A Dog's Purpose Boxed Set

by W. Bruce Cameron

  Hannah cried, too, after Gloria and Clarity drove off. I tried to comfort her as best I could, sitting with my head in her lap, and I’m pretty sure it helped, though she felt very sad when she fell asleep in her bed.

  I didn’t really understand what had happened other than Gloria and Clarity leaving, but I figured I would see them both again. People always came back to the Farm.

  I slept on Hannah’s bed, which I had started doing shortly after Ethan died. For a time she would hold me at night and sometimes she’d cry then, too. I knew why she was crying: she missed Ethan. We all missed Ethan.

  The next morning, when I jumped down off Hannah’s bed, something felt like it broke in my left hip, and I couldn’t help it, I let out a yelp of pain.

  “Buddy, what is it? What happened? What’s wrong with your leg?”

  I could feel her fear and licked her palm in apology for upsetting her, but I wasn’t able to put my left rear leg on the floor—it hurt too much.

  “We’re going right to the Vet, Buddy. You’ll be okay,” Hannah said.

  We made our slow, careful way out to the car, me hopping on three legs and doing my best to look as if it wasn’t hurting so I wouldn’t make Hannah any more sad. Though I was a front-seat dog, she put me in the back, and I was grateful because it was easier to crawl up there than to try to jump up front with only three legs working.

  As she started the car and drove off, I had that awful taste in my mouth again, horrible as ever.

  THREE

  When we got to the cool room and I was lifted onto the metal bed I thumped my tail and shivered with pleasure. I loved the Vet, who was called Doctor Deb. She touched me with such gentle hands. Mostly her fingers smelled of soap, but I could always catch the scent of cats and dogs on her sleeves. I let her feel my sore leg and it didn’t hurt at all. I stood when Doctor Deb wanted me to and was lying patiently with Hannah in a small room when the Vet came in and sat down on a stool and scooted it over to Hannah.

  “It’s not good news,” Doctor Deb said.

  “Oh,” Hannah said. I felt her quick sadness and looked at her in sympathy, though she had never been sad with Doctor Deb before, so I wasn’t sure what was happening.

  “We could take the leg, but these big dogs don’t normally do well with the rear one gone. And there’s no guarantee the cancer hasn’t already spread—we might be simply making him less comfortable in what little time he has left. If it were up to me, I would just do painkillers at this point. He’s already eleven years old, right?”

  “He was a rescue, so we don’t know for sure. But yes, around that,” Hannah said. “Is that old?”

  “You know, they say that Labs average twelve and a half years, but I’ve seen them go a lot longer. It’s not that I’m saying he’s already at the end of his life span. It’s more that sometimes, in the older dogs, the tumors grow more slowly. That would be another factor to consider if we’re thinking about amputation.”

  “Buddy has always been such an active dog. I just can’t imagine taking his leg,” Hannah said.

  I wagged at hearing my name.

  “You’re such a good dog, Buddy,” Doctor Deb murmured. I closed my eyes and leaned into her as she scratched my ears. “Let’s start him on something for pain right away. Labradors don’t always let us know when they’re hurting. They have an amazing pain threshold.”

  When we got home, I was given a special treat of meat and cheese and then I got sleepy and went to my usual spot in the living room and collapsed into a deep nap.

  The rest of that summer it just felt better to keep my rear leg curled up off the ground and rely on the other three to get around, so that’s what I did. The best days were when I’d go into the pond, where the cool water felt so good and where my weight was supported. Rachel came back from wherever she had been and all of her children were there and Cindy’s children would come over and they all lavished attention on me as if I were a puppy. I loved lying on the ground while two of Cindy’s little daughters tied ribbons into my fur, their small hands soothing as they worked. Later I ate the ribbons.

  Hannah gave me lots of special treats and I took lots of naps. I knew I was getting older, because my muscles were often stiff and my vision was dimming somewhat, but I was very happy. I loved the smell of the leaves as they fell to the ground and curled up, and the dry perfume of Hannah’s flowers as they became brittle on their stalks.

  “Buddy is chasing rabbits again,” I heard Hannah say one time when I was sleeping. I awoke at the sound of my name, but I was disoriented and it took me a moment to remember where I was. I had been dreaming very vividly of Clarity falling off the dock, but in my dream, instead of me being a bad dog, Ethan was there, knee-deep in the water. “Good dog,” he told me, and I got the sense that he was glad that I had watched over Clarity. When she came back to the Farm I would watch over her again. It was what Ethan would want me to do.

  Ethan’s smell had slowly left the Farm, but I still felt his presence in some places. Sometimes I would go and stand in his bedroom and it would seem as if he were right there, sleeping, or sitting in his chair and watching me. I took comfort from the feeling. And sometimes I would remember Clarity calling me Bubby. Though I knew that her mother, Gloria, was probably taking good care of the baby, I always felt a little anxious when I thought of Clarity. I hoped she’d soon return to the Farm so I could see for myself that she was all right.

  The cold weather came and I went outside less and less. Doing my business, I selected the nearest tree and got it over with, squatting because I could no longer lift my leg properly. Even if it was raining, Hannah would come out and stand with me.

  The snow that winter was a delight. It would support my weight just like water, and was colder and felt even better. I would stand out in it and close my eyes and was so comfortable I felt as if I could fall asleep.

  The bad taste in my mouth never left me, though sometimes it was strong and other times I forgot it was even there. The ache in my leg was the same way, though there were days when I would wake up from my nap with a start, the pain a sharp, breathtaking stab.

  One day I got up to look at the snow melting outside the window and it just didn’t seem worth it to go outdoors to play, even though I usually loved it when the new grass would come poking up out of the wet, muddy earth. Hannah was watching me. “Okay, Buddy. Okay,” she said.

  That day all of the children came over to see me and they petted me and talked to me. I lay on the floor and groaned with pleasure at all the attention and the little hands on me, stroking me and petting me. Some of the children were sad and some seemed bored, but they all just sat there with me on the floor until it was time for them to go.

  “You are a good dog, Buddy.”

  “I will miss you so much, Buddy.”

  “I love you, Buddy.”

  I wagged every time someone said my name.

  I didn’t sleep in Hannah’s bed that night. It was simply too delicious to lie there in my spot on the floor and remember all the children touching me.

  The next morning I woke up just as the sun was starting to light up the sky. It took all the effort I could muster to struggle to a standing position, and then I limped in next to Hannah’s bed. She awoke when I raised my head and placed it next to her on the blanket, panting.

  I had a heavy pain in my stomach and throat, and my leg throbbed with a dull ache.

  I didn’t know if she would understand, but I was looking her in the eye, trying to let her know what I needed from her. This wonderful woman, Ethan’s mate, who had so loved both of us—I knew she wouldn’t let me down.

  “Oh, Buddy. You’re telling me it’s time,” she said sadly. “Okay, Buddy, okay.”

  When we walked out of the house I limped to a tree to do my business. Then I stood and looked around at the Farm in the light from sunrise, everything painted orange and gold. Water dripped from the eaves, water with a cold, pure smell. The ground beneath my feet was moist and ready to burst forth wi
th flowers and grass—I could smell the new growth, just beneath the surface of the fragrant mud. It was such a perfect day.

  I made it to the car okay, but when Hannah opened the rear door I ignored it and shuffled sideways until my nose was pointed at the front door. She laughed a little and opened the door and picked up my rear to help me in.

  I was a front-seat dog.

  I sat and looked out at the day, which carried with it the promise of warmer breezes. Snow still lurked where the trees were most dense, but it had given up in the yard where Ethan and I had played, rolling and wrestling together. It seemed as if I could hear him, at that moment, telling me I was a good dog. My tail thumped at the memory of his voice.

  Hannah reached out to touch me often on that ride in to see Doctor Deb. When Hannah spoke, her sadness came off of her in a gust and I licked the hand that was stroking me.

  “Oh, Buddy,” she said.

  I wagged.

  “Every time I look at you I remember my Ethan, Buddy. You good dog. You were his companion, his special friend. His dog. And you led me back to him, Buddy. I know you don’t understand, but when you turned up on my doorstep, it led to Ethan and me getting back together. You did that. It was … No dog could ever do more for his people, Buddy.”

  It made me feel happy to hear Hannah say Ethan’s name over and over again.

  “You’re the best dog, Buddy. A really, really good dog. Good dog.”

  I wagged at being a good dog.

  At Doctor Deb’s I just sat there when Hannah opened my door. I knew there was no way I could jump down, not with my leg. I gave her a mournful look.

  “Oh, okay, Buddy. You wait right here.”

  Hannah shut the door and left. A few minutes later Doctor Deb and a man I had never seen before came out to the car. The man had cat smell on his hands, plus a pleasant meaty odor. He and Doctor Deb carried me into the building. I did my best to ignore the pain that flashed through me as they did so, but it left me panting. They put me on the metal bed and I was hurting too much to wag, I just laid my head down. The cool metal felt good as I sprawled on it.

  “You are such a good dog, a good dog,” Hannah whispered to me.

  I knew it wouldn’t be much longer, now. I focused on Hannah and she was smiling but also crying. Doctor Deb was stroking me, and I could feel her fingers looking for a fold of skin up by my neck.

  I found myself thinking of little Clarity. I hoped she would find another dog soon to watch over her. Everyone needs a dog, but for Clarity it was even more of a necessity.

  My name was Buddy. Before that it was Ellie, and before that it was Bailey, and before that it was Toby. I was a good dog who had loved my boy, Ethan, and had taken care of his children. I had loved his mate, Hannah. I knew that I would not be reborn, now, and that was okay. I had done everything a dog was supposed to do in this world.

  The love was still pouring off of Hannah as I felt the tiny pinch between Doctor Deb’s fingers. Almost instantly, the pain in my leg receded. A sense of peace filled me; a wonderful, warm, delicious wave of it, supporting my weight like the water in the pond. The touch of Hannah’s hands gradually left me, and, as I floated away in the water I felt truly happy.

  FOUR

  Images were just starting to resolve themselves in my bleary eyes when I remembered everything. One moment and I was a newborn puppy with no direction or purpose other than finding my mother’s milk, and the next moment I was me, still a puppy, but one with a memory of being Buddy, and of all the previous times I’d been a puppy in my lives.

  My mother’s fur was curly and short and dark. My limbs were dark as well—at least, what I could see of them through my newly opened eyes—but my soft fur was not at all curly. All of my siblings were equally dark colored, though as we bumped into each other I could feel that only one had fur like mine—the rest were as curly as our mother.

  I knew that my vision would soon clear, but I doubted that would do much to help me understand why I was a puppy again. My conviction had always been that I had an important purpose and that’s why I kept being reborn. Then everything I had ever learned to do added up to helping my boy, Ethan, and I had been by his side and had guided him through the final years of his life. And that, I thought, was my purpose.

  Now what? Was I to be reborn over and over, forever? Could a dog have more than one purpose? How was that possible?

  All the puppies slept together in a big box. As my limbs grew stronger I explored our surroundings and it was pretty much as exciting as a box could be. Sometimes I’d hear footsteps descending stairs and then a fuzzy shape would lean over the box, speaking with either the voice of a man or the voice of a woman. The way our mother wagged her tail let me know these were the people who took care of her and loved her.

  Pretty soon I could see they were, indeed, a man and a woman—that’s how I thought of them, as the Man and the Woman.

  One day the Man brought a friend to grin down at us. The friend had no hair on his head except for around his mouth.

  “They are so cute,” the bald one with the hairy mouth said. “Six pups, that’s a nice-sized litter.”

  “You want to pick one up?” the Man responded.

  I froze as I felt what seemed like huge hands come down and grab me. I held still, a little intimidated, as the man with mouth hair lifted me up and stared at me.

  “This one’s not like the others,” the man holding me said. His breath smelled powerfully of butter and sugar, so I licked the air a little.

  “No, she has a brother that’s the same way. We’re not sure what happened—Bella and the sire are both AKC poodles, but that one sure doesn’t look like a poodle. We’re thinking … Well, there was this afternoon when we forgot to close the back door. Bella could have gotten out. Maybe another male got over the fence,” the Man said.

  “Wait, is that even possible? Two different fathers?”

  I had no idea what they were talking about, but if all he was going to do was hold me and blow tantalizing odors at me I was ready to be put down.

  “I guess so. The Vet said it can happen, two separate sires.”

  “That’s hilarious.”

  “Yeah, except we’re not going to be able to sell the two mystery dogs. You want that one? Free since you’re a buddy.”

  “No, thank you.” The man holding me laughed, letting me back down. My mother sniffed the stranger’s scent on me and, protective and kind, gave me a reassuring lick, while my brothers and sisters staggered over on their unsteady legs because they had probably already forgotten who I was and wanted to challenge me. I ignored them.

  “Hey, how’s your son?” the man with the hairy face asked.

  “Thanks for asking. Still sick, has this cough. Probably going to have to take him to the doctor.”

  “He been down here to see the pups?”

  “No, they’re a little young yet. I want them to get stronger before he handles them.”

  The two men walked away, dissolving into the blurry gloom beyond my field of vision.

  As the days passed I became aware of a young child’s voice upstairs, a male, and became alarmed over the prospect of starting over again with a new boy. That couldn’t be my purpose, could it? It seemed wrong, somehow, as if I would be a bad dog if I had a boy other than Ethan.

  One afternoon the Man scooped up all of us and put us in a smaller box that he carried up the stairs, our mother panting anxiously at his heels. We were set on the floor and then the Man turned the box gently so that we all tumbled out.

  “Puppies!” a little boy sang out from somewhere behind us.

  I splayed my legs a little for balance and peered around. It was like the living room at the Farm, with a couch and chairs. We were on a soft blanket and naturally most of my siblings immediately tried to get off it, heading off in all directions for the slick floor beyond the edge of the blanket. Me, I stayed put. In my experience, mother dogs liked soft spots more than hard ones, and it’s always smarter to stick with Mot
her.

  The Man and the Woman, laughing, grabbed the fleeing puppies and placed them back in the center of the blanket, which should have given them all the hint that they were not supposed to go running off, though most of them tried to do it again. A boy circled around, older than Clarity but still pretty young, hopping excitedly. I was reminded of Clarity’s little legs bobbing up and down when she saw that stupid horse in the barn.

  Though I was reluctant to love any other boy but Ethan, it was difficult not to be swept up in the joy we all felt at the sight of this little human holding his arms out to us.

  The boy reached for my brother, the one who, like me, had longer, flatter fur. I could sense my siblings’ distress when the boy snatched him up.

  “Be careful, Son,” the Man said.

  “Don’t hurt him; be gentle,” the Woman said.

  These were, I decided, the mother and father of the little boy. “He’s kissing me!” The little boy giggled as my brother submissively licked the boy on the mouth.

  “It’s okay, Bella. You’re a good dog,” the Man said, petting our mother, who was pacing around the blanket, yawning anxiously.

  The little boy was coughing. “Are you okay?” the mom asked him. He nodded, setting down my brother and immediately scooping up one of my sisters. My other two brothers were at the edge of the blanket and had stopped, sniffing, unsure of the surface.

  “I hate the sound of that cough; it sounds like it’s gotten worse,” the Man said.

  “He wasn’t bad at all this morning,” the Woman replied.

  The little boy was breathing loudly, now, coughing and making a harsh noise. His coughing was getting worse. Both of his parents froze, staring at him.

  “Johnny?” the Woman said. There was fear in her voice. Our mother went to her, wagging anxiously. The Man set the puppy he’d been holding on the floor and grabbed the boy by the arm.