to the car, and then carrying him from the car into the house, because Dog was so sleepy now from the medicine. All three of them helped—Mason’s mom, Mason, and Brody. Finally, Dog was comfortable on his dog bed, which had been moved into the kitchen right next to his food and water bowls. It was the first time Dog had used his dog bed since the night of the thunderstorm, when he’d begun sleeping on Mason’s bed beside him.
“I guess I’d better go home now,” Brody said stiffly. Brody’s sisters were there, so he wouldn’t be alone.
Mason knew Brody wanted him to say,
No! Stay here in case Dog wakes up and misses you
.
“Okay,” Mason said. “See you later.”
He didn’t turn around to see Brody walk away.
Dog slept the whole afternoon. Mason sat beside him, watching him sleep, listening to him breathe. The slow in-out, in-out of Dog’s rising and falling breath didn’t comfort him the way it used to.
He had gained a dog. He had lost a friend.
He had gained the best dog in the whole world.
He had lost the best friend in the whole world.
The doorbell rang twice during the long hours that Dog slept, but Dog, who once would have rushed to the door to be the official watchdog and greeter, never stirred.
The first time it was Nora and her father, carrying a cardboard carton.
“We brought you your stuff,” Nora said when Mason came to the door. “You know, your artwork from camp. How is Dog? Is he okay?”
Mason nodded. “He’s been sleeping ever since we got home from the vet. The vet said he’ll be okay. How was the rest of the art show?”
Nora shrugged. “The parents looked at everybody’s art, and then they helped pack it all up. That’s all. Dunk kept crying. He cried a lot, Mason.”
“Wolf could have killed Dog,” Mason said.
Dunk
should
be crying
.
“I know. We have Brody’s stuff, too. Can we leave it with you?”
Mason hesitated. “Brody lives next door. If he’s not there, you can put the box on the porch.”
Nora’s eyes widened. Mason knew that Nora, whofigured out everything, must have figured out that Mason and Brody weren’t friends anymore.
“Okay,” Nora said. She turned to her dad, who had been waiting patiently, without saying anything. “If you ask me,” Mason heard her say as they headed out the door, “there’s a lot to be said for an ant farm.”
The second time the doorbell rang, it was—Dunk! His already pudgy face was even pudgier, swollen from crying. He was carrying something: the enormous, ugly bowl he had made for Wolf.
“This is for Dog,” Dunk said. “A get-well present from me and Wolf. So he’ll know that I’m sorry and Wolf’s sorry, too.”
Mason was starting to believe that Dunk truly was sorry. But somehow he doubted that Wolf was overcome with guilt about what he had done. Wolf hadn’t looked like a dog that had a very sensitive conscience.
Mason wasn’t sure what to say. Usually when one person said, “I’m sorry,” the other person said, “That’s okay.” But Dog’s being hurt—almost killed—wasn’t okay.
“Well,” Mason said. “Thanks for the bowl.”
“I’m sorry I made fun of Dog, too,” Dunk said. “It’s sort of cool, having three legs. Do you know how helost his other leg? Maybe it was in a big dogfight and he made the other dog look even worse? So Dog is sort of like a pirate with a peg leg and an eye patch.”
“Maybe,” Mason said.
Or maybe not.
Thinking of Dog in an eye patch made Mason remember Hamster, all dressed up four months early for Halloween. He hoped Hamster was happy, wherever he was. And Cat—he hoped she had found a newhome, with a non-allergic person who could love her and pet her and listen to her purr. Even Goldfish—Mason hoped there was a fish heaven, where Goldfish could swim all day in the sunlight.
After Dunk left, Mason carried Dog’s old food and water bowls out to the garage and crammed them onto the shelf with Goldfish’s bowl, Hamster’s cage, and
“I guess I’d better go home now,” Brody said stiffly. Brody’s sisters were there, so he wouldn’t be alone.
Mason knew Brody wanted him to say,
No! Stay here in case Dog wakes up and misses you
.
“Okay,” Mason said. “See you later.”
He didn’t turn around to see Brody walk away.
Dog slept the whole afternoon. Mason sat beside him, watching him sleep, listening to him breathe. The slow in-out, in-out of Dog’s rising and falling breath didn’t comfort him the way it used to.
He had gained a dog. He had lost a friend.
He had gained the best dog in the whole world.
He had lost the best friend in the whole world.
The doorbell rang twice during the long hours that Dog slept, but Dog, who once would have rushed to the door to be the official watchdog and greeter, never stirred.
The first time it was Nora and her father, carrying a cardboard carton.
“We brought you your stuff,” Nora said when Mason came to the door. “You know, your artwork from camp. How is Dog? Is he okay?”
Mason nodded. “He’s been sleeping ever since we got home from the vet. The vet said he’ll be okay. How was the rest of the art show?”
Nora shrugged. “The parents looked at everybody’s art, and then they helped pack it all up. That’s all. Dunk kept crying. He cried a lot, Mason.”
“Wolf could have killed Dog,” Mason said.
Dunk
should
be crying
.
“I know. We have Brody’s stuff, too. Can we leave it with you?”
Mason hesitated. “Brody lives next door. If he’s not there, you can put the box on the porch.”
Nora’s eyes widened. Mason knew that Nora, whofigured out everything, must have figured out that Mason and Brody weren’t friends anymore.
“Okay,” Nora said. She turned to her dad, who had been waiting patiently, without saying anything. “If you ask me,” Mason heard her say as they headed out the door, “there’s a lot to be said for an ant farm.”
The second time the doorbell rang, it was—Dunk! His already pudgy face was even pudgier, swollen from crying. He was carrying something: the enormous, ugly bowl he had made for Wolf.
“This is for Dog,” Dunk said. “A get-well present from me and Wolf. So he’ll know that I’m sorry and Wolf’s sorry, too.”
Mason was starting to believe that Dunk truly was sorry. But somehow he doubted that Wolf was overcome with guilt about what he had done. Wolf hadn’t looked like a dog that had a very sensitive conscience.
Mason wasn’t sure what to say. Usually when one person said, “I’m sorry,” the other person said, “That’s okay.” But Dog’s being hurt—almost killed—wasn’t okay.
“Well,” Mason said. “Thanks for the bowl.”
“I’m sorry I made fun of Dog, too,” Dunk said. “It’s sort of cool, having three legs. Do you know how helost his other leg? Maybe it was in a big dogfight and he made the other dog look even worse? So Dog is sort of like a pirate with a peg leg and an eye patch.”
“Maybe,” Mason said.
Or maybe not.
Thinking of Dog in an eye patch made Mason remember Hamster, all dressed up four months early for Halloween. He hoped Hamster was happy, wherever he was. And Cat—he hoped she had found a newhome, with a non-allergic person who could love her and pet her and listen to her purr. Even Goldfish—Mason hoped there was a fish heaven, where Goldfish could swim all day in the sunlight.
After Dunk left, Mason carried Dog’s old food and water bowls out to the garage and crammed them onto the shelf with Goldfish’s bowl, Hamster’s cage, and
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