Mad Dog

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  But what gets me more than anything is that I wasn’t even a part of her thoughts. She forgot about me.

  I turn to Popeye. “How can she not even think about me?”

  “You don’t know that, Wes,” Popeye answers.

  “What would you know about it?” I snap. “You don’t know how it feels not having anybody give you a single thought. Ever.”

  “Wes, God thinks about you all the time.”

  “Yeah, right.” Maybe God thinks about Popeye. Popeye’s the kind of person God would like thinking about. Not me. My own mother doesn’t even like thinking about me.

  “‘How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered! I can’t even count them; they outnumber the grains of sand! And when I wake up, you are still with me!’ That’s from Psalm 139,” Popeye explains.

  God’s thoughts outnumber the grains of sand. God’s thoughts about me?

  I want to drink in the words. I want to believe that God thinks about me like that. More thoughts than I can count. Imagining this feels like water running over me. I close my eyes and try to picture God thinking about me. But I can’t picture God. So I picture Jesus. And it’s easier to think about the Jesus who hung out with losers, the Jesus who healed people and died for them—that Jesus. I can almost imagine Him caring, thinking about me.

  “Father,” Popeye prays, “help Wes know, understand, and believe how much You love him. Help him accept that love and forgiveness through Christ.”

  I grab on to the comet of Popeye’s prayer. Only it doesn’t feel like I’m borrowing his words this time. It feels like I’m praying them for myself. Thank You. I’m not sure if I say the words out loud. But I know God hears me. I sense that He’s listening . . . and thinking about me.

  “And thanks for thinking about Wes’s mother, too,” Popeye says. “And for loving her like—”

  “Wait.” I open my eyes. I don’t want to go where he’s going. I’m not ready. I want him to keep my mother out of this.

  Popeye looks up. Then he smiles, but not at me. He’s grinning at something behind me.

  I turn around, and I’m pounced on by Rex. I let myself fall backwards in the grass. My dog puts one paw on my chest, then drops the stick from his mouth and licks my face. I cover my head, but Rex is determined. He licks and licks.

  I throw my arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry, Rex. Good Rex. I love you, boy.” He lets me hug him while he lunges at me, scoring more licks on my face. His tail wags so hard it slaps my knees.

  “Forgive me, boy?” I beg.

  “What do you think?” Popeye says. He pets my dog. “That dog has already forgiven you. He loves you no matter what. He’ll keep on loving you no matter what. Unconditionally.”

  I know Popeye’s right. Rex always loves me, even when I ignore him or yell at him. And I know Popeye’s not just talking about Rex. “You’re trying to tell me that’s how God loves me, right?”

  Popeye laughs. “That’s just a taste of how God loves you, Wes. Now multiply that by more numbers than you can count, and you’re still not there.”

  I nod. But in my heart I’m shouting.

  I bury my face in Rex’s neck and remember my mom the way I saw her last. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her whole body looked broken.

  She needs to know she’s not alone. She needs to know Somebody’s thinking about her too.

  I sit up, but I keep holding my dog. “Popeye?” I ask. I have the sensation that I’m being watched. Thought about. Loved.

  “What, Wes?” Popeye says.

  “Do you think we could still go see my mom tomorrow?”

  Nineteen

  “Wes, wait!” Dakota races from the barn at full speed.

  Popeye, Annie, and I are in the minivan, ready to drive to Chicago. I’m taking Lion with me. I want my mom to meet our new dog.

  Miss Golf from Nice Manor called late last night to tell us that Moxie and Bag could move into the Manor whenever they’re ready. She’s taking Munch home with her as her own dog. It was like everything worked out the way it was supposed to, with me keeping the Pom for Mom and me, whenever Mom’s better. Even before I hung up the phone, I was thanking God for knowing all along that things would work out.

  Dakota runs to the van and comes right up to the open window on my side. “It worked! The abscess broke. All the gunk is out of the hoof. Hank says Blackfire should heal fast now.”

  “That’s great, Dakota.” I know what that feels like. Inside of me, the gunk is draining out too. I’m healing.

  “Gotta go!” Popeye shouts.

  Dakota moves in closer and whispers, “Are you sure about this? What if your mother . . . ? I mean, what if . . . ?”

  “It’ll be okay, Dakota,” I tell her.

  Annie drives and makes better time than Popeye did. He tells dog jokes most of the way there. But this time I can tell he’s not doing it to keep my mind off the visit. He’s just being Popeye. Lion and I ride in the backseat and watch the scenery.

  The rehab place isn’t much better than county lockup. We have to leave our valuables and empty our pockets. We knew there was a good chance they wouldn’t let the dog in, and it turns out “no pets” is one of the million rules that go with rehab.

  “Popeye and I can wait outside with Lion,” Annie says. “You go on ahead. Don’t worry about us. Take all the time you need.”

  I find my mom on a faded green couch in a dingy living room. The room’s not much bigger than what we had above the bar, and we’re not the only ones in it. A woman and a girl, probably her daughter, are arguing in whispers by the window. Another woman, who looks older than Mom, sits in a rocking chair and flips magazine pages faster than anybody could read.

  I sit next to Mom and kiss her cheek. She lifts her shoulders and doesn’t turn away. We exchange small talk, like we’re strangers who saw each other only yesterday.

  After a few minutes, I run out of things to say. So I blurt out, “I brought you a dog, but they wouldn’t let him in. He’s only got three legs, but he’s cute. You’ll like him.”

  “Wesley Williams!” she says, coming to life. “A dog? What on earth would I do with a dog? I don’t need no dog.”

  I feel the anger creep into the corners of my head, but I don’t let it in. Instead, I think about Jesus thinking about me and thinking about Mom, and even Lion.

  “That’s okay, Mom,” I tell her.

  She shakes her head. Then she puts her hand on mine. “Wes, Wes, what were you thinking?”

  I grin at her. I don’t know why, but it’s okay. What am I thinking? I’m thinking about thinking. In all the thoughts God has about me, I’m pretty sure He’s got this all worked out. He’s not surprised that my mom doesn’t like dogs. Maybe He’ll work on her.

  We have another awkward silence. Panic seeps in because I can’t think of anything to say to my mother. So I shoot up a quick prayer and ask God what He’d say, and I go with that.

  * * *

  Back outside, I find Popeye and Annie playing with Lion in a tiny, dried-up garden.

  Popeye sees me first. “Hey, Wes! Watch this.” He turns to Lion. “Lion, why do dogs wag their tails?” Lion wags his tail. “Why do dogs wag their tails? Because nobody else will wag it for them.”

  The whole drive home, I tell Annie and Popeye about my visit with Mom. When we drive up at Starlight Animal Rescue, everybody’s waiting for us. Dakota and Hank are tossing a football. Kat is sitting on a blanket with her cats surrounding her. Even old Mrs. Coolidge is there, sitting on a lawn chair with Rex at her feet.

  Dakota jogs to the car and takes Lion from me. Rex comes bounding over. I get out of the car and hug my dog. His breath smells like cold hot dogs.

  “So?” Dakota asks. “How did your mom like Lion? Is she excited about having a three-legged Pomeranian for her very own?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. She doesn’t like dogs, even three-legged Poms.”

  “But . . .” Dakota fumbles for the words. “I thought . . . I mean . .
. Wes, what gives? Your mom told you she doesn’t want the dog?”

  “Yeah.” The sun is setting behind the barn, swallowing Starlight Animal Rescue in a bank of purple clouds.

  “So?” Dakota demands. She points to my dog. “I don’t get it.”

  Rex is curled up at my feet, his head against my leg.

  “What do you mean?” But then I get it. I reach down and pet my dog. He lifts his head and pants. With his tongue hanging out, it looks like he’s laughing.

  I laugh too. If I needed proof that God is for real, that He’s thinking about me and changing me, well, here it is. “You’re right, Rex.”

  Hank calls over from the grill. “What are you laughing at, Wes?”

  Kat moves in closer, her favorite cat wrapped around her neck like a shawl. “Yeah. And what is Rex right about?”

  Rex paws my leg, asking me to pet him. I put my hand on his head. “Rex is right about me, Kat. He’s not barking.”

  Tips on Finding the Perfect Pet

  • Talk with your whole family about owning a pet. Pets require a commitment from every member of the family. Your pet should be around for years—ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, or thirty years, depending on the type of pet. Pets can be expensive, especially if they get sick or need medical care of any kind. Make sure you can afford to give your pet a good life for a long time.

  • Think like your future pet. Would you be happy with the lifestyle in your house? Would you spend most of your time alone? Is there room for you in the house? If you’re considering buying a horse, what kind of life will the horse have? Will someone be able to spend enough time caring for it?

  • Study breeds and characteristics of the animal you’re considering. Be prepared to spend time with your pet, bonding and training, caring and loving.

  • Remember that there is no such thing as a perfect pet, just as there’s no such thing as a perfect owner. Both you and your pet will need to work to develop the best possible relationship you can have and to become lifelong best friends.

  Consider Pet Adoption

  • Check out animal rescue organizations, such as the humane society (www.hsus.org), local shelters, SPCA (www.spca.com), 1-800-Save-A-Pet.com (PO Box 7, Redondo Beach, CA 90277), Pets911.com (great horse adoption tips), and Petfinder.com. Adopting a pet from a shelter will save that pet’s life and make room for another animal, who might also find a good home.

  • Take your time. Visit the shelters and talk with the animal caregivers. Legitimate shelters will be able to provide you with documentation on the animal’s health and medical records. Find out all you can. Ask questions. Who owned the pet before? How many owners were there? Why was the pet given away? Is the pet housebroken? Does it like children?

  • Consider adopting an adult pet. People tend to favor the “babies,” but adopting a fully grown animal may be less risky. What you see is what you get. The personality and size and manners are there for you to consider.

  Rescuing Animals

  • It’s great that you want to help every animal you meet. I wish everyone felt the same. But remember that safety has to come first. A frightened, abused animal can strike out at any time. If you find an animal that’s in trouble, call your local animal shelter. Then try to find the owner.

  • The best way to help a lost pet find its home again is to ask around. Ask friends, neighbors, classmates, the newspaper deliverer, and the mail carrier. You might put a “Found Pet” ad in the paper or make flyers with the animal’s picture on it. But be sure to report the find to your local shelter because that’s where most owners will go for help in finding a lost pet.

  • Report animal cruelty to your local animal shelter, to the humane society, or to organizations like Pets911 (www.pets911.com/services/animalcruelty).

  Dandi Daley Mackall grew up riding horses, taking her first solo bareback ride when she was three. Her best friends were Sugar, a Pinto; Misty, probably a Morgan; and Towaco, an Appaloosa. Dandi and her husband, Joe; daughters, Jen and Katy; and son, Dan, (when forced) enjoy riding Cheyenne, their Paint. Dandi has written books for all ages, including Little Blessings books, Degrees of Guilt: Kyra’s Story, Degrees of Betrayal: Sierra’s Story, Love Rules, Maggie’s Story, and the best-selling series Winnie the Horse Gentler. Her books (about 450 titles) have sold more than 4 million copies. She writes and rides from rural Ohio.

  Visit Dandi’s Web site at

  www.dandibooks.com