★ Chapter 11 ★
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“Seriously, Brave?” Dylan dropped an armful of tree branches onto the pile, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked down at the dog. Brave had a stick in his mouth and was pawing at Dylan’s leg, ready for a game of tug-of-war. Dylan waved a hand at the field strewn with debris. “You see all this? I’ve got work to do. No time for playing, pal.”
They had only cleared a corner of the huge field and had a long way to go before they could even stop for a snack.
Brave whined, dropped to the ground a few feet away, and busied himself with gnawing on one end of the stick. Grace’s dog, Mustang, sidled over and plopped down next to Brave. She took the other end of the stick in her mouth and the two dogs chewed side by side. Dylan had to admit that it was pretty sweet that the dogs already got along so well.
Grace walked up and tossed a load of branches onto the stack.
“You’re not tired already, are you?” she said to Dylan.
He exhaled and put his hands on his hips. “How are you not tired?” Dylan asked. “This is harder than I thought it would be—and remember, you promised it wouldn’t be too hard.”
“I’m a rancher’s daughter,” Grace said with a shrug. “You’ll get used to it. If you plan to stick around past day one, that is.”
Dylan rolled his eyes at her. “I plan to stick around.”
“Just checking,” Grace said. “You look like you’d rather be home playing video games, that’s all.”
“Well, I’d definitely rather be doing that,” Dylan cracked. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
Brave barked and Dylan felt something tugging on his leg. He twisted around to look behind him. The dog was jumping forward and back, nipping at Dylan’s chaps and trying to pull him away to play.
“Brave!” Dylan swatted at the dog, but Brave skittered away and lowered his chest to the ground, his tail wagging high in the air. “Not now. Later, pal.” Dylan shook his head.
“He’s got a lot of energy,” Grace observed. She was squinting at Brave, sizing him up. “Mustang was like that too when she was a pup.” Mustang rolled onto her back on the grass, her paws in the air. She closed her eyes and basked in the midday sun. “Maybe Brave is still young.”
“The people at the shelter thought he was almost two. Is that young?”
She nodded. “For a dog it is. Some still act like puppies until they’re three.”
As if on cue, Brave swung his head in a circle, tossing the stick up in the air and chasing after it. Dylan and Grace both laughed and got back to work.
“Help me with this one, would you?” Grace waved Dylan over to a long, thick tree trunk lying on the ground. It was too heavy for her to pick up on her own. He grabbed one end and she grabbed the other.
“Three . . . two . . .” Grace counted down. “One!” They lifted at the same time and raised the heavy wood off the ground. They stumbled quickly toward the pile and, with a swing, heaved it onto the tall stack of tangled dry branches. Twigs and leaves went flying as the tree trunk crashed onto the pile. It snapped through the layers with a loud pop! pop! pop! before hitting the bottom with a dull thud.
Brave let out a terrified yelp. Dylan spun toward him and saw that the dog was trembling with fear, a line of fur standing on end on his back. He had dropped the stick and there was a wild look in his eye.
“What’s up, buddy?” Dylan asked. He took a step toward the dog, but Brave backed away. Dylan squatted down and reached out a hand, trying to lure the dog over to him. But Brave was beyond reach.
“He’s terrified,” Grace said under her breath to Dylan. “He’s about to bolt, but we can catch him. I’ll go left, you go right. But go slow.”
Dylan nodded. He stepped slowly to the right while Grace moved in the opposite direction. They flanked Brave, who stared at the ground, panting in short, sharp breaths. They got within arm’s reach, but that seemed too close for comfort for the dog, who took one desperate look around, then tried to run past them. Grace managed to snatch his collar just as he flew past. At first Brave strained against her grip, but soon he gave up, whimpering and shuffling his front paws in an anxious dance. Dylan ran over and dropped to his knees by Grace’s side. He reached out for Brave, who let Dylan stroke his head and back while he trembled.
“Shhhhh,” Dylan whispered. “Shhhhh. It’s okay, Brave.”
Grace was silent for a long moment, thinking. She assessed Brave from snout to paws. “It’s like he had some kind of really bad experience and it’s made him extra jumpy.”
“The shelter said they got a ton of dogs after the hurricane,” Dylan said. “Dogs that got lost or separated from their families.”
“That’s so sad,” Grace said.
“I know. The place was packed—there were so many dogs there, it was awful.” Dylan ran a hand down Brave’s back and scratched him on the side. “Do you think Brave could be one of them?”
“That could explain it,” Grace said with a nod.
“Or if he was a stray, then he might have been out in the storm.” Dylan shuddered. Every time he thought of the hurricane, he felt the same fear he’d felt that night and relived the awful noise of it. He remembered how it felt when the house shook, or how he jumped every time a tree branch or potted plant slammed into the side of his house. He remembered the endless sound of the rain beating down on the roof and sideways into the windows. Sometimes Dylan’s adrenaline started pumping at the mere memory of it all, and he had to remind himself that it was over and he was safe.
He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to be outside during that storm. Alone. Without any understanding of what was happening. Just like Brave and any of the other animals who were lost or stranded by the hurricane.
It was a horrible, chilling thought. Were those the images running through Brave’s mind every time he heard a loud noise? Was he feeling the rain against his fur or hearing the wind beating in his ears again? Dylan hated the thought of Brave going through something that awful—something so bad that it still upset him. But he also knew that if the dog didn’t get over it, there was no way he’d be able to stay with Dylan and his family.
“So . . . what do we do?” he asked.
“The first thing we need to do is train him,” Grace said. “That’ll help you bond with him. And then he’ll trust you and listen to you more, even if he’s upset.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” Dylan said.
“Let’s start with the basics,” Grace said. “Sit, stay, and come.”
“Yeah, um, he’s not great with commands,” Dylan said sheepishly. Brave looked up at Dylan and wagged his tail in agreement.
“Well then, he’s going to need a lot of help from you. So you’d better watch closely—we’ll show you.” Dylan wasn’t sure who she meant by we until she called her dog over. “Mustang, come.” Mustang hopped to her feet almost before the words were out of Grace’s mouth, as if she’d anticipated them. She skipped over to Grace’s side and sat down, her front legs together and her eyes locked on Grace. She was waiting for Grace to give her another command. “Good girl,” Grace said. “Let’s show Dylan and Brave how we do things, okay?”
The dog tipped her head at the sound of Grace’s steady, calm voice.
“Mustang—up.” Mustang stood up. “Heel.” Grace started to walk, and Mustang zipped over, hugged Grace’s left side, and fell in step with her. They walked in a big circle. Grace stopped every few feet, and Mustang stopped with her, then started up again as soon as Grace took a step. They stopped, and Grace held out her hand in an upside down fist over Mustang’s head. Mustang sat instantly.
Dylan couldn’t believe it. Grace hadn’t even had to say the word sit—she’d just used a hand signal.
“Good.” Grace held out an open hand, palm first, toward the dog. Dylan figured out pretty quickly that it must have meant stay, because Grace turned around and walked away while Mustang sat patiently, her eyes glued to Gra
ce as she waited for her next command.
It was one of the coolest things Dylan had ever seen. It was almost like Grace and Mustang were telepathic. Could he and Brave be like that one day too?
Grace came over to Dylan, who was holding Brave by the rope collar. He looked down at Brave, who was busy chewing on his own paw, and his heart sank. How would he ever teach Brave anything even close to that in two short weeks? Could Brave ever go from being a wild dog who lived outside, exposed to the elements but totally free, to being an obedient, attentive pet?
Was there any hope at all that they could pull this off?
Grace whistled, and Mustang sprang up and ran to her. She sat down at Grace’s feet while Grace rubbed her behind the ears in a way that set her tail wagging.
Dylan stood there with his mouth open. “How do you do that without even speaking out loud?”
“Body language, hand signals. It took some time, but we got to understand each other. Don’t worry, you and Brave will get there too.”
“I wouldn’t even know how to start,” Dylan said.
“The trick is exercise, discipline, and affection,” Grace said. “First you tire him out a little through exercise. Then you teach him the rules. Then you reward him with food or some good petting and scratching.”
Dylan knew that Brave had already gotten plenty of exercise that morning, so he moved on to the discipline portion. He waved a fist over Brave’s head, just like Grace had. But Brave didn’t sit like Mustang did—he just stood there with his tail wagging, following Dylan’s fist with his eyes. Dylan couldn’t help but laugh. Clearly Brave had no idea what was going on, and soon he jumped up and started spinning in a circle like he wanted to play a game.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Grace said. “He doesn’t understand what you want yet. You have to break it up into little lessons, just like they do in school. Teach him one small thing at a time.”
She showed Dylan how to hold a treat in his hand, which—like the bread from the day before—really got Brave’s attention.
“Sit.” As he said the word, Dylan patted the dog firmly on the rump while tugging up gently on his collar. When Brave lowered his bottom to the ground—grazing the grass with it more than actually sitting—Dylan gave him the snack. They worked on that a few times, until Brave was pretty consistently following the command.
Then Dylan tried to get the dog to stay. He had Brave sit, then gave the command and backed away step by step. At first Brave chased after Dylan, snuffling at his hand in search of a treat. But after a few tries he realized that Dylan wouldn’t give him anything unless he waited, and he started to get the hang of it. Soon they had a new pattern down: If Brave waited for Dylan to call him before moving, he’d get the treat. But if he moved on his own, there was no treat.
They practiced it a dozen times over, and Brave improved each time. Dylan was amazed to watch Brave learning, but he noticed something else about him too. There was a new lightness in the dog’s step—he was relaxed but energized. He was happy. And that made Dylan happy too.
Dylan thought back to the day his dad had taught him to ride a bike a few years ago—the way his dad had patiently held the handlebars for balance and waited for Dylan to get up on the seat. Then he’d started walking backwards while Dylan pedaled slowly. Only when his dad sensed it was the right moment did he take his hands away, first for a second, then two, then for several seconds. All the while he talked to Dylan, calmly telling him he could do it.
Dylan had been so excited to learn how to ride his bike, and so proud of himself. But now he realized that it was his dad who’d felt even prouder than he could ever have imagined.
Dylan had never taught anyone like this before, and it made him feel good to know he could do it. But it was even better to see Brave’s progress. After an hour of practice, Brave did it perfectly.
“He’s tired,” Grace said. “Let’s let him end on a high note.” She and Dylan kneeled down on either side of Brave and gave him a good scratch from head to tail.
By the end of the day, Dylan, Brave, Grace, and Mustang were all covered in dirt and dust. Mr. Garcia called them in from the field, and Dylan followed Grace back to the ranch house, with Brave walking by his side. It seemed like Brave was a little calmer now—and like something had changed between him and Dylan. They were more at ease together, like they had the beginning of an understanding. When Brave got ahead of him, Dylan stopped and waited until Brave noticed and stopped too. Then Dylan would start walking again and Brave would wait for him to catch up, then fall in beside him.
Mr. Garcia was waiting for them on the porch.
“Grace texted me that you did okay for your first day,” Mr. Garcia said.
“It wasn’t easy,” Dylan admitted, wiping his face with his hands and only spreading the dirt and sweat around more.
“Not supposed to be,” Mr. Garcia said with a chuckle. “But it sounds like you were a big help to my daughter.”
“I’m happy to do it, sir.” Dylan’s back and legs were aching, and he was ready for a good warm shower, but he was proud that Grace and Mr. Garcia thought he’d done okay.
Then Mr. Garcia reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, holding it out to Dylan.
“What’s this?”
“Your pay for the day,” Mr. Garcia said. “A good day’s work deserves a good day’s pay.”
Dylan couldn’t mask his surprise. This wasn’t part of the deal he’d made with Grace. They were just going to trade work for dog training. “Oh, Mr. Garcia, thank you, but I can’t—”
“Sure you can, son,” Mr. Garcia said, whacking Dylan on the shoulder so hard that he winced. “I hear you could use the money for a new couch.”
Dylan’s cheeks burned and he looked down at the ground. “You heard that right,” Dylan said. “Thank you, sir.”
Like a giant weight was off his chest, Dylan led Brave from the ranch. His whole body was shaking with exhaustion, but in a way that felt new and different and not all bad—like he’d worked hard and earned something good in return. And if he kept earning money, then he could pay his mom back for the couch, plus buy supplies and food for Brave—it was a win-win. He looked down at Brave, who looked back up at him, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
Dylan wondered if Brave felt it too. He grinned at the dog as they walked side by side in the late-afternoon sun.
★ Chapter 12 ★
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“Dylan? You understand what the assignment is?”
Dylan heard his name but it took a second for him to realize he should respond. “Yeah—yes, I mean. I got it.”
His math teacher, Mr. Shin, looked unconvinced, but the bell rang before he could probe any further.
Dylan snatched up his books and bolted from the classroom. He’d had a hard time concentrating all day—even harder than usual for a Monday. His mind was full of thoughts about Brave and the Garcia Ranch. He’d been so busy doodling pictures of the dog in his notebook that he’d barely heard a word his teachers had said.
Dylan ran through the hall, wishing Brave were there alongside him. In just a couple of short days, he’d gotten used to the feeling of the dog running by his legs. He couldn’t wait to get back on the ranch later that day, where they could have some open space and pick up their training where they’d left off. He grabbed his lunch from his locker and hustled to the cafeteria, wondering what he was going to tell Jaxon and the guys about his weekend.
He turned the corner fast and bumped right into Grace. Her lunch bag went flying across the hall, ripping open and spilling its contents across the floor.
“Hey!” she yelped before she saw who it was. “Oh, hi, Dylan. What’s up?”
For a second, Dylan was confused by how friendly Grace was. They’d spent so many years at the same school without even acknowledging each other, so it was weird that they’d become friends overnight. They’d spent the entire day working together on the ranch, but it almost seemed l
ike a dream.
“Sorry about your lunch.” Dylan kneeled down to pick up a sandwich that had skidded a few feet away.
“No worries,” she said. Together they gathered a banana and a granola bar and put them back in the bag as best they could.
Dylan winced as he tried to stand up.
“You sore?” Grace asked with a laugh.
“Not really,” Dylan lied. The truth was, he’d had trouble getting out of bed that morning, and he’d needed a good hot shower to get his aching muscles moving. He wanted to change the subject. “I’m just heading to the cafeteria.”
“Me too. Want to sit together?”
“Together?” The word popped out of his mouth before he could stop it.
“Yeah, together.” Grace grinned at him like he was being ridiculous. “You know, when people sit around the same table and talk to each other. You can meet my friends.”
Dylan knew the group she was talking about. The Ranch Kids—that’s what Jaxon had started calling them in third grade, and the name had stuck. The Ranch Kids pretty much stayed to themselves, and other kids considered them a little rough around the edges. In other words, they weren’t the popular crowd, and the name wasn’t exactly a compliment.
He was pretty sure Grace didn’t know what Dylan and his buddies called her and her friends. He’d used the name many times over the years without a second thought, but now a wave of guilt washed over him. How could it be occurring to him for the first time that maybe it wasn’t very nice to call them that—and maybe Grace and her friends wouldn’t like it? How had he been such a dope for so long?
All of this flashed through Dylan’s mind while Grace stared at him, waiting for an answer. He shifted back and forth on his feet. He realized with a start that he actually really wanted to sit with Grace and her friends, but something was stopping him. A single thought wormed its way into his brain: What would Jaxon say?
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