Boy's Best Friend (14 page)

It sounded to George more like a question than a statement.

“It shouldn't be,” mumbled George.

“But I'm afraid it is,” said his father.

After Mr. Masson had left the room, George lay down on his bed and texted Kyra. “Something happened. And it's not good,” he wrote. “Bart got hit by a car and they put him to sleep. I guess that's life,” he added.

It took a while for Kyra to text back. But she did. “It is life, but luckily, life is more than that (smile). I know you are sad and I am sad too. Tonight let's not think of fruit. Instead let's think about all the happy times we had with Bart.”

George texted back: “Good idea.”

*   *   *

Later, Zac came in. “Hey, big guy,” he said. Ordinarily he would have given George a high five, but this time he gave him a hug—a big-brotherly hug. “I got a surprise for you.” He led George to the window. George's bike was parked in the driveway below. Zac had painted the spokes in all the colors of the rainbow.

“Wow,” said George.

“I'm sorry about Bart,” said Zac. “I know he was like a brother to you—sometimes more than me.”

“Thanks,” said George, realizing how lucky he was to have a big brother. Suddenly, he was seeing Zac from another angle. It reminded him of when he saw Lester in a different way. Maybe that was life too.

Dear Dr. Sheldrake,

I am writing to tell you that I won't be able to finish my experiment, Dogs Who Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home. That's because my dog, Bart, got hit by a car and had to be put to sleep. I would still like to send you my results if you are interested. I don't know why that had to happen to Bart. And I don't think any experiment will help me to find out. My dad says, “That's life, isn't it?” I guess he's right.

Best regards,

George Masson

P.S. Did you ever have a pet that died?

Dear George,

I'm very sorry to hear about Bart's death. It must be really upsetting, especially since you had so little warning. I have had a lot of pets over the years and of course have seen many of them die. I was very sad when our cat died a few years ago. We buried him in the garden and there's a rosebush growing over him now.

Yes, I'd love to see the results of your experiment with Bart. Obviously, you couldn't finish the planned number of trials because of his death, but the others will still be very helpful data, so please send them to me.

Best wishes,

Rupert Sheldrake

 

31

Friday, George presented the results of his experiment to the class, four weeks after it had begun.

“For my science project I participated in an experiment designed by Rupert Sheldrake called ‘Dogs Who Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home,'” he said.

“Dr. Sheldrake is a scientist who studies plant and animal behavior,” he explained. “He noticed that there were many people who felt that their dogs knew when they were coming home. And he decided to try to prove this. He gathered information from more than two thousand pet owners and discovered that in many of these cases a dog's anticipation of its owner's arrival could not be explained by routine, clues from people at home, the sound of a familiar car approaching, or by anything else we know about in science.”

George continued. “Sheldrake observed that most people whose dogs could anticipate their arrival were very attached to their dog. So he wondered if the dogs were reacting to their owners' thoughts, feelings, emotions, or intentions.”

George held up his logbook. He'd pasted a photo of Bart on the cover.

“This is me and my dog, Bart,” he said. “Bart always seemed to know when I was coming home. So I decided to test it out. I varied my schedule and arrival time from school every day for fifteen days. I arrived home anytime between 2:56 and 5:30. And I recorded the exact time that I started for home from wherever I was. I didn't include weekends because I wasn't sure there'd be someone at home to record the results. I kept a logbook of the days and times when Bart went to the step. And I tried not to have any expectations of what might happen, because some scientists say that even what you think can affect the outcome.” George's voice faltered, but he went on. “And then just last Monday Bart got hit by a car and died.”

George shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I guess that's why you need a lot of people doing the same experiment, different people with different ideas,” he added. “Because it's impossible to control or even to know all the things that might affect an experiment. Like maybe your dog dying.”

George looked at his classmates. A wave of compassion swept through the room.

“Another thing happened too,” said George. “When I started the experiment, I decided to write to Rupert Sheldrake and ask him some of the questions I had. I didn't think he'd write back to me, but he did. And I learned lots about not only dog behavior but animal behavior in general. And I learned some things about people behavior too. Like if you write to really important people, they might write back.” George stopped. “I also learned that even though you're younger, you can win a bet with your older brother. And I learned that I should have faith in things. But that's hard.”

The class let out a group sigh, and George managed a smile.

“Anyway,” said George. “Bart didn't get to finish the twenty trials. But he knew when I was coming home in thirteen out of fifteen, which is 86.6 percent of the time. It didn't matter at what time I arrived, if I came by car, on my bike, or if I walked. Bart would be waiting on the second step of the front porch, and he'd gone out there within minutes of when I'd started to think about going home. There were only two times when he wasn't waiting for me. The first time he was chasing a mole in the garden and I think he was distracted. I know sometimes when I get distracted I forget things. The second time Bart wasn't waiting was the Friday before he got hit by the car. My sister, Vivien, was supposed to wait for me after school. But she wasn't there. So my thoughts about going home were interrupted by thoughts of finding my sister. Also, my mother noticed that Bart had been restless all day, so it could be that he had some premonition that something was going to happen to him. But I guess we'll never know.

“In conclusion,” said George, “my results support Rupert Sheldrake's theory that there is an invisible connection between some dogs and their owners, which allows them to communicate in ways we don't yet understand.”

George thanked the class and took his seat. Then Lester stood up and walked to the front of the classroom to present his results. He'd forgotten to comb his hair and there was a thin trail of hot chocolate etched across his T-shirt. But that didn't seem to bother him.

“I got my dog, Bill Gates, when I was four,” said Lester, holding up a picture of his dog. “And from early on it was clear to me and my parents that he knew when I was about to come home. It didn't matter where I came from—school, the golf course, the dentist—Bill Gates would be in the driveway waiting for me.”

Lester stopped to take a deep breath, then went on. “When we moved here, it was the same, maybe even more so. I think that was because Bill Gates didn't have any friends. It could be that he was lonely. But then he made friends with Bart, George's dog.”

Lester stopped to rub his eyes. “Bill Gates took part in the experiment for sixteen days,” he said. “And he was waiting when I got home thirteen of those days. So that's 81.25 percent and that's significant. We were supposed to continue the experiment for another week, but we stopped when Bart got hit by the car because I felt that might have influenced the results. There were only three days in which Bill Gates wasn't waiting. The first time was the first day of the experiment. And I think it might have been because when I thought about going home, I was thinking about Denver and not Cape Cod. And I think that might have confused Bill Gates. The second time was the day that George's dog, Bart, got hit by a car. Bill Gates was in the kitchen when I got home. The third time was the day after. Bill Gates went out to the walkway several times during the day, but when I got home he was in the backyard. I think that's because he knew something had happened. Maybe I knew too, because the morning that Bart got hit by a car I felt queasy and lost my appetite and that never happens to me.”

The class giggled uncomfortably.

“So I think all this means that I'm connected to Bart and George in some unknown way. Maybe part of me knew what was happening. And maybe Bart was connected to Bill Gates.”

Lester sat down in his seat.

“Thank you, Lester,” said Ms. Clover. She turned to the class. “I think what Lester is trying to say is that although he set out to prove that he and his dog were connected, he discovered that maybe this phenomenon isn't specific to pets and people. Maybe all of life is connected by some form of knowing we can't yet explain.”

There was a big hush in the classroom.

George raised his hand.

“George,” said Ms. Clover. “Is there something you would like to add?”

George stood up. “I'm proud of Bart for having done his part for science,” he said. “And even though he's dead I think Bart is still connected to me. And I hope when I die and go to heaven Bart will know that I'm coming and be waiting for me.”

Ms. Clover cleared her throat. Her eyes had begun to water. George wondered if she might even cry.

“Thank you, George, for sharing that with the class,” she said. “And thank you, Lester.”

*   *   *

After school, George walked Vivien home.

“What do you think is up there?” Vivien asked, looking skyward.

“Clouds,” said George. “Gases. Stars. Planets. The sun. Probably there are other universes out there with other forms of life.”

“Do you think there's anything else?” she asked.

“Like what?” asked George.

“I don't know,” said Vivien. “Maybe a butterfly jungle. Or a dog city. Something like that.”

“Could be,” said George.

“I think there must be,” said Vivien.

George hoped so.

Dear Dr. Sheldrake,

My dog, Bart, knew that I was coming home 13 out of 15 times. My friend Lester did the experiment, and his dog, Bill Gates, knew when he was coming 13 out of 16 times.

But something strange happened. The Friday before Bart got hit by a car, he didn't come out to meet me. And the day that Bart got hit, Bill Gates wasn't waiting for Lester. Also Lester felt sick to his stomach, which never happens. Then the day that Bart died, Bill Gates went out to wait for Lester a few times. But when Lester got home he was in the backyard. So I am wondering if maybe Bart, Bill Gates, and Lester somehow had a feeling that something was going to happen. Do you think this is possible? Maybe we are connected too.

Sincerely,

George Masson

Dear George,

Of course, it's hard to know what was going on with these reactions before Bart's death. Some animals do seem able to pick up on what's about to happen, particularly if it's something frightening or dangerous. Many animals behave with signs of fear or anxiety before earthquakes or tsunamis. Sometimes this happens several days in advance. No one knows how they do it, but in China they've used it as an effective way of predicting earthquakes and have saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Some animals also seem to know when their owners are going to have accidents and show signs of fear or behave in other unusual ways. Again no one understands how this happens, but it does seem to. It happens to people too. So maybe Bart and Lester were both picking up on something that was going to happen. But this is not the kind of thing we can do research on through experiments, and it's something we can never be sure about.

Thank you for sending along your results, which I will add to my data files.

Best wishes,

Rupert Sheldrake

 

32

Lester opened a fresh bag of dog biscuits for Bill Gates, then they headed off toward the marsh. George was already there. He was standing on the point of land that reached farthest into the sea, watching a blue heron construct a nest. Lester joined him.

“It's strange,” said George. “Bart isn't here, but it's like I can still hear him barking. I know it's just my imagination but it seems so real.”

“I know what you mean,” said Lester. “Sometimes if I close my eyes it feels like I'm still in Denver. But I'm not. It's weird, isn't it?”

“It's the same with Alabaster,” said George. “She was one of the homing pigeons that lived there in a loft in that outbuilding.” George pointed into the distance. “She flew away right before Kyra moved, and never came back. No one knew why. Sometimes I think I see her.”

George squinted. “Like now,” he added. There on the roof of the outbuilding was a pigeon.

“Alabaster,” whispered George. He started toward the building, followed by Lester and Bill Gates, unable to believe what he saw until he was looking into the bird's face, eye to eye. This time it wasn't his imagination. It was Alabaster. She'd returned to the marsh.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” said George out loud. Was it the other birds who were returning to the marsh? George wondered. Was it George himself? Or maybe it was Bart.

Alabaster flew over to George and perched on his shoulder just like she used to do.

“This is Lester,” said George. “And, Lester, this is Alabaster.”

The pigeon's head darted from one boy to the other. Then she hopped over onto Lester's shoulder.

Bill Gates began to bark, but Lester quieted him. “Ssh. Hi, little guy,” he said to the pigeon.

“It's a girl,” said George.

“Maybe she missed you,” said Lester.

“Maybe,” said George. But he suspected there was more to it. George didn't think he could ever prove it, but maybe it didn't matter. He'd realized that there was a knowing that was bigger than proof. It was the great and wondrous knowing of nature, of the alewives, of the birds who knew when it was time to return to the marsh each year.