Boy's Best Friend (15 page)

*   *   *

George set the dinner table, listening for the sound of his father's jeep. He couldn't wait to share the news.

“You won't believe what happened,” he said at dinner. “Alabaster came back to the marsh today.”

Mr. Masson's eyebrows popped up in surprise. “Alabaster the pigeon?” he said.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” said Vivien.

“She's been gone for months,” said George.

“Maybe it took her that long to find the way,” said Zac.

“Or maybe she came back to see you, George, because she knew that Bart died,” said Vivien.

“I think Vivien could be right,” said Mrs. Masson.

There was a moment of silence, one of few in the Masson household. Then Vivien spoke.

“I bumped into Lester and Bill Gates on the way to Madeleine's house,” she said. “They were walking home from the marsh.”

“And so?” said Zac.

“We made an amazing discovery,” she said.

All eyes turned to Vivien. “Well?” said George, noticing that she was still wearing her lucky dress.

Vivien cleared her throat. “We found out what Lester's neighbor is hiding in her toolshed.” She pursed her lips and her voice fell to a whisper. “And she isn't a criminal, by the way.”

“Phew,” teased Zac, brushing his forehead. “Well, what is it?” he asked. “The suspense is killing me.”

“A dog,” said Vivien. “A little puppy.” Vivien held her hands out about one foot apart. “She found it, but Mr. Robarts doesn't want it in the house. He doesn't like dogs. So she's been keeping it in the toolshed.”

“How'd you find that out?” asked Zac. “Were you spying again?”

“Just a little,” said Vivien. “But Mrs. Robarts caught us and asked Lester if he wanted another dog. He said Bill Gates was enough, but he knew of someone who might want one.” Vivien turned to George.

“That's a nice idea,” said Mr. Masson. “But I don't know if George is ready for another dog just yet.”

“Are you, George?” said Viven. “Maybe?”

George was focused on the tiny flowers on Vivien's dress. Could a dress really be lucky? he wondered.

George shrugged. “It might remind me of Bart,” he said.

“Don't you want to be reminded of Bart?” asked Vivien.

George wasn't sure. “Maybe,” he said.

“So why don't you meet the puppy and see if you like it?” said Vivien.

George thought for a moment. “Okay,” he said.

“Oh, and another thing,” said Vivien. “I saw Mrs. Robarts eating a dog biscuit. She took a big bite.”

“Really?” said Zac, chuckling.

Vivien folded her arms across her chest. “Cross my heart,” she said.

Mrs. Masson tried to keep from laughing. “I'm sure she was just curious,” she said. “I can see how that might happen.”

“I can't,” said Zac, shaking his head.

“Me either,” said Mr. Masson.

“That's because you don't have any imagination,” said Vivien.

George was pensive. He had just noticed something strange, or at least he thought it was strange. Mrs. Robarts had the word “Bart” in her name.

Dear Dr. Sheldrake,

Do you think a pigeon could return to a place it knew because it missed it, or the people there? I've read about dogs who return to their own homes, but I don't know about birds.

Yours truly,

George Masson

P.S. Did you ever wonder how a dog biscuit tasted? Or did you ever try one?

Dear George,

Lots of animals are really attached to their homes and don't like being away, which is why we see homing behavior in pigeons, dogs, cats, and many other species. Pigeons can definitely return to their homes. In fact, a lot of them are called homing pigeons because they do just that. In America there are hundreds of thousands of people who keep pigeons as a hobby and they race them against each other. The same happens here in Europe. The pigeons are put in a basket and taken away from their home, sometimes as far as 600 miles away. Then they are released at a recorded time. They fly up into the sky and circle a few times and then head off toward their home. Some arrive the very same day, covering 600 miles in about ten hours which is an average speed of about 60 miles per hour. Usually some of their family are left in the loft, and, in fact, they race home more quickly if they have been taken away from mates and young.

Migrating birds find their way over thousands of miles. The arctic tern is in the Arctic during the Arctic summer and when it turns to winter, migrates to the Antarctic. They are literally flying from one side of the Earth to the other, a journey of at least 12,500 miles. And swallows migrate over thousands of miles every year and go back to the very same place they nested the year before. It's amazing that animals can do this, and no one really knows how.

Best wishes,

Rupert Sheldrake

P.S. I've certainly smelled dog biscuits, but I don't remember ever tasting one …

 

33

Vivien and George walked up Lester's walkway. Lester was waiting on the front steps. Vivien took his hand and pulled him around the back of the house. “Follow us, George,” she said.

They crossed the backyard together. Mrs. Robarts was sitting outside in a lawn chair with a cup of tea. The puppy was at her feet, a cute little dog with buff-colored fur.

“Why, he hasn't moved for the past twenty minutes,” said Mrs. Robarts. “I would swear he knew you were coming.”

George smiled at Lester and Lester smiled back.

Vivien made the introductions. “This is my brother George, Mrs. Robarts,” she said. “He loves dogs.”

George was already down on the ground petting the puppy. “You're so cute,” he said. “What's your name?”

“I call him Sneakers,” said Mrs. Robarts. “Because I can't keep up with him despite my shoes.” Mrs. Robarts wiggled her feet, which were encased in a pair of red running shoes with white stripes.

George played with Sneakers for a few more minutes while Vivien watched, looking satisfied. Mrs. Robarts made a trip to the toolshed and returned with the bag of dog biscuits. George wondered if she was going to have one with her tea. But she handed the bag to him.

“These are his favorites,” she said.

George gave Sneakers a biscuit.

“So what do you think?” asked Vivien.

“I think Sneakers likes me,” said George. “And I like him.” George had brought a collar and leash just in case. He slipped the collar round Sneakers's neck and attached the leash. “You want to come home with me?” he asked.

Mrs. Robarts clasped her hands in delight. “Isn't this marvelous,” she said. “I think Sneakers is going to be very happy. And so will Mr. Robarts.”

“Me too,” said Vivien, clasping her hands in the same way Mrs. Robarts had.

Sneakers was already tugging George across the lawn. Vivien and Lester followed, Viven taking Lester's hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Thanks, everyone,” cried George.

“Oh, thank you,” said Mrs. Robarts.

*   *   *

“I guess you can take off your lucky dress now, Viv,” said George when they'd gotten home.

“I guess so,” sighed Vivien.

Vivien changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Then she bounced onto George's bed and did a somersault.

“I'm happy,” said Vivien.

“Me too,” said George.

“See?” said Vivien. “My mantra worked. I think you can catch happiness. Just like you can catch a cold. We caught happiness from Lester and Sneakers. And Mrs. Robarts.”

George smiled to himself. Vivien was younger than he was. But sometimes George got the feeling that she knew more about life than he did.

*   *   *

The next day, George took Sneakers to the marsh. He kept the dog on the leash, but that didn't stop Sneakers from dashing madly to and fro chasing birds.

“Hey, little guy,” cried George, reeling in the leash. “Take it easy.” He'd brought some seeds for Alabaster, but when he got to the outbuilding the pigeon was gone. Instead, Lester was there with Bill Gates. He'd brought a boomerang.

“Hey, I have one of those,” said George. “It was a present from Kyra.”

“Mine was a present from Bernie,” said Lester. “He was my best friend back in Denver.”

Sneakers yipped wildly at the sight of Bill Gates. Bill Gates approached the puppy hesitantly, sniffing all the while. Then he sat back patiently and let Sneakers run circles around him.

George and Lester stood on the marsh side by side looking at the empty loft.

“I wonder what made Alabaster leave,” said George.

Lester shrugged. “Who knows?” he said. “Maybe that's just how it is. Coming and going. Kind of like a boomerang.”

“Maybe,” said George.

George sat down on a piece of driftwood. A host of questions had popped into his head. He might never know the answer to them all, but he guessed that was life—how many things there were in the universe that we didn't know and maybe never would.

George looked across the marsh and he felt its flow with all of his senses. Life on the marsh moved ahead—the alewives, the birds. They didn't have regrets, but a faith that at any given moment they were right where they should be.

“I'm really glad you moved here,” said George to Lester.

“Me too,” said Lester. “Moving is fun.” He laughed as he said his mantra. “Change can be positive.”

 

34

Lester and George finished setting up the tent in the Massons' backyard. George pulled back the flaps on either side of the door and secured them. When dusk fell, George's father helped them light a small campfire. George poked hot dogs onto sticks and he and Lester roasted them over the flames.

“Hmmm,” said Lester. His mouth had begun to water. “They taste so much better this way.”

“They do, don't they?” said George.

When the hot dogs were ready, George squirted his with ketchup and mustard and took a bite. “I think I've become a mustard guy,” he said.

“My father said that mustard is an acquired taste,” said Lester. He bit into his own hot dog and sat back, breathing in the cool evening air. He could smell the sea wafting in, but it didn't bother him anymore. He now knew that Cape Cod was an acquired taste too.

“Did you ever write to a stranger?” George asked.

“Just Santa Claus,” said Lester.

George nodded. “If a stranger wrote you, would you write back?” he said.

“Sure,” said Lester.

“Even if you were famous?” said George.

“Yes,” said Lester.

George smiled as he thought back to his earlier question—What kind of guy would name his dog Bill Gates? He now knew the answer—The kind of guy who would write to a stranger even if he was famous. The kind of guy that George liked.

Sneakers and Bill Gates had been playing hide-and-seek in the bushes. But when darkness fell they stretched out side by side in front of the tent. George and Lester slipped into their sleeping bags. And George unzipped the window flap in the roof so they could see the stars. There was something mysterious about their twinkling that made George happy. He felt their pull, an unknown force that seemed to tug at him. It reminded him of how vast the universe was, but it made him feel more at home in the world too.

George pointed to the North Star. Then he traced the outline of the Big Dipper. Next to him, Lester was gazing at the same stars.

“Did you know the North Star was how people used to find their way home?” George asked.

“Yes,” said Lester. He thought of Denver. “You know something neat? Everyone in Denver is looking at these same stars.”

“And North Carolina,” said George, thinking of Kyra and how the stars connected them all. “Weird, isn't it?”

The fortune-teller's words came back to George. He would make an amazing discovery. That didn't seem very prophetic. Amazing discoveries were everywhere just waiting to be found. All you needed was to be curious. Maybe that was the discovery.

Lester sighed. “George, dear,” he said, “in life you have to move forward. Maybe that should be my new mantra.”

“Yup,” said George, agreeing. “In life you have to move forward. Or it could be mine.”

Then from an upstairs window in the Massons' house a voice drifted into the night. It was Vivien's and she was chanting her mantra. “Happy all the time,” she sang. “Happy all the time.”

 

 

A Note from Rupert Sheldrake

Dear Reader,

I have enjoyed corresponding with George by e-mail because he's looking at the animals and life-forms around him, thinking about them, and doing something to find out about them. It's not difficult, and it doesn't cost very much, but it's surprising how few people do it. I think it's partly because they assume there's no point because somebody already knows the answers. They probably think that if they are only ten or eleven years old there's nothing they can do to contribute to science or human understanding.

This would be true if we were talking about rocket science or atomic physics or molecular biology. But if we are talking about the mysteries of everyday life, like dogs knowing when their owners are coming home, or feeling when someone is staring at you, or noticing that spiders might respond to your thoughts, it really is possible for someone your age to find out something new. This is partly because scientists haven't explored these areas very much, partly because skeptics have put them off and inhibited the spirit of inquiry.

I hope that George's experience will encourage you to pay attention to animals and to your own experiences, and to think for yourself, and ask questions. Some of them may be questions like George's, to which no one yet knows the answers.

With best wishes,