notice
on the bulletin board
at the grocery store.
There must be someone
here in Erthly
who wants
a dog.”
Someone?
Someone!
Anger zigged through Mark’s veins
like lightning.
Didn’t his mother see him,
standing here
right in front of her?
Had she never seen him
in his entire life?
“You’re right.”
Miss Klein said.
“That’s what I should do.
I’ll post a notice
at the grocery store.
She’s a nice dog,
really.
Someone will be happy
to have her.”
And as she spoke,
she reached to take Buddy
from Mark’s arms.
Mark jerked away
from the grasping hands,
glaring.
But it was his mother
he glared at.
“There is somebody!”
he shouted.
“Don’t you know?
I want a dog!
I need a dog!
I’ve needed a dog
my whole life!”
And having said that,
he had said it all.
There was nothing more.
So,
holding Buddy close
against his heart,
Mark turned
and ran.
When Mark grew too tired
to run any longer,
he walked.
When his arms grew too tired
to carry the little dog any farther,
he set Buddy down beside him.
Then he watched
to see what she would do.
She stayed close without a leash,
so they kept going.
When they reached the edge of town,
they stopped
and stood for a long time,
gazing across the fields
and the patches of shadowy woods
that stretched beyond Erthly.
A light shone
in a farmhouse
far away.
Too far away to reach by walking.
And even if he tried,
what would he say
when he got there?
“No one wants us in Erthly.
Can we come live with you?”
Mark knelt beside the little dog.
He stroked her satiny coat,
and she gazed up at him
with trusting eyes.
“I’m sorry,”
he said.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
And so,
still walking side by side,
they began the trek
toward
home.
Stars winked
in a clearing sky
by the time they reached Walnut Street.
When they came to Charles Larue’s mansion,
the oak tree,
and the tall iron fence
with spikes,
Walnut Street stood silent and empty.
Mark checked the tower,
but he saw no one.
A few blocks on,
though,
he could see a light shining
on the front stoop
of his house.
When he got there,
when he walked up the sidewalk
with Buddy at his side,
he found his mother
sitting on the top step,
waiting.
“Hello, Mark,”
she said.
Mark’s feet stopped.
Buddy stopped
beside him.
His mother stood.
“Will you come in?”
she said.
“Buddy, too?”
he asked.
“Yes,”
his mother replied.
“We can’t have lost dogs
running loose
in Erthly.”
Mark and Buddy followed his mother
into the house.
Mark stopped
just inside the door.
Buddy sat down neatly
by his side.
Mark checked out
the crease
in the pale space
between his mother’s eyebrows,
and then
he began talking.
The words tumbled out.
“Please,”
he began.
“You’ve got to understand.”
And so he told her
what it was like to be a boy
without a dad
or a brother
or a sister
or even a cousin
living close enough to count.
He told her how lonely their little house was
sometimes,
even when they both were there.
He even told her how,
every night,
he patted the edge of his bed
and how,
every night,
his imaginary dog
jumped up
to sleep
next to him.
His mother listened,
her gaze traveling back and forth
between Mark
and the small black and brown dog.
When Mark was done talking,
the room itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then,
just when he thought
no one
would ever speak
again,
his mother began.
She told him about a little girl
and about a big dog
with lots of teeth.
She told about being hurt,
about being scared,
about how dogs—
even small dogs
who were perfectly polite with their teeth—
still made her tremble inside.
And after she had told him all that,
she said,
“I’m sorry, Mark.
I didn’t understand.”
Mark melted
like butter.
His mother was afraid?
His mother,
who had brought him into the world
alone,
who had taken care of him
every day of his life
alone,
who had faced every crisis—
flu and flat tires and overflowing toilets—
alone,
his brave mother
was afraid of this small
black and brown
dog?
He took a deep breath,
then asked,
“Will you let me teach you
how to say hello
to a dog
you’ve never met before?”
The crease grew deeper,
but still
his mother nodded.
So Mark showed her . . .
how to speak in a soft voice,
how to put her hand out slowly
to let Buddy sniff,
how to give the little dog a scratch
on the neck.
“Polite dogs don’t put their paws
on one another’s heads,”
he said.
His mother scratched Buddy
very carefully,
just below her chin.
Then she smiled.
When Buddy sniffed her hand
and gave it a lick,
the smile grew.
“Mom,”
Mark said,
“please?
I need—”
“I know,”
his mother said.
And then she added,
“Miss Klein is going to bring
Buddy’s things over here tomorrow.
Apparently
there is a stuffed cat
she is quite fond of.”
Mark threw his arms
around his mother
and cried.
Mark patted the place
next to where he lay in bed.
“Here you go,”
he said.
“Come on up now.”
The little dog
jumped
right
up.
Mark picked up one of her paws
and pressed the pads to his nose.
Her feet
smelled like warm toast.
He ran a finger from her narrow muzzle
all the way to her whiplike tail.
Her coat was smooth and silky warm.
What perfect ears she had!
What a nice brown mask!
What a pretty circle of brown fur
beneath her tail!
She was perfect in every way . . .
except,
maybe,
her name.
A girl dog
shouldn’t be named
Buddy.
Besides . . .
a new dog
in a new home
deserved a new name.
So he said to his mother
when she came
to tuck them both in,
“Name something precious.”
“You,”
she answered
without a second’s thought,
and she brushed her palm
across his porcupine hair.
“Something else,”
he said.
“Diamonds,”
she said.
Mark studied the little black and brown dog,
then shook his head.
“Can you think of something else?”
he asked.
“Rubies?”
his mother offered.
Mark thought about that.
Ruby.
He liked it.
“I’m going to call her Ruby,”
he told his mother.
“What do you think?”
He said the name like someone
reciting a prayer.
“I think ‘Ruby’ is perfect,”
his mother told him.
Mark gave his mom a hug.
Then
he cupped Ruby’s pointy face
between his hands
and kissed his dog
on the lips.
Ruby was quick.
She caught Mark’s mouth with her tongue
at the exact instant of the kiss.
“Arghhh!” Mark said.
And he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Then he kissed her on the lips
again.
Ruby rose into the air
just beneath the spinning red ball.
She rose and rose
as though her hind legs were springs,
as though her front ones were wings.
At the very top of her leap,
she snatched the ball,
twisted,
and landed neatly
on all four paws.
Lifting her head high,
lifting her paws
to dance
through the crisp carpet of leaves,
she brought the ball
to Mark,
dropped it,
shining with spit,
at his feet,
and bowed
a dog’s deep let’s-play-some-more bow.
“Good girl!” Mark said,
and he picked up the ball
and threw it again.
His friends would be here soon,
the Dog-Park Pack.
They would come,
as they did nearly every day,
to the dog park
with their dogs—
or their almost-dogs—
and everyone would run and play together
in the autumn sunshine.
Larue would probably come out
onto his porch
to watch
too.
(That’s what he’d told the kids to call him,
just Larue.)
The town had given him
a shiny new bench for his porch,
so he could sit and watch,
so anyone who came by
could sit with him
to visit.
Ruby dropped the ball
at Mark’s feet
again.
How could such a small dog
be so fast?
How could she keep those fantastic ears
flying?
Mark lunged at her to change the game,
and she took off,
running.
He followed,
splashing through the crisp leaves—
red and gold and bronze—
until he could dart behind a pine tree
and crouch there,
hidden in its fat shadow.
When Ruby discovered she was no longer
being chased,
she turned back,
sniffing
zigzag
along
the
ground
as though any scent she found there
would surely bring her
to her boy.
What kind of trail she had hold of,
Mark could only guess.
A rabbit’s,
maybe,
or a night-wandering raccoon.
Perhaps the skitterings of the squirrels.
Whatever it was,
she came charging
around the base of the tree
to pounce against his chest.
Mark pretended to be bowled over,
and the two of them rolled and rolled
through the dusty crunch of leaves.
Then they lay together,
heart to heart,
panting.
Friends,
a dog park,
a mother who understood,
a dog.
What more could a boy want?
Friends,
a dog park,
a mother who understood,
a boy.
What more could a dog want
either?
Little dog,
lost.
Little black dog with brown paws
and a brown mask
and a sweet ruffle of brown fur on her bum
just beneath her black whip of a tail.
Satiny coat.
Ears like airplane wings
that drop,
just at the tips.
Little dog,
found.
Marion Dane Bauer is the author of more than eighty books, ranging from board books an
d picture books to easy readers, both fiction and nonfiction, and middle-grade and young adult novels, including On My Honor, which won a Newbery Honor in 1987. She was one of the founders and the first faculty chair of the Vermont College of Fine Arts MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults. She lives with her partner in St. Paul, Minnesota.
Jennifer A. Bell graduated with a degree in Fine Arts from the Columbus College of Art and Design and worked for several years as a product designer before establishing herself as an illustrator. She lives with her husband and son in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Simon & Schuster • New York
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KIDS.SimonandSchuster.com
ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
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.
Text copyright © 2012 by Marion Dane Bauer
Illustrations copyright © 2012 by Jennifer A. Bell
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
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Book design by Lauren Rille
Jacket design by Lauren Rille
Jacket illustrations copyright © 2012 by Jennifer A. Bell
The text for this book is set in Perpetua.
The illustrations for this book are rendered in pencil and finished digitally.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bauer, Marion Dane.
Little dog, lost / Marion Dane Bauer ; illustrated by Jennifer Bell. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-4424-3423-3 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4424-3425-7 (eBook)
[1. Novels in verse. 2. Loneliness—Fiction. 3. Dogs—Fiction. 4. Parks—Fiction. 5. City and town life—Fiction.] I. Bell, Jennifer A., ill. II. Title.
PZ7.5.B385Li 2012
[Fic]—dc23 2011034024
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