Frisbee Page 41

THIRTY-FOUR

  Cory was the first to approach, moving slowly, hand held out, offering it up to the dog. “That a boy,” he cooed. “Good dog. We won’t hurt ya.”

  The dog didn’t look the least bit intimidated by any of us. It sat back on its haunches, panting and let Cory get closer. And when he finally did get close enough, it stood up on all fours, smelled the palm of his hand and licked it once.

  Cory stroked the fur on the top of its head and then down the length of its back. He looked over at us and said, “It’s okay. I think he likes us.”

  The three of us let out a breath that we hadn’t known we’d been holding since Cory had first approached the dog. We moved in and joined him, taking turns petting the wonderful creature. The dog, in turn, licked each one of our hands as if to confirm that we were all well met.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?” Jason asked.

  Steve moved around to the back side of the dog, lifted his tail and said, “He’s a boy.”

  Not knowing how he could have come up with this conclusion, I asked, “How can you tell?”

  “Because,” Steve said, with a smile, “he’s got a set of furry balls hangin’ between his legs.”

  “Yeah, and they’re probably bigger than yours,” Cory added.

  “Shut up,” I said, embarrassed.

  The dog stood about twenty-four inches at the shoulders, was tan with a white belly and white paws. His tongue was long and pink except for a spot of dark blue, the size of a child’s thumbprint, at the tip. But the most remarkable features about him were his eyes. They were the color of coffee with a dollop of cream added; pale, milky brown with flecks of gold about the irises. Looking deep into those eyes you might believe he could see things that no one else could.

  “Think he belongs to anyone?” Jason asked.

  Steve moved back around to the front of the dog, scratched him around his furry neck and said, “No collar or tags. If he does belong to someone, there’s no way to find out who.” He then tilted his head and gave the rest of us a curious smile. “I say he’s ours. Finders keepers.”

  We all looked at each other and grinned. None of us had ever had a dog of our own before. He was a fine animal and he seemed to like us okay. He appeared to be friendly enough, although we’d have to convince one of our parents to let us keep him. Our dad probably wouldn’t go for it since he was allergic to dog and cat dander, but we thought Steve or Cory could talk one of their folks in to it.

  Then a thought occurred to me. What if the dog didn’t want to stay with us? What if he was just passing through on his journey? In the few minutes of his discovery, I myself had already fallen in love with him and I think the other guys had too.

  But what if it wasn’t meant to be? I had dreamt of this dog’s beautiful voice mere hours earlier. Hadn’t I? Somehow, I felt a connection to this magnificent beast. If he left, I knew, somehow, our lives would change and not for the better. I felt that he had to stay, was meant to.

  Steve squatted down in front of the dog and said, “What do you say, boy? You want to be our dog?”

  Everything in the field went silent as the two stared at each other. The birds stopped chirping and the June bugs stopped their incessant buzzing up in the tree. It seemed as though the wind had even held its warm breath in anticipation of the dogs answer.

  The staring went on for what seemed like hours as I hoped in my heart, as I’m sure the others did too, that our new friend would want to stay with us.

  You may not think that an animal could understand a human being, but by the look in the dogs steely eyes we could tell he was thinking, maybe processing the emotion of the question rather than the question itself.

  Finally, when I thought I couldn’t take the suspense any longer he gave out an enormous bark and put his paws up in Steve’s lap, licked his face.

  Yes!

  Right there, he was ours. And we were his; a new friend to spend our days with. I knew we could take good care of him. And for some unknown reason knew he was going to take care of us as well.

  I got close and gave him a hug. The other boys began to hoot and holler about our new pal.

  He licked my face and I petted his back. My heart was filled with a joy I hadn’t known existed, a feeling of things starting new. As he continued licking, I noticed how dry and rough his tongue felt on my face. I looked him in his unusual eyes and knew that he had gone a long distance to get here.

  “He’s thirsty,” I said.

  Jason bent down, scratching under his chin. “Want some water, boy? Huh? You thirsty?”

  “Crap,” Steve said. “We dumped all our water on each other. We got nothing left for him.”

  “There’s still some in mine,” I told him.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I only drank about half. There’s plenty,” I said as I got up to go back inside the cover of the Tree. When I got to the opening in the canopy I turned around and called the dog. “Come on, boy.”

  He immediately got up and trotted in after me.

  “Damn. What a bitchin’ dog,” Steve exclaimed as they followed in too.

  As I grabbed my canteen it occurred to me that we didn’t have anything to hold the water in for him to drink out of.

  “We don’t got nothin’ to put the water in,” I said, exasperated.

  “Have anything,” Jason corrected.

  “What?”

  “Have anything,” he repeated, rolling his eyes. “We don’t have anything to put the water in.” He sounded more like our mother than himself at that moment.

  “Whatever. We need to find something to pour the water in so he can drink. He can’t stick his tongue down my canteen,” I said.

  “Yeah. No kidding,” Steve chuckled. “There was probably thirty old cups lying around here before we cleaned this place up.”

  “Well, just go over to the bags and rip them open and dig a cup out of one of them,” Cory suggested.

  “No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “They’re buried under leaves and dirt and other junk. And we’re not letting this dog drink out of a dirty cup.” He turned in a circle, scanning our surrounding; looking for something clean that would hold water.

  We had cleaned up everything though and no trash remained on the ground. Besides, Steve was right, it wouldn’t seem right letting the dog drink from an old, filthy cup.

  “I know. Why can’t one of us cup our hands together and let him drink out of it like that?” Jason suggested.

  “Yeah, I guess that will work,” Steve said. “Cory, make a cup.”

  Cory did as he was told. But when he looked at me to pour water in his hands, I said, “Hold on a second. I’ve got an idea.”

  I went over to where my half eaten sandwich lay inside its plastic baggy. The outside of the baggy was wet from the water fight but the bread and the bologna inside were still dry. I broke the sandwich in half and held it in the palm of my hand, offering it to the dog. “Here you go, boy.”

  The dog, sitting on his hind legs, just stared at me, motionless.

  After a moment, Cory said, “He’s probably thirstier than he is hungry.”

  “Just wait,” I told him. Then to the dog, “It’s okay. I’m done with it. You can have the rest.”

  He took a step forward, licked his chops and gently snatched the chunk of meat and bread from my hand.

  “Sonofabitch,” Steve whispered. “It’s like he understood you.”

  “It’s cause he’s about the smartest dog in the whole world,” I shot back. “Aincha, boy?”

  “Woof,” the dog responded, which got us all in giggles.

  “Watch this,” I told the other guys. I took the other piece of sandwich and pinched it between my thumb and index finger for the dog to see. “You want another bite?” I then moved my hand up and down and the dog did the same with his head, following the motion, keeping his eyes on the morsel the whole time. “See. He’s saying yes.”

  “Oh come on,” Cory snickered. “Just give him the food.”

/>   “Here you go.” I lobbed the last bit of food into the air for him to catch, which he did with ease.

  “Yes. How cool. He is a smart dog,” Steve commended. “But we still need to get him some water.”

  “Well, that’s what I was going to show you guys,” I told him. “Here, Steve, hold this.” I gave him the plastic bag that my sandwich had come in and as he grabbed it he knew right away what I meant to do.

  He got down in a squat and held the top of the baggie with both hands as I poured water into it. When it was filled to the top, he called the dog over. “Come here, boy. Come get some water. We know you must be thirsty.”

  And once again as if he understood what had been said to him, the dog went to Steve and drank. We had to fill it up two more times before he was done, but he finished what was in the canteen. He managed to make a mess all over Steve’s shoes but Steve didn’t seem to mind since they were already soaked from the water fight.

  When the dog had had its fill, we picked up our paper lunch sacks, crumpled them and set them with the rakes and shovel. We didn’t want to trash the Tree again. It looked too nice now since we had cleaned it up for us to leave any mess.

  Our new furry friend laid down, setting his head on his paws, took a deep breath and let it out, sending a small puff of dust adrift in the dirt in front of him. He followed us with his eyes as we each took a seat around him. I still couldn’t believe that he had come to us.

  “What do you think we ought to name him?” Jason asked us.

  “Man, I hadn’t even thought about that,” Steve said. I don’t think any of us had. We had been so caught up in the moment of finding him that none of us realized what to name him. We’d been calling him ‘Boy’ from the beginning. But if he was going to be ours, he needed a name.

  “How about Woofie?” Cory suggested.

  Steve, looking confused, said, “How about something not gay.” He shook his head and laughed. “Woofie.”

  Cory’s cheeks glowed red. “Well, I don’t know. What have you got?”

  “How about Killer?” Jason said, trying to come up with something tougher.

  Steve closed his eyes and shook his head again. “Nah. He doesn’t look like a killer. It’s gotta be something that fits the way he looks.”

  “Well how does he look?” I asked him.

  Steve thought about it for a moment as we all watched intently. Finally he said, “I don’t know. He looks a little like a Frisbee dog.”

  We were all silent, not really catching his meaning.

  “A what?” I asked.

  He turned to me and explained. “You know. You see those guys in the park throwing their Frisbees to their dogs. The dog does like a back flip in the air and catches the Frisbee in its mouth; one of those kinds of dogs.”

  We all looked at each other and Jason said, “Okay. So what do we call him? Frisbee?”

  The dog raised his head and gave a subtle chuff. All of our eyes went wide.

  Steve said, “Frisbee,” and the dog turned to him.

  Cory said, “Frisbee.” The dog looked in his direction.

  I said, “Frisbee,” and he tilted his furry face at me and gave another low chuff as if to say, ‘Yes, you got it right the first time.’

  Steve got up and walked over to where he had hung his shirt and bandana up to dry, put the shirt back on and unknotted the red headband. He shook it out and laid it flat in a square. Next he folded the corners so it made a large triangle. Then he went back to where the dog lay and squatted down in front of him. The dog lifted his head as if on queue and Steve tied the bandana around his neck, cowboy style. Steve nodded as if dubbing the dog a knight and said, “Frisbee.”