so.”
All around town I tell people what a great dog Mr. O. is and why I need to let him go. After a while I only try where they already have a dog. Nobody wants him, and lots of times I wouldn’t want him at some of those places either.
When people find out I’m from the end-of-the-world people, they laugh at me. Turns out they call us crazies. One lady said I looked nice and neat compared to some of them, though she said Mr. O’Brien looks like he belongs with them. Then she said why didn’t I clip him some so he’d be more comfortable in this heat. I hadn’t thought of that. She has three dogs of her own and a big fenced-in yard, and she’s really nice. She said she boarded dogs and also clipped dogs for people, and she knew I couldn’t afford it but she’d clip Mr. O. for me anyway.
We went up on her closed-in porch where it was cool, and she got water for Mr. O’Brien and ice tea for me. There was a parrot there, and she told me to hold out my hand and he flew right to me. Then she got out her clippers and showed me how he should be clipped, and even let me do some of it. Mr. O. looked a lot better after we got through with him. I asked again if she wouldn’t take him. She said she couldn’t afford the food for such a big dog, and she said she already had two cats and the parrot and her three terriers and she needed the rest of her space for boarding. Then she says, “Why don’t you take him out in the country to some farm? If I was Mr. O’Brien, I’d like to live on a farm with lots of room and work to do.”
That’s such a good idea. I say I’ll go look right away.
“But,” she says, “if I were you, I’d not go with those crazies. They really are crazies, you know. Why don’t you come over here and work for me? You’ve got a knack with animals and I could use a helper.”
I don’t know what to say, so I say, “But they taught me to read.”
She looks at me funny, then realizes she’s staring, and looks down at Mr. O. instead, as if she doesn’t know what to say either. Finally she says, “Great dog. If he were mine, I wouldn’t get rid of him for anything.”
I do find a good home for Mr. O. way out on a farm. They’re going to change his name to Buster. I’m thinking they’d like his name if they had ever met the real Mr. O’Brien. They’re going to keep him tied up until he gets used to them and to me not being there, otherwise he’d follow me back. As I leave, I hear him barking and barking, and then it changes to crying. But they said he’d get used it. They said it always takes a while. And it was cooler out there and there were other dogs and lots of other animals. I would have liked it there myself. But now I’m thinking I gave away the only thing I ever loved, and the only thing that ever loved me.
And then I worry. It was a long hot walk out of town, are they going to give him water? He needs it right away. They seemed like nice enough people, but sometimes people forget or don’t notice.
As I get back to the group, here’s Eppie. She can see that I’ve been crying. Also that Mr. O. isn’t with me.
She says, “Good. You did it. That dog was just too big. I’m glad he’s out of our pup tent. Can you picture him bouncing around in a spaceship!”
I have to admit he took up more than his share of the tent. I say, “I’m worried he’s thirsty and they won’t give him water. Maybe I should go back and check.”
“Are you going to be worrying about that dog all though the whole trip?”
She’s right, I
But then she gets all upset. “Oh, no.” She practically yells it, and hugs me. “You’re my best friend.”
I think I’m her best friend because I’m so ignorant about the world that she can keep telling me things. I do learn a lot from her but I know some of it’s wrong. Though I’m certainly grateful for those reading lessons. She wants to be a teacher and she’s good at it, but I’m not really her best friend, I’m just her best and most willing pupil.
We’ve already packed up most of our belongings and arranged them in our staterooms. My room is next to Eppie’s, just as we wanted. The rooms are small, but they have big metal mirrors so they seem larger. We had our choice of colors. I wanted mine to be all woody colors: tans and browns. I knew it would be a long time before I saw any real wood. Eppie’s is yellow and blue and white. She put her favorite pictures on the walls. They had to be glued down tight. She couldn’t put up pictures in the pup tent but she had these all ready to go. Funny to think of those pictures of handsome men—I guess they’re movie stars—going all the way off to Paradise, where they’ll be old men or dead before we even get there. I wonder why she even has them.
I guess I’d most want a picture of Mr. O., but then I’d never stop thinking about him. Except I don’t want to ever stop. Besides,
There’s a big rally our last night on Earth. They talk about the beautiful world God will lead them to, out in Proxima Centauri. They keep calling it Paradise, but the moon is out and almost full, and I don’t see how any place can be more beautiful than right here. Besides, this world has Mr. O. in it. I do know my so-called father and mother would never find me on that new world, but even so, I’m not sure I want to go. Besides, Mr. O. would keep me safe. He did it before.
The preacher (dressed all raggedy, like we’re all supposed to be because of renouncing worldly things). He says…shouts, “And so this evil world will soon burn as if it’s hell itself. Parts that don’t burn will be covered with water. Already dozens of islands have been lost to the sea. Soon every river will be poisoned. You know it. You know it. You see it already happening. Look at Godless New Orleans. Look at voodoo-filled Haiti. How God punished them.
“I will not be among you. I’m old and I’m not the best of the best, but you are. You’re the chosen.”
The moon is so bright I wouldn’t even need a flashlight. There’s a little breeze and it’s cool for a change.
“…and there will be the winds of a hundred hurricanes and they will last a hundred years, and the earth will shake….You know it. You know it. You’ve seen it already.”
I pretend to head to the bathrooms. Eppie says, “Wait a minute. This is the best part. He’s telling about earthquakes that never stop.” But I keep going.
“…earthquakes that never stop…I say again
I reach the farm in the middle of the night. The other dogs there bark like crazy. Luckily they still have Mr. O. tied up in the front of the house. He’s almost chewed through his rope. He’d have been free in another day or so. We hug and he cries with joy, and so do I. The lights go on in the house, and I untie him fast and we run, but not toward the end-of-the-world people. Maybe we can spend the night back in that doghouse.
In the doghouse we find a half-dead kitten. We can’t do anything about it until morning, so we all just cuddle up together.
From now on I’m going to do the opposite of the end-of-theworld people. I’m going to take in animals, and Mr. O’Brien and this kitten are the first ones.
Except the kitten dies in the night. It was just too bitten up, and I didn’t have any way to help save it. I had thought about that woman who did grooming. She’d know how to help, but it died before I could get it to her. At least it didn’t have to die alone. I told it I loved it and that it was a good kitty. I hope it understood.
The end-of-the-world people leave in the morning. We hear the great roar and see the flash of their going. It lights up the whole sky. It’s exciting, and for a minute I wish I was with them. I shout, and Mr. O. gives a howl. Then we run, as if to follow it.
We run. And run and run and don’t care where. All of a sudden, here’s that little two-room school that looks like a house. This time I don’t think twice. I break a window and we fall inside, all worn out.
We lie there the rest of the day feeling sad…about Eppie being gone, but glad we’re here together. We don’t even worry about not having anything to eat. When it gets dark, we sleep.
But in the morning, we’re hungry and thirsty. There’s no water here that works. Everything is turned off. No electricity. I find how to turn the water on under the house. I know about that from home, but I don’t know how to turn on the electricity. At least we have something to drink.
I don’t know what to do or where to go or how to get food, and then I think about that lady who said I’d be a good helper.
