Everything for a Dog

  Henry and his parents stood on the sidewalk in front of the library. They peered down Nassau until at last Henry said, “I hear music!”

  The parade had begun. It was led off by a huge sleigh, outlined in winking lights and manned by elves who tossed candy into the crowd. Henry caught three chocolate bells and a peppermint drop. Several more floats rolled by and then Henry heard a chant of “Santa! Santa!” He joined in, the chant growing louder until someone behind Henry exclaimed, “There he is!”

  “Where? Where?” said Henry.

  A spotlight had been turned on and Henry saw that it illuminated the flat roof of the hardware store, where an enormous fireplace and chimney had appeared. As Henry watched, a pair of boots dropped down from inside the chimney, followed by a red-suited body. Santa landed on a pile of logs, crawled out of fireplace, and waved to the crowd. “Merry Christmas!” he called.

  Henry, grinning, turned to his parents. “That’s it, then,” he said. “Christmas is officially here.”

  Henry and his parents walked home after the parade, Henry feeling as though he were somehow glowing. Snow was falling, his stomach was pleasantly full of chocolate, and he could still hear bells ringing. After supper, Henry’s mother went to the attic and returned with the three stockings Aunt Susan had knitted the year Henry had been born. His father lit the fire, Henry read “The Night Before Christmas” aloud because it was a family tradition (he had a feeling he would still be reading it aloud when he was in high school), and then the stockings were hung and the evening was over.

  “Bedtime,” said his mother. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Ten more minutes?” asked Henry. “Please?” And without knowing he was going to do so he walked through the kitchen, opened the back door, and looked out into his yard. Snow was piling softly around tree trunks and the garden shed. The raw air made Henry shiver, but he didn’t move. After a moment his eyes drifted to the sky, but they returned to the earth when a dim shape emerged from the snow and began to steal across the yard.

  Buddy.

  Henry reached into his pocket and found a cookie. He always carried dog cookies these days. “Buddy?” he called softly.

  Buddy halted, startled.

  “It’s okay. It’s just me.” Henry stepped into the yard in his slippers and bathrobe, and held out the cookie.

  Buddy relaxed and scuffed through the snow to Henry, who patted him on his head. Then he took the cookie gently and ate it, his brown eyes trained on Henry’s face.

  “Would you like another one?” asked Henry, realizing he would have to go all the way upstairs to his room to get more, but Buddy was already disappearing into the snowy darkness.

  “Good night,” Henry called after him.

  Henry awoke on Christmas morning to see dim gray light at the edges of his window shades. Either it was very early (in which case his parents would make him wait before dashing downstairs to see what was under the tree), or it was still snowing. Henry sat up, pulled the shade aside, and saw snow flinging itself against the window. Heavy snow. A Christmas blizzard. He couldn’t even see Matthew’s old house across the street. This was exciting—but where was Buddy? What did stray dogs do during blizzards?

  Henry peered at his clock. Seven-thirty. This was the latest he had ever managed to sleep on Christmas morning. His parents were probably already awake. Henry opened his door and leaned into the hallway.

  “Mom?” he called. “Dad? Merry Christmas! I’m up.”

  “Merry Christmas, sleepyhead,” replied his mother. “Dad’s downstairs. He’s made a fire and started breakfast. We were just waiting for you.”

  Henry hugged his mother. He ran down the stairs and hugged his father. Stockings were to be opened first, but Henry—even after the conversation at Aunt Susan’s—couldn’t help glancing under the Christmas tree. How thrilling it would be to see, sitting excitedly among the wrapped gifts, a wriggling puppy. And next to the tree a wooden doghouse, just like the ones in cartoons, with a peaked roof and a cutout door and SPARKY or BUSTER or, well, BUDDY written above the door. But there was no dog and no doghouse and undoubtedly nothing else for a dog either.

  Henry wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t even very disappointed. He had just wanted to check.

  The morning passed pleasantly. Henry and his parents opened their stockings. Henry was amused to see that his parents had secretly hung a stocking for Amelia Earhart and filled it with new cat toys and a package of something called Feline Greenies (in Savory Salmon Flavor), which Amelia seemed to enjoy quite a bit.

  After breakfast, the gifts under the tree were unwrapped. There were clothes for Henry and more drawing supplies, two new biographies of baseball players, and an elaborate hamster habitat for Carlos Beltran and Hamlet. A package with a tag reading “For Henry from Grandma Lucy and Grandpa Jack” revealed a complicated mechanical bank. When Henry handed pennies to a baseball player, its metal arm lobbed the coins into a dugout, where they disappeared into the base of the bank for safekeeping. Henry wished he could run across the street, as he used to do, to see Matthew’s gifts, and then bring Matthew home so he could show him the bank and the habitat and the books. Instead he stood at the window and looked out at the snow. It was now piled high, but seemed to be falling more gently, and Henry was glad. He had an errand planned for the afternoon.

  After lunch Henry’s father sat in an armchair by the fire. He was wearing his pajamas and a new sweater, and poking through a box of chocolates. “I think this is the most relaxing day of the entire year,” he remarked.

  Henry wanted to ask him if they could look for photos of Sunny, but when he opened his mouth he found himself saying instead, “I think I’ll go outside for a while.”

  “Good idea. It isn’t every year we have a snowstorm on Christmas.”

  When Henry left his house, wearing all his warmest clothes including the hat from his great-aunt, he was carrying a plastic shopping bag, which he hoped his parents wouldn’t ask him about. They didn’t. “I’ll be back later,” Henry called.

  He stood on his snow-covered porch and looked at the place where the steps should be. He couldn’t see them at all, so he slipped and slid and finally jumped into a drift below, surprised to find that it came up over his knees. The plows had been down Tinker Lane, but no one had shoveled their walks or driveways yet, and the street was eerily quiet.

  Henry wished for Buddy at his side. If Buddy were with him, Henry could talk to him as he slogged along to Letty Lewis’s house. But he was on his own. He clutched the bag and when he reached the road in front of the lavender house he paused to study it. Most of the windows upstairs were dark, but the ones on the first floor were lit and glowed in the dim afternoon light. Henry wondered if Letty Lewis had guests. He’d never seen anyone at her house, but this was Christmas Day. She might have guests. What should Henry do then?

  He was still standing in the road when the door of the house opened and Letty leaned out and called, “Henry Elliot? Is that you? Merry Christmas! What are you doing out there?”

  Henry waved from the road and held the bag aloft. “Merry Christmas!” he called back. “I came to visit. I have something for you.” He waded through the snow where he thought her driveway and front walk might be, at last arriving on the wide porch.

  “What a lovely surprise,” said Letty.

  Henry cautiously climbed the slippery steps, stood by the door, and tugged his boots off. Then he edged inside. He hadn’t been in Letty’s house before. The first thing he noticed was that she didn’t have guests after all. She seemed to be celebrating Christmas by herself. A tree, decorated with gold balls and giant red and green lights—Henry had never seen tree lights that size—stood in the corner, several presents arranged beneath it. But the house was still. Even the fire in the hearth had burned out.

  “Um,” said Henry after Letty had taken his wet coat and scarf and hat and hung them in a closet. “Well . . .” He held the bag toward her. “I wanted to give you this.”

 
“My,” said Letty, and for one brief horrible instant, Henry thought she was going to cry. Her voice had wobbled and her eyes filled with tears, but then she straightened up and said matter-of-factly, “I’d better open this by the Christmas tree,” and Henry expelled an enormous sigh of relief. He and Matthew had long ago decided that there was almost nothing worse than a crying adult.

  “Have a cookie,” said Letty, pointing to a plate on a table beside an armchair.

  “Thank you,” said Henry, and he helped himself to a gingersnap, which he knew had come from the store. Next year, he said to himself, I’ll tell Mom we should make cookies for Letty.

  “Now,” said Letty, settling herself before the fire, “let’s see what this is.”

  She tore away Henry’s wrapping to find Buddy’s collar and leash. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, genuinely pleased. “But what—”

  “I know you don’t have a dog,” said Henry quickly. “Yet. But the Rehabilitation Plan is sort of behind schedule, and then yesterday—” He stopped talking when he saw the confusion on Letty’s face and he started over.

  Henry told Letty about the Rehabilitation Plan, including the fact that he had retrieved the crumpled paper from his wastebasket. He told her that he hadn’t had nearly as much luck with Buddy as he had hoped he would, but that it barely mattered because even if he succeeded, Henry now understood why his parents—in particular, his father—had really been saying no to a dog, and it had nothing to do with good behavior or expense or housebreaking or responsibility.

  “And you don’t want to try to talk to your father again? Now that you know about Sunny?” asked Letty Lewis.

  Henry shook his head. “It will just make him sad. When I talk about getting a dog, he’s thinking about Sunny and what happened to her and how much that hurt him.”

  Letty pursed her lips and nodded thoughtfully.

  “So if I can’t have a dog, I think you should have one,” Henry continued. “You should have Buddy. I know I can train him. It’s just taking longer than I thought it would. Maybe you could help me, if you want. And then when Buddy is all trained, I’ll—I’ll bring him to you.”

  Letty had unpursed her lips and was smiling now, but only with her mouth, not with her eyes. “Henry,” she said, “this is the kindest gift I’ve ever been given and I do thank you for it. I can’t tell you how touched I am that you thought of me, and of trying to help both Buddy and me. It’s just that”—Letty paused—“I’ve never had a dog.”

  “But you have to take Buddy! You’ll be surprised,” said Henry. “A dog is great company.” (Henry had almost added, “He’ll keep you from being so lonely,” but stopped himself in time.) “A dog will sit on the porch with you and follow you around the yard. You can talk to a dog and he’ll look right into your eyes like he’s listening to you.” Henry thought of Amelia Earhart who was sweet, but didn’t often seem to pay attention to what Henry said to her. She tended to let her gaze drift somewhere far, far away. “Plus, dogs will sleep in bed with you and curl up on the couch with you and even play games with you. A dog is an automatic friend. I promise.”

  “Henry,” said Letty, “do you know, I think you are the most thoughtful boy I’ve ever met. I will cherish the collar and the leash, and more important, your reason for giving them to me. Let’s work on Buddy—you and I—and see what happens, all right? Buddy certainly is a lucky dog to have someone like you looking out for him. And I’m a lucky old woman to have you for a friend. Let’s just take things one step at a time and get Buddy trained first.”

  “Okay,” agreed Henry. “Anyway, a secret outdoor dog is better than no dog at all.”

  When Henry left Letty Lewis’s he looked up and down Tinker Lane and had just begun walking slowly in the direction of Nassau Street, dragging his toes as he did so, when he heard a shout. He turned and saw Antony and Sal trying out a new snow saucer in their front yard.

  “Henry!” called Antony. “Hi, Henry!”

  And Sal added, “Come see what we got.”

  Henry hurried to their yard, which, covered in snow, looked exactly the same as every other yard on Tinker Lane. He waved to the boys, and then to Sofia, who was standing on the front stoop wearing a tutu and snow boots, and proclaiming, “This has been the most wonderfulest Christmas ever in the history of the world. I got a whole ballet costume!”

  Antony gave Henry two turns on the snow saucer, and then Sal said again, “Come see what we got.” He tugged Henry inside, and Henry spent the next hour looking over the gazillion presents that Antony and Sofia and Sal and Peter and Ginny had received. When Henry returned to his own house later that afternoon he felt unusually content. It really had been a wonderful Christmas.

  Henry had just one gift left to give now, and he retrieved it from his bureau drawer and tiptoed downstairs and through the kitchen without being seen by his parents. He opened the back door and looked into the yard. “Buddy?” he called softly. He stepped a few inches from the stoop. “Buddy?”

  Buddy didn’t appear. Henry scanned his yard and the one next door and then tried to see into the woods that stretched up the mountain. Nothing. He looked down at the bag of fancy dog cookies tied with a striped ribbon. He sighed, then opened the bag and placed three of the cookies a little distance from the door.

  “Merry Christmas, Buddy,” he said.

  The next morning, the cookies were gone.

  16. HENRY

  January arrived. Christmas was over and New Year’s Eve had come and gone and school had started again. Ordinarily, Henry found this time of year somewhat dreary. He always seemed to catch the flu in January, and at school the playground became so slushy that often the teachers decided to hold recess in the gym or the cafeteria or worst of all, their classrooms. But this January, Henry had a project. He had Buddy.

  Something amazing had happened after Christmas. Buddy had begun coming to Henry’s yard at least once a day. Henry wanted to believe that maybe there was something to Christmas magic after all, or that maybe some sort of power had been released into the atmosphere when his father had finally told him about Sunny, and this power had called to Buddy. But he had a feeling that the truth was much more mundane: Buddy liked the new cookies Henry had bought for him. Before the cookies, Buddy came around whenever he felt like it. After the cookies, Buddy showed up at least once a day. In fact, he came by so often that Henry was afraid his parents might notice him. At the same time, he worried about what would happen when he ran out of the cookies. After all, he didn’t want Buddy to stop coming around either, and he hadn’t seen those particular cookies in the pet store until just before the holidays, so he had a feeling they were limited-edition treats. He had gone back to the store several days after Christmas and found one more bag of them, which he bought. But they wouldn’t last forever.

  “You guys,” Henry said to Antony and Owen as they walked to school one morning, “I have to tell you something. It’s about Buddy.” Henry drew in a deep breath and told his new friends the whole story of Buddy, from the first time he had seen him by the garbage cans (which his friends already knew about anyway) straight through to the special cookies that were running out.

  “Wow,” said Antony.

  “Yeah, wow,” said Owen.

  “So what do you think I should do?” asked Henry. “I only have half a bag of the cookies left. Buddy comes to my yard all the time now. I should be working with him every chance I get—before the cookies run out. I’ll bet I could get him all trained for Letty Lewis in just a few weeks. The only problem is that I can’t exactly work with Buddy in my yard.”

  “Yeah, your parents might see,” said Antony.

  Henry nodded.

  “Um, Henry, why . . .” Owen paused and glanced sideways at Antony. “Why do you want to give Buddy to Letty Lewis?”

  “Because she needs him,” said Henry. “She’s lonely and dogs are the best company.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Owen.

  “Well, anyway,” said Antony, “no matter wha
t you’re going to do with Buddy, I guess that first of all you have to finish training him. Do you still have your—what did you call it?”

  “The Rehabilitation Plan,” said Henry. “I have it.”

  “Maybe you could train Buddy at my house,” said Antony.

  Henry brightened. “I could lead him over to your yard with the cookies,” he said.

  And he did. The first time Henry coaxed Buddy through the backyards to Antony’s house, holding out one of the precious limited-edition cookies, Buddy followed him as though he’d been Henry’s dog since he was a puppy.

  Then Henry did a very daring thing. He made a shelter for Buddy under the eave of the back wall of the garden shed in his yard. He knew his parents might find it. But he thought there was a better chance that Buddy would be living with Letty Lewis by the time his parents had any reason to go to the shed in all this cold, snowy weather.

  Using the cookies as rewards, Henry, now with the help of Owen and Antony, patiently taught Buddy to come when he was called and to sit. Buddy allowed them to hug him and even to hold him in their laps.

  “I think,” said Henry one Wednesday afternoon, “that we should get the collar and leash back from Letty Lewis. I think Buddy’s ready to try them now.”

  Once again Henry caught a look between Antony and Owen. “What?” said Henry. “What?”

  “Did you say we should get the collar and the leash back from Miss Lewis?” asked Owen. “Because I’m not going over to her house. She’s too weird.”

  “I’m not going either,” said Antony.

  Henry considered asking them if they were scared, but thought better of it. “I’ll go myself,” he said.