Who Owns Amigo?  

by Betty Jo Goddard

The day started easy, without a whisper of the dilemma it would bring. Henry was working on the gears of an antiquated Schwinn when the telephone rang. Muttering to himself, he wiped grease from his hands and hauled out his cell phone. I’m a dad-blasted fool caving in to this tyrant. I ought to learn to let ‘er ring. But Henry never could let a phone ring. Might be something important and he’d tear himself up wondering. 

“Hullo. Henry Welton here.”

“Dad, I’ve a problem.” Henry ran a paw through his thick white mane as he listened to Ellen’s plaintive voice. “Are you busy? I need help.”

“Nah, not too busy, El. I was fixing up that old Schwinn you and Alex used to burn up the sidewalks with. It was just rusting away in the shed. Thought Thane might like it. Get him outside more. What do you need?”

“It’s freezing here. Something’s wrong with the furnace. Could you take a look at it before I call Ed’s Heating and Plumbing? It might be something simple and it's Saturday. Who knows when Ed’ll send someone out?”

“Yeah, hold tight and don’t call Ed’s. I’ll come on over. I know a bit about furnaces. This is a heck of a time for your furnace go on strike.” 

Henry pulled on boots and headed to Ellen and Bert’s place on the far side of town. Ellen’s upstairs had heat. So did the basement, but not the main floor. Henry nosed around in the furnace room a few minutes, and then returned to the kitchen. “Looks like a bad zone port. Ed should have some in stock.”

It took Henry less than an hour to pick up a new zone port at Ed’s and install it. When the main floor started to warm, Henry reached for his jacket. 

“As long as you’re here, you just as well stay for lunch,” Ellen said. “It’ll be something quick.” 
Henry wasn’t one to turn down someone else’s cooking. He put his jacket back on a hook behind the door and stretched out in a kitchen chair, chatting with Ellen while she fried burgers and tossed salad.

“Thane,” Ellen called, “Come to lunch.”

Henry watched his grandson shamble in and thunk down at the table. Thane was only eleven, but already he was heavier than his mom. Henry flinched when he saw Thane’s arms, like overstuffed sausages, swelling from an outsized tee shirt that stretched over his bulging belly. Thane’s pants legs drooped over untied sneakers and dragged the floor. His black hair spiked up like he was hot-wired. A fat, sullen porcupine – that’s what he looks like. The sight soured Henry’s stomach.

After he ate, Henry cradled a mug of coffee and listened to Ellen chatter. Ellen paused and turned to Thane as he headed for the refrigerator. “Thane, hon, would you take this garbage out for me? It’s getting ripe.”
“Not now,” Thane said. “I gotta finish my game.” He grabbed a Coke and lumbered back upstairs.

Outside Ellen’s kitchen window the sky darkened. Better get moving, Henry thought. He put his coffee mug down and pulled on his jacket. Suppose I could offer to take the garbage out for Ellen, but that kid ought to do it. He’s too darned lazy. 

“Ellen, don’t you go taking that garbage out,” he said. “I’d do it for you, but Thane needs to learn responsibility.”

Ellen threw her head back. “Now, Dad. Don’t start on that. You let me handle my family affairs the way I want to.”

Henry knew Ellen didn’t like him telling her how to raise the kid. But Ellen can stew all she wants, he thought as he climbed into his Outback. Someone needs to say something. 

Henry never held off when it came to voicing opinions. He knew he shouldn’t judge the way he did. But dadbum it, now that Ellen and Bert have moved back here where I see them more often, I’ve a tough time saying nothing. That kid needs a burr under his saddle. 

On his way home, Henry watched rolling black clouds brooding in the west. Fat flakes splattered his windshield. Almost dark enough for headlights and my day’s hardly started. He looked at the dash clock. Only 1:20. Still early. Good. Plenty of time to work on that bike. 

Henry clicked open the garage door and eased the dripping Subaru inside. As the door clanged shut, Henry turned on the space heater, headed to the back of the garage where the Schwinn waited, and picked up the bike chain. 

I may be going about this wrong, he thought as he worked the chain over the sprockets. I should have Thane helping with this. Give him an interest besides those blasted computer games.

By late evening, Henry was almost finished with the bike. He lay down his wrench and looked out the shop window. Snow fell thick and fast. Henry rubbed his chin as he eyed the mound over his picket fence. Lord, that fence is almost buried. Guess I’d better crank up the snowblower before the snow is too deep to move.

The Honda blower started on the first pull. Good machine, by golly. Henry pointed it down the drive and started blowing. Giant flakes plastered Henry’s fissured forehead, melted, and ran along bristly eyebrows. He blew at the drips and swiped them with his glove. 

It took him almost thirty minutes to clear the drive. When he reached the sidewalk, he arched his back. He had a good notion to quit and go fix a bite to eat. The sidewalk ended at his property. No one walked out this way. He took out his bandana, wiped his face, and peered down the block. 

In front of Rose Garvin’s place, Henry saw light glinting over mounded snow. Doubt if Rose can manage shoveling this load with that bad hip of hers. Wouldn’t hurt me to clear her walk for her. 

He turned his blower toward the widow’s Victorian, half hoping she’d hear him when he got there and invite him in for a hot cup-o. The old gal had a way of making him feel good—rosy, to tell the truth. Rose was a good name for her. He pictured himself stretched out in her easy chair where he’d parked so many times, sipping sweet hot tea. Ah, the good life.

Henry didn’t hear the yelp over the roar of the snowblower, but he looked up when the glare of headlights swung across his path. A car swerved sideways and headed straight for him. Great Joseph. That guy’s out of control. Henry jumped away from his blower and plunged through snow to a hefty spruce. 

Heart hammering, mouth agape, Henry watched a fancy sports car bounce over the curb, plow around his snowblower, and swerve back to the street. His lungs heaved beneath his worn jacket as the car’s taillights zigzagged past his drive, straightened, and streaked away. 

Whew! Thought my blower was a goner. Blamed fool. Driving too fast for conditions. 

Henry calmed his shaking, stepped over the trenches where the car had swerved, and returned to his blower, still chugging away, unaware of its narrow escape. He engaged the augers, and continued toward the widow’s place. He had something to tell Rose now. He smiled when he thought of her concern. He could just hear her: “Henry,” she’d say. “My, you had a fright, didn’t you? Why that car might have killed you.” 

He’d cleared another half-block when, through swirling snow, he made out a dark shape across his path. What the blazes. . . ? Henry aimed the headlight at the mound, kicked the blower to idle, and slogged over to investigate. Across the walk lay a large collie, still as death, speckled with fat March flakes. Blood dripped from its nose, staining the snow. 

Julius Caesar. Is it dead? Henry placed his hand on the collie’s ribs. Were they moving? He bent his head. Yes, yes. Shallow breaths, barely perceptible, moved the dog’s rib cage. The dog was still alive. 

Boy, this one needs help fast. But danged if I know who to call. Haven’t seen it around. 

Henry turned his blower and headed full throttle for home. He brushed snow from his jacket, stamped his feet, and banged inside, grabbing a towel from the rod by the sink and wiping his dripping face as he headed for the phone book.

Tail Wag Animal Clinic. For emergencies, call 698-0354. Emergency? Emergencies cost an arm and a leg. But I can’t just leave the dog to die. Henry punched in the numbers.

Snow eddied thick in Henry’s headlights. By the time he returned to the collie with his Outback, the dog was almost invisible. Henry brushed snow from it and slipped his hands under its ribs and haunch. “Uh,” he grunted. “You’re no lightweight, fellow.” The dog didn’t even yip when Henry hoisted him. It was in a bad way. Henry eased the collie onto an old army blanket in the back of his station wagon, closed the tailgate, and headed for Tail Wag. 

At the clinic parking lot Henry saw spin tracks, and knew the vet had trouble getting in. Boy, I got it right when I bought all-wheel drive. Sure need it in this stuff.

The vet, a long-faced fellow with droopy eyelids, directed Henry to a back door, then lifted the collie and carried it to an examining table. 

It took only a moment. After the vet examined the collie, he said, “This dog’s in shock. Good thing you got him here when you did. I think we can save him.”

Henry swatted his thigh with his cap. “You know, this dog isn’t mine. The owner must be worried, nice dog like this. Does it have identification tags?”

Dangling from the dog’s collar ring was a rabies tag and a snap from a broken leash or chain. “We may trace him from the rabies tag,” the vet said, “though who knows how old this tag is. Some people don’t keep up shots the way they should. Will you be responsible for the charges if we don’t locate the owner? We need to keep him here at least overnight.”

Henry coughed into his hand. He liked dogs, but . . . . He looked at the black and tan dog with its heavy white ruff, lying there so helpless. His heart turned. He reached out and stroked it. Can’t let that fellow die. Someone’s probably looking for him—either that or doesn’t even know he’s gone. Snapped his chain, looks like. 

Henry left his address and phone number, plunked on his cap, and headed home.

When Henry reached home, snow still fell fast and heavy. Six or more inches of new snow covered the drive. Henry blew out a breath. He didn’t feel like anymore snow-blowing. Let that wait ‘til morning. I feel like stretching out by a fire. 

Thinking of a cozy fire made Henry think of Rose. He hung his jacket in the entryway, flipped on the kitchen light, and looked at the clock over his sink. 8:20. Not too late to call her.

Henry peeled a banana and ate it while he dialed Rose’s number. Rose answered on the third ring. “Hey, Rose, Henry here. I was wondering how you’re making out in all this snow. Any problems?”

“Henry. That’s so nice of you to check. No, I’m as snug as a bug here in front of the television, crocheting an afghan for Carrie Hampton’s baby shower. If the power doesn’t go off, I’m fine. Now dealing with all this snow will be a trick. Goodness knows, I need the exercise, but my contrary old hip does nag at me when I do heavy work like that. If the Fransden boy is available tomorrow, I may get him to do it.”

“Listen, Rose. Now don’t you go trying to shovel that snow. It’s really stacked up. I actually started toward your place with the snowblower, but got tangled up with something else. Tell you what. Wouldn’t hurt to keep the snow from piling up. I’ll run the blower over and stop by if that’s okay with you.”
“Well, of course, Hen. I’d love to have your company.”

“It’ll take me a while. What’s too late?”

“Henry, I hate to think of you out there in the dark fighting this snow. But you’re welcome to come over. I never go to bed before midnight.”

“You know, Rose, it’s a lot easier snow-blowing a path than it is walking through this stuff. And I have a headlight on my blower. Don’t you worry about me. Put the teapot on, though. I’ll work up a thirst by the time I get there.”

By the time he reached Rose’s, snow plastered Henry’s clothes. When Rose answered the doorbell, he stood dripping in her doorway, his bushy eyebrows glistening with melting flakes. “Whew. Man! This is one of those big March snows. Wouldn’t surprise me if it doesn’t close the roads. Probably be a good thing if it does. You’d think by this late in winter people would’ve learned to drive in this stuff, but they haven’t. Not one crazy yoyo, anyway.”

After Henry settled in Rose’s platform rocker with a mug of steaming tea, he told Rose about the skidding car. 

“Oh, Henry, he could have killed you. Thank goodness you had your wits about you.”

Gratified by Rose’s concern, Henry settled his tea mug on a coaster and stretched his legs. “And that’s not the end of the story Rose. A heck of a thing. Maybe you can help me.” 

Henry told Rose about the collie. “Never saw that collie before. Do you know anyone around here who owns one?”

Rose put down her crochet hook and looked over the rim of her glasses. “No one in this neighborhood owns a collie. But, Henry, I’ll just bet. . . . The Whitneys never got their golden retriever spayed. If she’s in heat. . . . Male dogs become regular Houdini’s when a female’s in heat. Do you know how far away a dog can sense that?”

Henry didn’t know. And he didn’t know what he’d do with that dog if they didn’t find the owner. “What do you think, Rose? I’m not set up for a dog.”

Rose chuckled and put down her crocheting to pour Henry more tea. “Well, Hen, I think that’s just what you need—a dog. And I know how you worry about Thane. You, bless your heart, want to help the kid. Taking care of a dog would be good for him. Yes sir, Henry, if you don’t find the owner, you just ought to keep that dog.”

Henry wondered if Rose was putting him on. He didn’t want to be saddled with a dog. But he thought of that grandson of his and wondered. 

When Henry hoisted himself out of the rocker he felt stiff and creaky, but he firmed himself and walked to the door, lithe as a teenager. Wouldn’t do to let Rose see him hobble. He thanked Rose for the tea; zipped up his jacket, and headed into snow so thick he couldn’t see the road. He was glad he had his snowblower. He’d blow his way back.

As he blew a path toward his place, he thought again of Thane and shook his head. The kid needs to get out more. All he wants to do is sit in front of that computer and—what? Zap creatures? Kid oughta’ be outside building snow forts, having snowball fights, in summer, playing kick the can or dare base. Or don’t kids do that these days? Thane’s pasty-faced, pudgy, and just plain lazy. Lord, it makes me sick to watch him slopping around. He needs exercise. Doubt if he has many friends. Fat kids get picked on, I know. Reckon I ought to do more with him. His dad’s never around and Ellen spoils him.

Henry parked the snowblower and headed for the shower. Hot water drumming on his shoulders eased his aching bones. Phew, it felt good. Henry hit the bed and was asleep in five minutes, Thane and the collie forgotten.

The next day, Henry picked up the collie and paid the vet bill. More alert now, the collie licked Henry’s hand when he reached out to it. Nice dog. Darned dog knows how to work my heart, the rascal. 

“So, Mr. Welton, the dog has a broken pelvis. If you want a perfect set, I could put a pin in, but I see no need. His muscles should keep the bones in alignment. Keep him quiet and out of the weather for a week or two. The rabies tag has expired, but here’s the number I got from the clinic where he was immunized.” 

On the way home, Henry stopped at Safeway and bought a small bag of kibbles. He didn’t plan on having the dog long. At home, he rummaged in his closet for a tattered blanket he should have pitched long ago. Using that and the army blanket from his car, he made a bed for the dog in the garage. Then he did what he could to find its owner.

He dialed the rabies tag trace number and listened to a recording: “We’re sorry. That number is no longer. . . .” 
He phoned the pound. “No, no one has called looking for a male collie.”

He searched Lost and Found ads. A dozen dogs were lost, but no collies. 

Why isn’t the owner looking for this dog? I would be if he were mine. Henry placed three “found” ads then went to check on the dog. He stooped and scratched the collie’s silky ears. The collie thumped its tail and looked up at Henry with moist, hopeful eyes. “Where do you belong, fellow? Wish you could talk.”

That evening, Henry went to the garage and helped the collie up so he could go outside to do his business. “Okay, guy. I can’t find your owner. Guess you’re stuck with me until he shows up.” 

Stiff-legged, the collie moved to the door. Henry reached down and stroked its head, then groaned and stretched his back. “I know how you feel, fellow. I know just how you feel.” 

* * *

The following Saturday, Henry took the refurbished Schwinn over to Thane. A spring thaw had blown in, turning the snow to slop. He wheeled the bike to the garage and put down the kickstand. Ellen came to the door when he rang.
“Thane’s upstairs on the computer. I’ll call him.”

“Tha-ane. Your grandpa is here. He has something for you.”

With a put-upon look darkening his face, Thane, came thumping down the stairs, shoelaces dragging. “Thane,” Henry said, “Get your jacket on. I have something for you out by the garage.”

Thane sighed, pulled on a silver windbreaker, and trudged out to where Henry was standing with a hand on the bike saddle. “Okay, Thane, here’s how she works.” Henry went over the gear operation. “You know both your uncle and your mother used to rip around on this. It’s yours now. Burn up the streets with it, kid.” 

Thane shrugged. “Uh, thanks,” he muttered and headed for the house.

Annoyance firmed Henry’s lips. This isn’t doing it, darned ungrateful kid. He pulled at his cap. Then he remembered Rose’s teasing suggestion. 

“Say, Thane, come back here,” he yelled. “I’d like your opinion on something. When you finish up chores you have here, come on over. I want to consult with you, but I have to show it to you first. The streets are clear enough now. Ride the bike over. Good way to check it out.”

Thane yelped, “You want my opinion?” His voice squeaked like a startled pup on my. “What about?”

“That I’m not going to tell you until you take a look. You need to see what I’m talking about to give a good opinion.”

Nudged by pride and curiosity, after lunch, Thane grabbed his jacket. What could Gramps want my opinion on? Why does he have to make me go all the way over there to find out? Who does he think I am, anyway? Lance Armstrong? He lives clear over on the other side of town.

Thane drew on his silver windbreaker and shuffled out to the Schwinn. As he raised the kickstand, he blew out a breath and, sighing, straddled the bike. The bike rolled down the driveway to the street. Thane’s sluggish legs started peddling. 

After peddling through puddles for three blocks, Thane, gasping and heaving, put his foot on the pavement. He hadn’t ridden a bike since he was a little kid. Man, this is work. Gramps could’ve come and picked me up if he needed my input. Boy, this had better be good.

He peddled a few more blocks and stopped again. He rubbed an arm over his forehead and considered. Jeez, this isn’t worth it. Gramps doesn’t know how much work this is. I could be at home having fun on the computer, and I sure could use a Coke about now. He unzipped his windbreaker, picked up the tail of his tee shirt, and wiped his face. Then he turned his bike toward home.

Thane looked at the long row of melt-puddled blocks back home. Man. Going back will be just as hard as it was getting this far. The thought of peddling back home joined forces with a prick of pride. Putting a hand on his wheezing chest and throwing back his head, Thane stood until his wheezing lessened. Then he turned his bike back around and pointed it toward his grandpa’s.

Taking two more rests, Thane puffed his way through melt water the entire four and a half miles to his grandfather’s house. At Henry’s place, Thane didn’t even bother with the kickstand. The bike clunked to the asphalt driveway. Thane swiped his flushed face, ran his hands down his jeans, and then walked to the door. Boy, he thought as he punched the doorbell, this had better be really, really, really good after all that work.

* * *

Henry slapped Thane on the back after he let him in. “By golly, Thane. So you made it through all that melt water. Good for you. Glad you’re here. I have a real puzzler and I think you’re just the guy to help me with it. Come on out to the garage and I’ll show you.”

By now, the collie was getting around better. When Henry and Thane entered the garage, he swished his tail and walked over to them.

“Hey, Grandpa, I didn’t know you had a dog. When did you get it?”

Thane bent down to pet the collie while Henry told him the story.

“Now here I am, stuck with the fellow. Once that pelvis is healed, he’s gonna’ need more exercise than I can give him. I hate to take him to the pound. He’s kinda’ worked his way inside me. Can’t stand the thought of him being put away. You got any ideas?”

Thane straightened, but let one hand trail over the collie’s silky fur. With the other hand, he scratched his spiky hair and screwed up this face. “Geez, Gramps, I don’t know. I maybe could’ve walked him after school if we could take him, but we don’t have enough yard for him even to go to the bathroom in and dad would probably spit nails if that dog dug up his tulips or peed on his precious peonies.” 

Thane plopped down on the step leading to the kitchen, rested an elbow on his knee, and propped his chin up with a pudgy hand. His brown eyes regarded the dog. The collie, tail wagging, licked Thane’s other hand. A slow grin crooked the corners of Thane’s mouth. “Hey, you know, Grandpa. I think this dog likes me.” Thane put both arms around the collie and touched the dog’s nose with his nose. “Don’t cha, fellow? Don’t cha?”

“Well,” Henry said, “you think on it while I rustle us up a bite to eat.”

* * *

Henry had plotted when he shopped for this snack. He chuckled to himself as he laid out two glasses of grapefruit juice, low-fat cottage cheese with Lite Fruit Cocktail over the top and whole-wheat crackers. Hardly a man’s meal. Looks more like something for Ladies’ Aid. But if I’m gonna help Thane, I need to do it with both feet. Hope Thane isn’t insulted.

He opened the door to the garage and saw Thane shaking the collie’s paw. Good. Good, Henry thought. I’ve a hunch this is going to work.

“How about some grub,” he said. “Bet you could use a little something after your ride over here.”

To Thane’s credit, he didn’t complain about the food. He dug in and polished off the cottage cheese in the space of a minute or two. “Hey,” he said, “you know, Grandpa, I like cottage cheese with fruit on it like that. You aren’t a bad cook for a man.”

While they were eating, Thane said, “I was just thinking, Gramps, you’ve got a big yard. Why don’t you keep the dog? And you oughta name him. You can’t just be calling him ‘Him.’”

Henry leaned back in his chair and scratched his head. “Well, now, Thane, that’s an idea, but it has problems. As I mentioned, he’s going to need more exercise than I can give him. And that fence around the back yard won’t hold a dog. He can get out unless I chain him.”

* * *

Thane stuffed a cracker in his mouth and thought while he chewed. “Well, maybe. . . .” Warring thoughts tore through him. Gramp’s place wasn’t that far from school, but the idea of coming over here instead of riding the bus home made him tired just thinking about it. He looked at the garage door and blinked. But that dog likes me. We just can’t let him be put to sleep.

Thane swallowed at the thought of the dog being put down and stuck another cracker in his mouth. Behind his brown eyes, his mind churned. He finished his grapefruit juice, sucked the glass for one last drop, and then looked up at his grandfather. 

“Uh, Gramps, I got kind of an idea that maybe might work. The guys don’t want me on the softball team anyway ‘cause I can’t run fast enough, so maybe, uh,” Thane paused, rolled a pudgy fist over his forehead, and continued, “I suppose after school, I could maybe come over on that bike you gave me and walk him for you. School’s only about ten blocks from here.”

So Henry kept the collie. He let Thane name it. Thane named the dog Amigo. Henry wondered if that showed how much Thane needed a friend. 

* * *

Henry lassoed Thane into helping dog-proof his fence. Good for the boy to do a little outside work with his hands. The next Saturday, Henry loaded Amigo into his station wagon and went to pick up Thane.

Thane didn’t mind leaving his computer games this time. He’d played so many of them he was a little tired of them and ready for something new. He squared his shoulders at the thought of working side-by-side with his grandpa like a real man. Yeah! He liked the feel.

When Henry beeped, Thane clomped out the door and climbed into the Outback. He grinned when he saw Amigo, reached back, and scratched Amigo behind the ears. “Hi, there, fellow. How’s that pelvis doing? Are you well enough to start exercising some?” 

Listening, Henry smiled.

“We need to dig a trench all the way around the fence,” Henry explained. “Then we’ll embed wire and fasten the wire to the pickets with brads. That way old Amigo won’t be able to get out to go roaming for lady friends and get smacked by a car again.” 

“All the way around?” Thane yelped. He slumped down on the back porch step. “Geez, Gramps. I’ll never get all that done. As you can see, I’m not exactly Mr. Universe.”

“We’ll work together on it, Thane. I need your help, though. Think you can manage it?”

With drooping shoulders, Thane said, “Yeah. Maybe.”

So, on that bright spring Saturday, the two worked together. When Henry noticed Thane’s energy flagging, he said, “By golly, Thane, you’ve been working like a field hand. I had a hunch you had it in you. I’m ready for a break and a glass of orange juice. How about you?”

Thane dropped his shovel, let out a relieved sigh, squared his shoulders, and, with firm, proud step, followed his grandpa inside. 

Throughout the fencing job, Thane stopped many times, wiped his beet-red face with the back of his hand, then picked up the pickax and continued hacking at the still frozen ground. Henry scratched his chin and grinned as he watched Thane pulling fence wire down into the trench they had dug. Not once had he heard Thane complain about the work. By gosh, I’m gonna have to tell Rose she was right. Darned if that dog hasn’t turned out to be a blessing for the kid. I can see already Thane has more energy and he’s developing some muscles in that flab.

“Hey, Gramps,” Thane said after they finished attaching the wire to the pickets, “if we went over to that abandoned gravel pit and got some big rocks and put ‘em around the edge of the fence, that’d make double sure Amigo can’t get out.”

Henry slapped Thane on the back. “By golly, Thane, that’s a good idea. Wish I’d thought of it myself. Are you game to do it now? After we finish, I’ll treat you to supper.” 

Thane jumped at the chance to act on his idea. Popping with pleasure at Thane’s initiative, Henry said, “I’ll call your mom and let her know.” 

Thane kept his word. As soon as Amigo’s pelvis healed, he started biking to school instead taking the bus. When school was out, he peddled over to Henry’s while other boys his age trooped to the ball field. 

Henry purchased a stout leash for the dog. He grinned as he watched Amigo jumping up while Thane snapped on the leash. He didn’t know where Thane walked the dog, but he had a hunch they went to that woods a mile or so out of town and splashed around in the creek there. Often both boy and dog came back muddy when there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky for days.

Then one day, toward the end of the school year, Henry watched Thane and Amigo take off in the opposite direction, heading toward the center of town. Why is he heading that way? Hope he realizes he can’t unleash the dog in town. 

Henry shrugged and returned to his shop where he was sharpening mower blades. But I reckon I ought to give the kid credit for having a little sense. He’s been regular as the courthouse clock about walking that dog. Tickles the heck out of me to see him pull out of his sluggishness the way he has.

Henry was mowing around Amigo’s pen when Thane and Amigo returned. He looked up, ready to smile at them, but paused when he saw his grandson. Thane’s shoulders sagged, his now tanned face drooped, and he was blinking back tears. Henry shut off the mower.

“Hey, there, Thane. You look lower than a well bottom. What’s the trouble?”

“I walked Amigo over to the ball field to show him off to the guys and when Jake Burbank saw Amigo, he started yelling, ‘Hey, Dusty. Dusty, boy,’” Thane’s voice quavered, “and Amigo pulled the leash right out of my hand to get over to him, wagging his tail and licking his face and stuff. Amigo acted like I never even existed.

“Then,” Thane gulped and continued, “then Jake looked at me like I was some kind of thief and said, ‘What are you doing with my dog? Where’ve you been keeping him? I’ve been looking all over for him since March.’

“I said, ‘This is my grandpa’s dog,’ and we got in a big argument. I made the mistake of saying, ‘you can just go ask Grandpa if you want.’ Then of all the dumb things, I gave him your address. You may be in trouble. I betcha’ his mom or dad comes over. They’re gonna try to take Amigo away.” Thane’s voice cracked and he swiped his eyes with the back of his wrist.

Henry reached out for Thane and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, Thane, let’s just wait and see what happens. Whoever owned this dog didn’t try very hard to find him. I did advertise with no results. But if Amigo is Jake’s dog, you would want Jake to get him back, wouldn’t you? You think about that. I’ll see you tomorrow—Amigo and I.” 

His heart heavy, Henry shook his head as he watched Thane pedal away.

Once inside, Henry called Rose. “Listen, Rose. Got a problem. Wonder if I could stop by after supper and chew it over with you? You’re good at ironing out wrinkles, and I have a tough one.”

“Henry, you come on over whenever you’re ready. I’ll have the kettle on.”

Dispirited, Henry put down the phone and rummaged through the refrigerator for something to eat. He wasn’t feeling hungry. Thinking about Thane losing that dog took away his appetite. He sliced cheese, slapped it on a piece of bread, and sat staring out the kitchen window, chewing his sandwich and fretting. When the doorbell rang, he groaned.

* * *

A tall, balding man stood on the stoop. He had a boy about Thane’s age with him. “Hello. I’m Dan Burbank. This is my son, Jake. I’m looking for Thane Thatcher’s grandfather. Am I at the right place?”

“Reckon you are. I’m Thane’s grandfather. What can I do for you?” Henry asked, although he knew darned well why the man had come.

They went to the backyard where Amigo was curled up by the doghouse Henry and Thane had made together. Dan was explaining that Dusty had disappeared last March. As identifying marks, he told Henry Dusty had enlarged dewclaws on his back feet.

Dadblame it, Henry thought. I did notice those dew claws.

But no identifying marks were needed. As soon as they entered the yard, Jake yelled, “Dusty,” and Amigo tore over to him and nearly knocked him down licking his face. Jake had a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon beneath his freckled nose. “See, Dad. See. I told you.”

Henry told the story of how he found Dusty. Mr. Burbank pulled out his checkbook. Look, Mr. . . Mr. . .”
“Welton. Welton’s the name. Henry Welton.”

“Let me pay you for those vet bills and the food you’ve put into this guy the past–what? Almost three months, isn’t it?”

Henry said, “Nah. You don’t need to do that. That dog has done my grandson a lotta’ good. Losing him is going to be rough on Thane. Wonder if you could leave him here another day so Thane can say good-by to him?”

Mr. Burbank wrote out a check anyway and stuck it in Henry’s shirt pocket. “Yeah, guess another day won’t hurt. I get off work at 5:00. How about 5:20 tomorrow? Is that a good time to come by and pick him up?”

Henry said 5:20 was fine. He let them out the side gate and shook his head when Amigo whined and tried to climb the fence to dash after them.

At Rose’s, Henry took another sip of tea and said, “. . . so that’s the story, Rose. Thane’s going to be broken up, losing that dog. Got any ideas?”

Rose sat looking out the window, watching a robin flying to a nest in the gathering dusk. She rocked awhile, and then spoke. “Well, Henry, Thane needs to learn there are disappointments in life. You’re right, helping him realize Amigo should go back to his original owner. Accepting that’ll help make a man of him.”

She rocked some more, then said, “But you know, Hen, it wouldn’t hurt you to have another dog, now would it? The pound is full of dogs that are just going to be euthanized.”

Henry coughed and let out a “Humph.” Then he grinned and said, “You know, Rose, I’d been thinking along those lines myself. I’ll have to see what Thane has to say, though.”

* * *

The following afternoon, Thane pedaled over from school and headed for his grandfather’s backyard. Amigo was there, ready for their usual walk. Henry gathered his courage, stepped out the back door, and stood watching his grandson and the dog. 

“Thane,” he said, “come here and sit down. I’ve something to discuss with you.” He patted the cement step beneath the door.

“. . . They’re coming at 5:20 to pick him up, so you’d better not walk far today. I asked to keep Amigo overnight so you could say good-by to him.”

Thane kept his head turned from his grandfather, but Henry had seen the tears running down his face. Amigo was at Thane’s side stretching up to lick the tears. Thane bent, gathered Amigo in his arms, and buried his face in the collie’s ruff.

By the time Jake and Dan came to get Amigo, Thane had resigned himself to the loss of his friend. He looked at Jake and said, “Jake, I was wondering. Could I, uh, would you mind if I—uh—like came over to see Amigo—Dusty, as you call him—once in a while?”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe you could go with me sometimes when I walk him.”

After Jake and Dan left, Henry made his proposal. “How about you and I go over to the pound. See if they have a dog you might like. You can keep it here, but it’d be your dog.”

Thane brightened a little, but not much. “Yeah, maybe. As long as it’s a collie. There won’t be any as good as Amigo, though.”

But there was a collie as good as Amigo. It took three weeks for it to come in. When the pound called, Henry asked them to hold the collie. “I’ll bring my grandson right over.”

At the pound, the caretaker led them to a cage holding a collie that looked like Amigo’s twin. Thane went to the cage and poked his fingers through the wire. The collie wagged his tail, sniffed Thane’s fingers, and then licked them. It was a young dog, Henry could see. Its owners were getting rid of it because it chewed up their car seat.

We’ll give that dog some rawhide to chew when he’s in the tail of my Outback, Henry thought. Dog’ll outgrow that chewing anyway.

“Well, Thane, what do you think? Would you like to own him?”

Thane’s grin gave him all the answer he needed.