Sea Dog (2 page)

Kyle sat beside her and watched her breathe.

“I think she'll be all right,” Mom said. “Shall we give her a name?”

Kyle nodded. “Let's call her Treasure. She's the best treasure we ever found.”

All that rainy morning Kyle sat beside Treasure. At lunchtime Mom reheated the pancakes. They ate every bite. Treasure drank some more warm milk.

After lunch Mom and Kyle went out. They needed to buy dog food and a dog dish. Treasure slept by the woodstove. When they came back, Treasure sat up and wagged her tail. “She's happy to see us!” Kyle said.

He put dog food into the shiny new dish. Treasure gobbled it up. Then she curled up and went back to sleep.

“How come she sleeps so much?” Kyle asked. “She might be sick or she might be very old,” Mom said. “Or she might just be tired.”

“I think she's tired,” Kyle said.

Treasure slept all afternoon and all night long.

Early the next morning Kyle opened his eyes. Two brown eyes stared back at him. “Treasure!” he cried. “You're better!”

Treasure licked Kyle's nose. Her tongue felt warm and sticky.

Outside, sun sparkled on a rippled sea. “Let's walk along the beach,” Kyle said after breakfast.

Kyle took his walking stick from the wheelbarrow. Treasure sat and barked at it. He gave the stick to Treasure and she ran away. She bounded into the water. Kyle ran to the water's edge. By then Treasure was a long way from shore.

“Treasure!” he called. “Come back!”

A lone white boat sailed far out on the rippled sea. Treasure's nose pointed toward it. But the boat sailed farther and farther away.

Kyle ran into the water. It was cold on his legs. “Treasure!” he called.

At last Treasure turned around and swam back. She still had the stick in her mouth.

After that Kyle hurried home from school every day. He always took Treasure for a walk along the beach. She always carried the same stick. She always went swimming. But she never swam so far from shore again.

Sometimes Kyle went out with his dad, but it wasn't the same. When Kyle came home, he always felt sad. He always took Treasure for a walk on the beach. She helped him feel less lonely.

Spring came and the days grew longer. One warm sunny afternoon, Kyle took Treasure for a walk. For once she didn't run into the water. Instead, she
streaked along the beach. She still carried her stick in her mouth.

“Treasure, come back!” Kyle called. But the dog paid no attention.

She ran along the sandbar and Kyle ran after her. He saw Treasure leaping around a tall man. The man carried a pipe in his mouth. He had a big gray beard.

Treasure dropped her stick. She leaped up and down and quivered with excitement.

The man took his pipe from his mouth. He crouched down and put his arms around the dog. Treasure licked his face.

“By gum, it's you, Otter! I can't believe it! You ought-ter be drowned!”

The man looked at Kyle. There were tears in his eyes. “Thank you for finding my dog,” he said.

Kyle looked at the man. He felt scared and angry. This man wanted to take Treasure away.

“Her name's Treasure, not Otter! And she's my dog, not yours!”

“Kyle!” his mom called. She ran toward them.

Kyle watched his mom and tried not to cry.

“Is there a problem here?” she asked.

“That man says Treasure is his dog!” Kyle pointed at the man.

“Hi,” the man said. He smiled. “I'm Bill. I'm so happy to see my dog again. She fell overboard in a big storm. I searched for a long, long time. Finally I gave up. I thought she had drowned.”

“She's my Treasure!” Kyle shouted. “I found her on the beach. She was all wrapped up in seaweed.”

Bill smiled again. “That's my Otter. She's a great old sea dog.”

“She's my dog!” Kyle shouted. “Here Treasure!” Treasure licked Kyle's face.

Bill stopped smiling. “I'd say we have a problem here.”

“Please, come back to our house,” Mom said. “I'll make coffee and we can talk.”

Kyle didn't want to talk to Bill. Bill was not a nice man. He wanted to take Treasure away. Treasure picked up her stick. She walked between Kyle and Bill. Her tail wagged all the way back to the house.

Mom and Bill sat in the kitchen. Kyle took Treasure into his room. He packed some clothes in his schoolbag. “Shh!” he whispered. “We're going to find my dad. He'll let me keep you.”

They tiptoed to the front door. Bill's voice drifted down the hall. Kyle heard two words, “
Lady Tia.”

Treasure stopped. Her ears perked up. She turned and ran to the kitchen.

Bill laughed. “You love the
Lady Tia,
don't you, Otter?”

Kyle moved close to the kitchen door. He waited for Treasure to come back.

Bill sighed. “My boat is for sale,” he said. “I didn't feel like sailing after I lost Otter. I missed her too much.”

“Why did you name her Otter?” Mom asked.

Bill chuckled. “Because she swims like an otter. She's the best sea dog that ever lived.”

“Tell us about her,” Mom said.

Kyle crept into the kitchen. He leaned on a wall and sank to the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest and stared straight ahead. He didn't want to hear Bill's story. But he couldn't leave without Treasure.

Bill leaned back on his chair. He rubbed a hand over his big gray beard. Then he started to talk.

First I will tell you about my daughter, Tia.

When Tia was seven, I bought a beautiful sailboat. I named it
Lady Tia.
When we were on the sailboat, Tia always called me Cap'n Bill. We were happy sailing together.

Year after year, Tia grew. She grew bigger and older. The time came when she needed to move far away.

Before she left, she came to say good-bye. We sat on the deck of
Lady Tia.

“I have a special gift for you,” she said. In her arms was a tiny, wiggly, black bundle.

“What is it?” I asked.

“This is a very special puppy. She was born on a boat, and she loves the sea.”

Well, I didn't want a puppy. But I didn't want to disappoint Tia. She was trying to make things better for me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Good-bye, Cap'n Bill.” Tia gave me a big hug. “I'll always miss sailing with you.” Then she went away.

The puppy wiggled in my arms. I almost dropped her overboard. So I took her down the ladder. I put her on a bunk inside the
Lady Tia
.

I climbed back up the ladder. I sat on deck and puffed on my pipe. The wind blew at my back. I smelled the crisp salty air. Outside the harbor, choppy waves called to me.
Come sail with us! Come sail with us!

I didn't want to hear.

Lady Tia
was sparkly clean. Her sails were ready to raise. But I didn't feel like sailing. “Well old girl,”
I rubbed my hand along her shiny wood trim, “I reckon it's time I sold you.”

Lady Tia
shuddered in the wind. Her lines clattered fast and hard against the mast.
Clang-clang-clang-clang.
I always loved that sound. It made me want to untie
Lady Tia
. It made me long to sail a windswept sea.

I loved the creak and groan of the rigging.

I loved the way
Lady Tia
sliced through the waves. She sailed faster than the wind blew.

I loved the soft cool touch of salt spray on my face.

But not that day. That day I sat on deck and puffed on my pipe. I listened to waves slap, slap, slapping against the clean white hull. I looked out the narrow gap that led to the sea. I saw green and white waves tumble and splash.

“It's a perfect day to sail,” I said. But I didn't get up. I didn't untie the ropes that held
Lady Tia
fast.

Then something caught my eye. A black speck rose to the crest of a wave. It swam like an otter. Then it was gone.

I saw it again, on the next wave. “It's too small for a seal,” I said, “but too black for an otter.” There was no one to hear me. Maybe I was talking to
Lady Tia.
Maybe I was talking to myself.

I put down my pipe. Green and white waves tumbled and splashed. The black speck was hard to find. It rose and fell with every wave. Wind and tide pushed it away. Soon I could barely see it.

Then I had a terrible thought. I leaped from my seat. I ran down the ladder. The puppy was not in the cabin. I ran back outside. I stepped to the dock.

“How did she get out there?” I untied the bow rope.

“She won't last much longer.” I untied the stern rope.

“It's all my fault.” I pushed the bow out from the dock.

“I need to save her.” I stepped on board.

I pulled the line to raise the mainsail. That big white sail rose up, up. It rose to the top of the mast.

Wind filled the sail. It puffed out like a white balloon.
Lady Tia
leaped forward. She danced over the waves. Water gurgled behind her stern. A little trail of dimples followed behind us.

I set the sail and turned the tiller.
Lady Tia
turned her nose to the sea.

Lady Tia
slipped through the gap into the open sea. Her bow dipped and rolled. Waves splashed over her side. I held the tiller steady and searched the choppy water. Waves broke into white foam. Chunks of driftwood bobbed up and down.
Seaweed tangled together. But the little black speck was nowhere to be seen.

I felt worse than lonely. I felt terrible. “Poor little pup,” I whispered. “She must be lonely. Maybe she's looking for her mother. I should never have left her all alone. She must have climbed the ladder. She must have fallen overboard. I didn't even hear a splash.”

I turned
Lady Tia's
nose into the wind. Her mainsail flapped.
Lady Tia
stood dead in the water.

I stood up and searched the white-flecked sea. “Nothing but driftwood and seaweed pulled loose by the storm. No sign of a little black puppy.” I knew she must be tired. She would not last long in that cold water.

The sea looked empty. Lonely and empty and sad. But I couldn't give up. I fixed the tiller in place. Then I crept over the deck to the mast. I pulled the line to raise the jib sail. The jib rose up and up. It flapped in the wind.

I crept back to the tiller. I pulled the lines to make both sails puff out.
Crash!
The boom swung over my head.
Lady Tia
bounded over the waves like a deer in a meadow.

I sat down to steer
Lady Tia
in a big circle. As I steered I searched the waves for a tiny black speck. But I didn't hold out much hope. Too much time had passed.

Chunks of driftwood bobbed up and down. Seaweed tangled together. Cold salt spray tickled my face. Water gurgled around
Lady Tia.
The rigging creaked and groaned.

And yipped.

“Now,
Lady Tia,
there's a sound you never made before,” I said.