A Dog's Purpose

A little while later Chelsea’s mother gave pie to Mom but not to the dogs. Duchess lay on her back and held the sock with her paws above her mouth, just like I used to do with Coco in the Yard, what seemed like forever ago.

Some people came and I sat with Mom in the living room and blinked at the bright flashes, like lightning with no sound. Then we went over to the house, which was now covered in plastic sheeting that flapped in the wind, and some more flashes went off.

A week later, Mom gave me a car ride and we moved into the “apartment.” This was a small house built into a big building full of houses, and there were lots of dogs everywhere. Most of them were pretty little, but in the afternoons Mom would take me over to see them in a big cement yard. She would sit on a bench and talk to people while I ran around, making friends and marking territory.

I didn’t like the apartment, and neither did Dad. He yelled at Mom a lot more there than at the house. The place was small, and, even worse, we were there without the boy. Both Dad and Mom would often smell like Ethan, but he wasn’t living with us anymore, and my heart ached. At night I would pace the house, compelled to wander around restlessly, until Dad would yell at me to lie down. Dinner, the high point of my day, was not as interesting when Mom served it to me—I just didn’t feel hungry, and sometimes didn’t finish it.

Where was my boy?

{ SIXTEEN }

We were still living in the apartment the day the boy came home. I was curled up on the floor, with Felix the kitty sleeping up against me. I’d given up trying to shove him away; Felix apparently thought I was his mother, which was insulting, but he was a cat and therefore, in my opinion, completely brainless.

I’d learned to identify our cars by the sounds of their engines as they pulled into the parking lot, so when Mom’s car arrived I jumped to my feet. Felix blinked at me in bewilderment while I trotted over to the window and jumped up, pressing my paws against the frame so I could watch Mom come up the steps.

What I saw down in the parking lot caused my heart to race: it was the boy, struggling to stand up out of the car. Mom was bending to help him, and it took several seconds for him to get upright.

I couldn’t help myself; I was barking and spinning, racing from the window to the door to be let out and then back to the window so I could see. Felix panicked and dove under the couch and watched me from there.

When keys jangled in the lock, I was right there at the door, quivering. Mom opened the door a crack, and the boy’s smell wafted in on the air currents.

“Now, Bailey, get back. Down, Bailey, stay down. Sit.”

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.