“We don’t know what happened,” Mom said.
Jacob reached across the table and touched Meg’s hand. “If anyone did, I say we peg him down over a red-ant hole.”
Meg smiled. “I’m in,” she said.
And Jeremy? She grinned at how he was pigging out across from her.
“What?” he said.
“Just watching you eat.”
“Well, don’t.”
Jacob winked at her.
“Maybe the vet will know something about a lost dog,” Mom said. “If not, we’ll tack up some posters. If you make one tonight, we can make copies in the morning.”
“Sure.”
Mom rubbed soothing circles on Meg’s back with her fingertips. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll find his home.”
Meg nodded, barely. She felt the same as Jacob. If somebody dumped Banjo, then he should be thrown into a nest of rattlesnakes. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to find his home.
30
Tyrell had to work late, so one of the guys at Les Schwab gave Danny a ride home. Dad rolled in around six.
A while later, Danny sat cross-legged on the floor in the living room reading an article in Western Horseman. He’d been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes.
Dad was reading The Week magazine, his feet up on the wood-slab coffee table, when someone knocked on the door. He started to get up.
“I’ll get it,” Danny said.
His breath caught when he opened the door.
“Evenin’,” Mr. Brodie said, removing his hat. A black-and-white miniature Banjo puppy was tucked into his left arm.
Dad put the magazine down and stood. “Come on in, Harmon. Have a seat.”
“Thank you, but I only got a minute.”
Mr. Brodie tucked his hat under his arm and stroked the pup’s head. “Been feelin’ bad about your dog, Danny. Your dad told me you done it yourself.” He shook his head, looking at the pup. “I had to shoot a dog once. Hardest thing I ever done in my life, even to this day. She just got too old.”
Danny thought, So you came over here with a dog that looks like Banjo to rub it in?
“Anyways,” Mr. Brodie went on. “Here. It’s yours.”
Danny gaped at him. “You’re…you’re giving me this puppy?”
Mr. Brodie held the puppy out. Danny couldn’t help but take it. Its fur was soft and warm. Holding it in his hands made every dark thought about Mr. Brodie vanish.
“Border collie pup,” Mr. Brodie said. “My Starleen had a litter of six. Good working dogs, especially the females. Know how to be around and protect livestock. This one’s just over three months. She’ll be a good dog for you.”
Danny looked up at Mr. Brodie. Was this a joke?
“Weighs about as much as a ant, don’t she?”
Dad peered over Danny’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to do this, Harmon.”
“No. But like I said, I had to shoot a dog once myself.” He looked at the floor. “Still think it had to be done, but…that don’t make it a easy thing to do.”
He buried his hand in his pocket. With his hat in his other hand he pointed to the pup. “She ain’t completely housebroke yet, so put down some newspapers.”
Danny fumbled for something to say. “Uh…thank you, sir….She’s a nice pup.”
“Well,” Mr. Brodie said. “Guess I’ll go on home.” He put his hat on and touched it with his fingers. “Danny. Ray.”
“Stop by anytime, Harmon,” Dad said.
Mr. Brodie ran a finger under the pup’s chin, then nodded to Danny and left.
Dad scratched the puppy’s head. “Better get some old papers and a bowl of water.”
“Why’d he do this, Dad?”
“He’s not a bad guy, Danny.”
Danny looked at the puppy. “No…but—”
Dad put a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Banjo’s gone, Danny. It’s time to move on.”
Danny opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
31
After Mr. Brodie left, Danny squatted and let the pup explore. She moved pretty well on her young legs.
“What are you going to call her?”
“Let me think on that.”
Danny got a slice of rope from his room. “How about a little tug-of-war, girl?”
His game with Banjo.
The puppy took hold and pulled, Danny remembering how Banjo loved tug-of-war. He hoped some kind person found him and took him home.
After a few minutes of playing with the puppy, Danny went out to the barn and cut up some old planks. He used them to block off a corner in the kitchen and filled the space inside with newspapers.
“Your own corral. When you get to where you piddle outside, I’ll take this thing down. We got a deal?”
The pup walked lightly over the paper.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Cute little thing,” Dad said.
“Still can’t believe Mr. Brodie brought it over.”
“He did that for you, Danny.”
Danny nodded.
“Well, I guess I’ll head to bed. Thought of a name yet?”
“Yeah…Ruby.”
“I like it.”
Danny picked her up and held her nose to nose. She licked his face, a dog kiss.
“Hello, Ruby.”
Danny set her back in the kitchen corral and looked at her. This should feel better than it does.
Not too much later, Tyrell came home. “Where’d you get the pup?” he asked, unbuttoning his grease-stained shirt.
“Mr. Brodie gave her to me.”
Tyrell grinned. “You’re kidding.”
“Came over tonight. He said he felt bad about Banjo.”
Tyrell stood watching Ruby in her corral. “He must have felt real bad, because that’s a real nice border collie.”
“Her name is Ruby.”
Tyrell crouched down to pet her, then looked back up at Danny. “You think the Brodie boys know their dad gave you this pup?”
“Sure hope so.”
Tyrell grinned.
32
TUESDAY
At one o’clock in the morning, Danny woke to high-pitched cries coming from the kitchen. He got up, went out, and without turning the light on, stepped into Ruby’s pen.
“Kind of lonely out here?”
He picked her up and nestled her in his lap. She licked his fingers and curled into a ball. Danny thought about taking her back to his room, but no, she might piddle.
“This will be the hardest night,” Danny said. “I promise you’ll get used to it.”
He leaned back against the refrigerator. Banjo had whined a bit, too, when Danny first got him. He was bigger, but he still got lonesome.
“You lonesome, Ruby?”
Danny grabbed the tug-of-war rope from Ruby’s corral and whipped it across the kitchen. He laid his head back on the refrigerator and closed his eyes.
I’m sorry, Banjo. I’m so, so sorry.
Eventually Ruby fell asleep and Danny set her down. He went to his room and put on his jeans, boots, and T-shirt.
Outside, a banana moon cast just enough light to make shadows in the yard. The night air was warm.
Danny headed into the barn. Tyrell had a set of weights and a boxer’s heavy bag over in one corner that he slammed and hammered to build his strength and endurance.
Danny took off his T-shirt and put on a pair of boxing gloves. For a moment, he stood hugging the bag, listening to the rustling sound of some rodent in the barn.
He pushed the bag away, and when it swung back he laid into it.
Whack!
Whack!
Whack!
The bag swung out and came back, and Danny danced around it and po
ured his power into it.
Whack!
Whack-whack!
It felt good, especially when he hit it solid and the impact shot back through his arm to the muscles in his shoulders and his back.
Whomp! Whomp! Whomp-whomp!
Soon sweat stained the top of his jeans, and his bare chest and arms glistened. He bobbed in and out and around, raising dust around his boots, pummeling the bag.
For Banjo!
For Banjo!
For Banjo!
After ten minutes nonstop, he let the bag swing into him, grabbed and hugged it against his heaving, sweating chest.
Then he went at it again.
In a while he became aware of Dad leaning on the wall. That made him hit harder. His swelling fists inside the gloves were hot and sore.
The next time he looked, Dad was gone.
Enough…enough.
As he pulled the gloves off and hung them on the peg, a sense of peace fell over him. He was so tired nothing seemed to matter.
Under the open sky outside the barn, a star streaked across the night and vanished. All in all, that’s about as long as his life would be. Then he’d be gone.
Not a whole lot of time to make things right.
He wiped the sweat and dirt from his face with his T-shirt, then took a deep breath and went inside.
Dad was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and his magazine. Without looking up, he said, “Feel better?”
“I do.”
Dad nodded.
Danny looked at him, drinking coffee in the dead of night because he cared about his lying, cruel, mean-spirited, mixed-up son.
“Well…g’night,” Danny said, turning to leave.
Dad stood and took his cup to the sink. “Praise be. I was starting to think I might need another cup.”
* * *
• • •
Danny sat on his bed. He had to make things right.
33
That same morning, Meg woke just before dawn.
She dressed fast, brushed her teeth, threw water on her face, and dried off. She hadn’t slept well, worrying Banjo might just give up on living.
She ran outside.
Banjo wasn’t in the barn.
She found him sitting in the pasture looking at the horses, his back to her.
The horses were bunched in the far corner, their heads turned toward him, not paying him much mind.
He hadn’t given up, he’d moved!
“Thank you,” Meg whispered.
She picked her way out into the dewy pasture. “Banjo,” she said softly.
Banjo turned to look back. He woofed. One heavenly dog word that stopped Meg. It was the first sound he’d made since she’d found him.
She knelt in the wet grass, hoping he’d come to her.
But he sank down and put his head between his paws.
Meg stood and walked over to him. “You don’t have a whole lot to say to people, do you?”
Banjo raised his head.
“You hungry, buddy? Thirsty?”
He woofed again.
Meg grinned. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
The house was quiet, but Meg could hear the shower running.
Wouldn’t a hungry dog eat just about anything? She grabbed a large can of pork and beans and emptied it into an aluminum mixing bowl. Jeremy would kill her if he saw her feeding Banjo from his favorite popcorn bowl. Too bad.
Banjo stood when she put the bowl in front of him. Meg watched as he wiped the bowl clean, pushing it around in the grass with his nose until Meg finally took it away. She hoped feeding him beans wasn’t a mistake. Too late for that!
She took the bowl to the water trough, rinsed it, and filled it halfway.
Banjo lapped up every drop.
“Good boy,” Meg said. “Good, good, good.”
She filled it again.
* * *
• • •
At nine-thirty, Meg and Mom urged Banjo into the Jeep. He circled around on the back seat and settled.
“He’s done this before,” Mom said.
As they drove, Meg said, “This morning he was out watching the horses. I think he was a ranch dog.”
“That would be a good bet.”
“So why would someone dump a good ranch dog?”
“Maybe he ran off.”
“Seriously, Mom.”
“Okay. Not likely.”
“But what if it’s true that he was abandoned? And what if no one claims him?”
Mom reached over and took Meg’s hand. “Then we’ll find him a home.”
“Or maybe…keep him?”
“Why’d I know you’d ask that?”
34
Danny woke tired.
Thoughts of Banjo and slamming the heavy bag in the middle of the night had messed with his sleep. Still, he had chores.
Ruby followed him everywhere he went.
“Right off, Ruby, you got to learn something important about livestock,” Danny said, carrying a bucket of feed out to the horses. “Rules number one, two, and three are you don’t bark at them and you don’t chase them. If you’re with me, you can herd them. But you never chase ’em. Get that down before you think on rules number four, five, and six, which are, you don’t chase livestock. Got it?”
Ruby stumbled through the pasture and past the steers, which were all bunched up and bug-eyed, especially the one Ricky called crazy. That one had her head down and was staring at them.
Ruby kept clear.
“Smart girl. Those critters would worry me, too, if I was your size.”
He chuckled, thinking of how Ricky wanted to ride their crazy steer. The steer was just curious and maybe a bit wild. Seeing it throw Ricky for a loop would be a sight to see.
“Watch this, Ruby.” Danny shook the bucket of feed. “The horses can hear food a mile away.”
In less than a minute all four of them came trotting up from the gully. “What’d I tell you?”
The closer the horses came, the closer Ruby got to Danny, until she stood peeking between his boots.
Danny poured the feed and vitamins into four metal pans that were scattered in the grass. Pete, Mandingo, Half-Asleep, and Angelina nosed down to eat. “Y’all, meet Ruby,” Danny said. “Not quite the size of Banjo, but…”
Just saying Banjo’s name burned his throat.
Then a thought popped up. What if someone had found him and put up a lost-dog sign? Like in a grocery store or on a pole? Or they put an ad in the paper? And what if Dad or Mr. Brodie saw it?
Why hadn’t he thought of that?
Danny picked Ruby up and ran back to the house.
The latest Bend Bulletin was on the floor under Ruby’s sleeping towel. Danny knelt and tore through the pages. When Ruby walked on them, Danny had to push her away.
“Listen. This is important. I have to find…your big brother.”
Ruby yawned.
Danny picked her up, held her close. “Someday I’ll tell you all about it. Maybe.”
He checked the lost-and-found animal notices.
“What you doing down there, little man?” Tyrell stepped over the barricade and squatted next to him.
“Looking for lost-dog notices.”
“Find any?”
“Not yet.”
“And what would you do if you did? You couldn’t bring him here.”
“I know, but if there’s an ad, Dad or Mr. Brodie could see it.”
Tyrell winced. “Right.”
Danny flipped the pages.
“Shouldn’t you be out there practicing for the rodeo?”
“Yeah, but I can’t stop thinking about Banjo. I’ll be lucky if I can rope a fence post. This
is driving me crazy.”
“Yeah.” Tyrell took a deep breath. “I feel bad, too.”
Danny looked up. “It was dumb.”
Tyrell nodded. “I’m leaving for work in ten. Want to bring Ruby and come along?”
Danny crumpled the paper and threw it at the refrigerator. “Let’s go.”
Just then the phone rang. Tyrell grabbed it. “Macks’ place.”
He turned to Danny and mouthed, It’s Mom.
Danny shook his head and ran outside.
35
The vet took her time checking Banjo over.
“No internal injuries that I can tell,” Dr. Clarke said. “Just the surface wound, which seems to be taking care of itself. Where’d you find this dog?”
“Out near Camp Sherman,” Meg said. “In the woods.”
“Have you gotten any calls about a lost dog, Doctor?” Mom asked.
Dr. Clarke shook her head. “What would you like me to do? Don’t know about his shots or anything, but otherwise he’s fine. Seems a little depressed, maybe.”
Meg glanced at Mom, who was chewing on her thumbnail.
Dr. Clarke lifted the tag. “Is this all there was? Banjo?”
“That’s all he had on him.”
“Maybe he’s chipped.”
“Chipped?”
“It’s an ID tag on a tiny microchip that’s injected just under the skin, usually between the shoulder blades. Let’s see if he has one. Hang on. I’ll be right back.”
Mom ran her hand through Meg’s hair. “You like Banjo, don’t you?”
“I really do.”
“He needs love, sweetie, and you’re about the best person I can think of to give it to him.”
Meg leaned into her shoulder.
Banjo lay on the table on his stomach, head up, panting lightly. He wasn’t afraid of being there, which told Meg he’d been to a vet before. So why would someone who cared enough to take his dog to the vet abandon it? Maybe he wasn’t dumped, and somehow got lost.
Dr. Clarke returned with a scanner. She flattened the fur on Banjo’s back and ran the scanner over it.
“Bingo.”
Banjo Page 7
