A Dog's Purpose

by W. Bruce Cameron

  Well, I couldn’t do that. I briefly touched my butt to the floor and then jumped up again. Mom put her hand in and snagged my collar, pushing me back as the door swung wide.

  “Hey, Bailey. Hey, boy,” Ethan said.

  Mom held me away from the boy while he limped in, holding what I would soon learn were called crutches. He went over to the couch and sat down while I twisted and turned in my collar, whimpering. When Mom finally released me I soared across the room in one leap, landing on the boy’s lap, kissing his face.

  “Bailey!” Mom said sternly.

  “No, it’s okay. Bailey, you are such a doodle dog,” the boy praised me. “How are you, huh? I missed you, too, Bailey.”

  Every time he spoke my name, a shiver of pleasure ran through me. I could not get enough of the feel of his hands running through my fur.

  The boy was back.

  Gradually, over the next couple of days, I came to understand that things were not right with the boy. He had pains that he’d never coped with before, and walking was awkward and difficult for him. A mournful sadness drifted off of him, coupled with a gloomy anger that flared sometimes when all he was doing was sitting there looking out the window.

  That first week or two the boy would leave every day for a car ride with Mom, and when he came home he was tired and sweaty and usually wound up taking a nap. The weather turned warm and the leaves came out and Mom had to go to work, so the boy and I were left alone in the apartment with Felix, who spent all of his time plotting to escape out the front door. I have no idea what he thought he was going to accomplish out there, but the boy had a rule against the cat going outside, so that was that—except Felix didn’t follow any rules, which I found to be maddening. He often scratched at a post in the living room, but the one time I decided to lift my leg on the thing everyone shouted. He never finished his dinner, though nobody ever thanked me when I cleaned up after him—in fact, this was something else I got yelled at about. Part of me wanted to see him get away with his plans to run off, just so I wouldn’t have to put up with him anymore. On the other hand, he was always up for a little wrestling, as long as I didn’t get too rough. He would even make a game of chasing a ball when Ethan rolled it down the hallway, usually veering off to let me grab it and take it back, which I thought was very sporting of Felix. He really didn’t have much choice, though, since I was, after all, the dog in charge.

  It was not as fun as the Farm, nor even as fun as the house, but I was happy in the apartment because the boy was there nearly all the time.

  “I think it is time you should go back to school,” Mom said at dinner one night. I knew the word “school” and looked at the boy, who crossed his arms. I felt the sad anger inside of him.

  “I’m not ready,” the boy said. His finger raised up and touched a deep purple scar on his cheek. “Not until I can walk better.”

  I sat up. Walk? Were we going for a walk?

  “Ethan. There’s no reason—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Mom!” Ethan shouted.

  Ethan never shouted at Mom and I could immediately feel that he was sorry, but neither of them said anything after that.

  A few days later, though, there was a knock on the door and, when Ethan answered, the apartment filled with boys. I recognized some of their smells as the boys who played football in the big yards, and most of them called me by name. I glanced over to see how Felix was taking my special status, but he was pretending it didn’t make him jealous.

  The boys laughed and shouted and stood around for about an hour, and I felt Ethan’s heart lifting. His happiness made me happy, so I went and got a ball and carried it around in my mouth in the living room. One of the boys grabbed it and rolled it down the hallway, and we played for several minutes.

  A few days after all the boys came to visit, Ethan got up early and left with Mom.

  School.

  The boy was walking with the help of a polished stick called a cane when we moved out of the apartment. The cane was very special: the boy never threw it, and I instinctively understood that I wasn’t supposed to chew on it, not even a little.

  I didn’t know where we were going when we all loaded into the car, but I was excited just the same. Car rides were always exciting, no matter where we went.

  I grew pretty excited when the familiar smells of the creek and the street came through the window, and I bounded in through the front door of the house as soon as they let me out of the car. Though I could still smell smoke, the air was also filled with the scent of new wood and carpet, and the windows in the living room were larger. Felix seemed very suspicious of his surroundings, but I was out the dog door and racing around in the relative freedom of the backyard within seconds of arriving. When I barked with joy, Duchess answered from down the street. Home!

  We’d barely settled in when we took the big car ride to the Farm. Life was finally back on track, though the boy was much less inclined to run than to walk, leaning on the cane.

  One of the first places we went was to Hannah’s house. I knew the route pretty well and galloped way ahead, so I saw her first. “Bailey! Hi, Bailey!” she called. I ran up for some of her in-depth cuddling and scratching, and then the boy came up the driveway, panting a little. The girl went down the steps and stood there in the sun, waiting for him.

  “Hi,” the boy said. He seemed a little uncertain.

  “Hi,” the girl said.

  I yawned and scratched at an itch on my jaw.

  “Well, are you going to kiss me or what?” the girl asked. Ethan went to give her a long hug.

  He dropped his cane.

  Some things were different that summer. Ethan began waking up long before sunrise and driving Grandpa’s truck up and down the county roads, shoving papers into people’s boxes. They were the same papers that the boy had once placed all over the carpet in the house, but somehow I didn’t think it would be appreciated very much if I urinated on them, even though there had been a time, when I was a puppy, when wetting down the papers would have gained me high praise.

  Hannah and the boy spent many hours together, sitting quietly by themselves, sometimes not talking, just wrestling. Sometimes she even went on the early morning car rides, though normally it was just the boy and me, Bailey the front-seat dog.

  “Got to earn some money, Bailey,” he sometimes said. I would wag at my name. “No football scholarship now, that’s for sure. I’ll never be able to participate in sports again.”

  At the sadness in him I always pushed my nose under his hand.

  “My whole life’s dream. All gone now, because of Todd.”

  Ethan had brought the flip with him to the Farm, for some reason, and sometimes he would cut it up and resew it, generally making it even more embarrassing than it had been before. But my favorite time was when we’d swim together in the pond. It seemed the only time that the boy’s leg didn’t give him pain. We even played the sinking game, as we had been doing for years; now, though he was much heavier, harder to drag out of the water than ever before. When I dove after him I felt so happy, I never wanted it to end.

  I knew it would, though. I felt the nights growing longer, and that meant we’d soon be going home.

  I was lying under the table one evening while Mom and Grandma talked. Ethan had gone on a car ride with Hannah and had not taken me, so I assumed they had to do something that wasn’t very fun.

  “I want to talk to you about something,” Grandma told Mom.

  “Mother,” Mom said.

  “No, just listen. That boy has completely changed since coming here. He’s happy, he’s healthy, he’s got a girl . . . why take him back to the city? He can finish high school right here.”

  “You make it sound like we live in the ghetto,” Mom complained with a laugh.

  “You’re not answering me because . . . well, we both know why. I know your husband will be against it. But Gary is traveling almost one hundred percent, now, and you said your hours at the school are killing yo
u. The boy needs a family around him while he rebuilds.”

  “Yes, Gary’s traveling, but he still wants to see Ethan when he’s home. And I can’t just quit my job.”

  “I’m not telling you to. You know you are welcome to come up any time you want, and why can’t Gary fly into our little airport here on a given weekend? Or, and please know that I only want the best for you, wouldn’t it be good for the two of you to be alone right now? If you and Gary are going to fix the problems between you, you need to do it somewhere other than in front of Ethan.”

  I pricked up my ears a little at the boy’s name. Was he home? I cocked my head but didn’t hear his car.

  When the nights turned cool and the baby ducks were all as big as their mother, Mom packed the car. I paced nervously, afraid I’d be left behind, and when the moment was right I jumped neatly into the backseat. For some reason, everyone laughed. I sat in the car and watched as Mom hugged Grandma and Grandpa and then, curiously, Ethan, who then came over and opened the car door. “Bailey? Do you want to go with Mom, or stay here with me?”

  There was nothing in the question that I understood, so I just looked at him.

  “Come on, doodle dog. Bailey! Come!”

  I reluctantly jumped out into the driveway. No car ride?

  Mom drove off in the car, with Ethan and Grandma and Grandpa waving. Though it made no sense, the boy and I were staying on the Farm!

  That suited me just fine. Almost every day started with a long car ride in the dark, driving from house to house to drop off papers. By the time we got home, Grandma would be cooking breakfast, and Grandpa always slipped me something under the table—bacon, ham, a piece of toast. I learned to chew silently so that Grandma wouldn’t say, “Are you feeding the dog again?” The tone in her voice when I picked up the word “dog” suggested to me that Grandpa and I needed to keep the whole operation quiet.

  The word “school” was back in play, but there was no bus, just Ethan driving off—though sometimes the girl came over and they took a car ride in her car. I understood that there was no reason for alarm, that Ethan would be back by the end of the day and Hannah would eat dinner with us as often as not.

  Mom came to visit a lot, and Mom and Dad were there during Merry Christmas. Mom’s hands smelled like Felix the kitty when she reached down to pet me, but I didn’t mind.

  I thought the boy and I had decided to stay at the Farm forever, but toward the end of that summer I sensed we were headed for yet another change. The boy started putting things in boxes, a sure signal that we were soon going to be on our way home. Hannah was around nearly all the time, and she felt a little sad and fearful. When she hugged the boy, there was so much love between them I couldn’t help but try to squirm in between their bodies, which always made them laugh.

  One morning, I knew it was time. Grandpa loaded the boxes into the car, Grandma and Mom talked, and Ethan and Hannah hugged. I paced, looking for an opening, but Grandpa had gotten pretty good at blocking me and I hadn’t yet managed to get inside the car.

  The boy came over to me and knelt beside me. I could feel some sadness coming from him. “You be a good dog, Bailey,” he said.

  I wagged to show him that I understood that I was a good dog and that it was time to go on the big car ride home.

  “I’ll be home at Thanksgiving break, okay? I’m going to miss you, doodle dog.” He gave me a big, loving hug. I half-closed my eyes—there simply was no better feeling in the world than to be hugged by my boy.

  “You’d better hold him; he’s not going to understand,” Ethan said. The girl stepped forward and grabbed my collar. The sadness was coming off of her in waves, and she was crying. I was torn between wanting to comfort her and needing to get in the car. Reluctantly I sat at her feet, waiting for this strange drama to end so I could sit in the seat with my nose out the car window.

  “Write me every day!” Hannah said.

  “I will!” Ethan called back.

  I stared in disbelief as he and Mom got into the car and slammed the doors. I pulled away from Hannah, who didn’t understand that I was supposed to go with them! She held tight. “No, Bailey, it’s okay. You Stay.”

  Stay? Stay? The car honked and drove off down the driveway. Grandpa and Grandma were waving—couldn’t anybody see that I was still here?

  “He’ll do just fine. Ferris is a good school,” Grandpa said. “Big Rapids is a nice town.”

  They all turned from the driveway, Hannah loosening her grip just enough for me to break free.

  “Bailey!” she shouted.

  Though the car was out of sight, the dust trail was still in the air, easy to follow as I chased after my boy.

  { SEVENTEEN }

  Cars are fast.

  I never really knew this. Back home, before Marshmallow went away, she used to run down into the street, barking at cars, and they usually stopped, or at least slowed down enough that she could catch them, though all she ever did at that point was veer off and pretend she never wanted to attack them in the first place.

  As I ran after the boy’s car, I had the sense that it was pulling farther and farther away from me. The scent of dust and exhaust grew thin and tenuous, but I picked up a clear sign of a right turn where the road became pavement, though after that I wasn’t sure I could smell him at all. But I couldn’t give up; I turned myself over to the mindless panic and continued my pursuit.

  Ahead of me I heard the loud rumble of a train, clanking and shaking, and when I topped a rise and saw it I finally caught a whiff of the boy. His car, windows down, was parked on the road at the train crossing.

  I was exhausted. I had never run so far or so fast in my life, but I ran harder still when the side door opened and the boy stood up.

  “Oh, Bailey,” he said.

  While every part of me wanted to tackle him and be loved, I wasn’t going to miss my chance, and I veered from him at the last second and bounded into the car.

  “Bailey!” Mom laughed.

  I licked them both, forgiving them for forgetting me. After the train passed, Mom started the car and turned it around, then stopped because Grandpa showed up in his truck—maybe he was coming home with us this time!

  “Like a rocket,” Grandpa said. “Hard to believe he got this far.”

  “How long would you have gone, huh, Bailey? You doodle dog,” Ethan told me affectionately.

  It was with great suspicion that I jumped into Grandpa’s truck, though—suspicion that proved justified, because while Ethan and Mom drove on, Grandpa turned around and took me back to the Farm.

  Mostly I liked Grandpa. From time to time he’d do “chores,” which meant we’d go into the new barn, toward the back, where soft hay was piled, and take a nap. During cold days Grandpa had a couple of heavy blankets he’d wrap around us. But the first few days after the boy left, I sulked in Grandpa’s presence, punishing him for bringing me back to the Farm. When that didn’t work, all I could think to do was chew up a pair of Grandma’s shoes, but that still didn’t bring the boy back.

  I just couldn’t get past the utter betrayal of it all. I knew that out there somewhere, probably back home, the boy needed me, didn’t understand where I was.

  Everyone was infuriatingly calm, seemingly oblivious to the catastrophic change that had struck the household. I became so frantic I even dug into the boy’s closet and brought out the flip, running down and tossing it into Grandma’s lap.

  “What in the world is this?” she exclaimed.

  “It’s Ethan’s big invention,” Grandpa said.

  I barked. Yes! Ethan!

  “You want to go outside and play, Bailey?” Grandma asked me. “Why don’t you take him for a walk.”

  Walk? Walk to see the boy?

  “I thought I’d watch a little of the game here,” Grandpa replied.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Grandma said. She went to the door and tossed the flip out in the yard, barely sending the thing five yards. I bounded over, grabbed it, and then stared in ab
solute noncomprehension when she shut the door, leaving me outside.

  Well, okay then. I spat out the flip and trotted past Flare, heading down the driveway. I went over to the girl’s house, which I had already done several times since Ethan left. I could smell her scent everywhere, but the boy’s scent was gradually fading away. A car pulled into her driveway and Hannah jumped out. “Bye!” she said. She turned and looked at me. “Well, hi, Bailey!”

  I ran up to her, wagging. I could smell several other people’s scents in her clothes, but there was no sign of Ethan. Hannah did go for a walk with me back home, and when she knocked on the door Grandma let her in and fed some pie to her but not to me.

  I often dreamed of the boy. I dreamed of him jumping into the pond, with me swimming down and down to play rescue. I dreamed of him doing the go-kart, how happy and excited he was. And sometimes I dreamed of him jumping out of the window, the sharp crack of pain rising in a shout from his lips as he fell in the flaming bushes. I hated those dreams, and I was just awakening from one of them one night when I saw the boy standing above me.

  “Hi, Bailey!” he whispered, his scent flowing off of him. He was back on the Farm! I jumped to my feet, putting my paws on his chest to lick his face. “Shhh,” he told me. “It’s late; I just got here. Everybody’s sleeping.”

  It was Happy Thanksgiving time, and life was back to normal. Mom was there, but not Dad. Hannah came over every day.

  The boy seemed happy, but I could also feel that he was distracted. He spent a lot of time looking at papers instead of playing with me, even when I brought him the stupid flip to try to shake him out of it.

  I wasn’t surprised when he left again. This was my new life, I realized. I lived on the Farm with Grandpa and Grandma, and Ethan only came home for visits. It wasn’t what I wanted, but as long as the boy always returned, I had an easier time seeing him leave.

  It was on one of his visits, when the air was warm and leaves were freshly out, that Ethan and I went to see Hannah running around in a big yard. I could smell her, as well as other boys and girls, because the wind flowed off the yard and their bodies were sweating as they ran. It looked like fun, but I stayed by Ethan’s side, because it seemed that while we stood there the ache in his leg became more pronounced, spreading through his body. Odd, dark emotions swirled inside him as he watched her and the others run.