Art Poetry Prose Kiddie Lit Photos Books&... Links Archives Credits Contacts Submit About Home

Art Poetry Prose Kiddie Lit Photos Books&... Links Archives Credits Contacts Submit About Home

Finally the boy thought as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Last day of the semester. The agonizing pressure he'd been under these past two months was about to be relieved. The clock on his night stand showed 6:30 AM. He knew the alarm would not go off for another ten minutes, yet he jumped from his bed and dressed in the clothes his mom had laid out the night before, slipped on the Timex he'd received as a gift on his tenth birthday, then shot down the stairs two at a time.

As he reached for the box of Trix his mom had been secretly refilling with the generic equivalent the last eight months, he saw the note on the kitchen table. He recognized his dad's handwriting immediately. It was much smaller and sloppier than his mom's beautiful penmanship. He couldn't remember the last time his dad had left a note.

We knew you could do it, David. Your mom and I are very proud. Go Eagles! Look in the microwave. Dad.

He ripped open the microwave door and there it was: The brand new, top of the line Rawlings baseball glove he had been hoping for at Christmas, when he'd gotten a telescope instead. His dad must've been holding on to it to make sure he would make it through the semester.

"Go Eagles, hell yeah!" he shouted in the empty house as he filled up his cereal bowl and went in to the living room to watch TV. Lately he'd found himself watching MTV more often than not; all those gorgeous babes. Who cared what they talked or sang about? But he still liked a little Nickelodeon in the morning before school. He'd already seen this particular episode of Fairly Odd Parents several times before, but it was a good one, so he put down the remote and began eating his breakfast.

As he checked his watch -- 6:36, plenty of time -- he thought about how close he had come to blowing what promised to be the best spring and summer of his entire young life. David loved to play baseball. And after a great season in little league last summer, when he led the division in batting average and RBI's, in August he had been invited to sign up for the best traveling team for thirteen and fourteen year olds in western Missouri for the following season. The Eagles were sponsored by Dunbar Manufacturing, the company his dad had worked for as long as David could remember. It was a dream come true for David, and for his dad.

But then came September, and with it his first year of junior high, and its much earlier starting time. David was a very heavy sleeper, and he just couldn't seem to get used to waking up at 6:40 AM. He had been getting himself off to school since fourth grade, when his mom started an early morning newspaper route, without any problems. She left the house at 3:30 AM seven days a week to deliver the Kansas City Star to rural residents of central Cass County. And his dad left for the day shift at Dunbar each morning at precisely 5:15 AM. Apparently, the early riser genes skip a generation in the Burke family. Waking up on his own in time for 8:45 AM class at Anderton Elementary every day was one thing. But classes at Maxberg Junior High School started at 7:35 sharp. And occasionally it seemed like no matter how hard he tried, he just could not manage to roust himself out of bed in time.

David was late for first hour science class twice the first week. And Mr. Wade was not a man to be trifled with, either. An ex-Marine, he was a stickler for rules and punctuality. You couldn't sweet-talk Mr. Wade like you could Ms. Humphrey, the history teacher. She might be persuaded to give a guy a break now and then, as any reasonable person should. But Mr. Wade was having none of it, and it was just David's luck to get him for his first hour class.

Mr. Wade had explained his policy on tardiness the very first day. Everybody got one free pass. Twice in the same semester would result in detention. Three times would get you additional detention and a parent-teacher conference. Four would earn you a one letter reduction in grade. And five times tardy in one semester would mean an automatic failure of the class.

By the end of the third week of school, David's parents had already been called in to conference with Mr. Wade, whom they knew and respected. He and David's dad had gone to high school together. Worse, they had both bucked hay summers over at old man Mitchell's farm. Nothing like mutually experienced hard labor to create a good strong bond. It was hard for a guy to get away with much in a town this small. He'd been grounded for a month, and missed trick-or-treating and the Halloween haunted house over in Harrisonville. And he'd had to listen to his best friend Billy Jenkins brag all about his hayride hand-holding fest with Shelly Scribner, just about the hottest babe in the whole seventh grade. That could have been David holding hands with the luscious Shelly, if not for his damned old hard sleeping problem.

Needless to say, when David was tardy a fourth time the week before Thanksgiving, which automatically turned his current B grade into a C for the semester, his usually calm, cool, rational father just completely flipped his lid. After the smoke cleared, the end result was an ultimatum that could best be described as the nuclear option: If David was late one more time and failed the class, there would be no Dunbar Manufacturing Eagles baseball team. No traveling all over the state to play ball. No baseball at all next summer.

David had to hand it to the old man. He knew how to hit a guy where it hurt. There was nothing he could have threatened that would have motivated him more. And the ultimatum had worked. Second semester begins tomorrow, and the slate was about to be wiped clean again. David suspected his dad was as relieved as he was, maybe even more. He really wanted to see his kid in that Dunbar Eagles uniform.

6:50 AM. Time to brush the old teeth and hit the road. He usually walked to school. He could have ridden the bus like all the other kids in their little neighborhood, and he did on rainy or really cold days. But he preferred the thirty minute hike along the railroad tracks whenever the weather was half decent, much to the chagrin of his mom.

Today was one of those wonderfully odd, warm, sixtyish, sunny January days that seemed to happen for a brief stretch each winter. Sort of a brief respite before old man winter would surely come roaring back with a vengeance in February.

For most of the journey into town, the tracks were bordered by a game reserve forest on one side, and old man Mitchell's farm land on the other. There were a few solo houses here and there, but they were well off the tracks, so a guy could enjoy himself without worrying over someone calling his parents. He kept a keen eye for treasures as he walked along the tracks. You never knew what you might stumble on, amid all the empty beer bottles and discarded cigarette packs. Once he'd found a twenty dollar bill, even though it was covered almost completely in mud. His good eye was useful for a lot more than just hitting fastballs. Another time it was a little more than half a big old package of Black Cat firecrackers. Some of them turned out to be duds, but the good ones provided more fun than the law allows, as his Grandpa Mahoney used to say.

About ten minutes from school, near where the D Street bridge ran over the top of the tracks, David spotted a little brown and tan, mixed breed dog lying in the weeds about twenty feet off the side of the tracks. When the dog eyed the boy, it struggled to rise and began to yelp weakly.

It was obvious the dog was in serious distress. It looked to be young, close to a year maybe, and it was wearing a collar. David approached cautiously, he knew that a wounded animal could be dangerous. He loved dogs, even though he'd never had one of his own. His mom was allergic to pet dander. One year they'd gone to Aunt Mel's house all the way up in Jeff City for Christmas, and ended up staying in the Motel 6. Mom just couldn't stop sneezing and scratching because of Aunt Mel's two cats and two dogs, and it really put a damper on the holidays. David figured he must take after Aunt Mel, because he loved her animals, and never got the least bit sneezy or itchy. Maybe Aunt Mel was a heavy sleeper, too. Anyway, he figured his folks might have allowed him to keep a dog in the yard, but he just couldn't bare the thought of it being alone all night, especially in winter. And the way he figured it, a pet should be part of the family, anyway. Otherwise, what was the point?

As he got closer to the animal, the source of its distress became painfully obvious. David was stunned by the realization that it was starving to death. His heart sank to his stomach when he saw the ribs protruding under the skin, and his eyes teared up as the yelps changed to a low frenzied whine. Fear gave way to pity as the boy's heart broke for this poor suffering creature. The dog managed to sit up on its haunches as David reached out to stroke its neck, cooing softly in his sweetest disarming voice.

"It's okay…it's okay…take it easy, take it easy…it's okay…" It seemed to relax just a little as David continued to stroke and soothe it as best he could. It laid back down and stopped struggling. Its whine became less strident. But David could feel a building sense of panic well up in his chest.

He checked his watch again, 7:14 AM. He still had some time, but he had to figure something out fast. He always bought lunch, and had no food. There were no tags on the dog's collar, so he had no way of contacting its owner. Maybe there was something edible around or up under the bridge. People sometimes hung out smoking cigarettes, weed, or drinking beer. Maybe there was a half-eaten chicken leg or something lying around.

As he rose to his feet the dog's whines got louder again. "It's okay…it's okay…I'll be right back, girl…I'll be right back." He had observed that it was a female, and he hoped the "girl" reference would be familiar, and help comfort her some.

He scurried up under the bridge, frantically searching around for something edible. There were faded old Hershey bar wrappers, a Lay's potato chip bag, and a scrap of aluminum foil that may once have contained a tuna fish sandwich, but not a single morsel of food. He jogged a few hundred feet up and back in both directions along the tracks from the bridge, but still came up empty handed.

7:18 AM. Damn. He thought about the thick package of country ham in the crisper drawer of the refrigerator at home. If only he'd brought his lunch for once in his life. Who liked school cafeteria food, anyway? He only had a few more minutes to get going, or he would be late again, and his life would be ruined. He went back to the dog and began comforting her again. She licked his hand as he promised to return as soon as he could with some food. She seemed to calm down a bit. Such a sweet-natured dog, he thought. Her breathing became less labored. She'll be okay for a few more hours. His throat tightened up again as he prepared to take leave. "Just hang in there, girl…just hang in there…I'll be back soon with some food…I'll be back soon."

It was all he could do to turn his back on his new friend and start walking towards school. But he knew he couldn't do anything more for her without food, anyway. And he just couldn't be late again. Not today, anyway. Any other day but today. Why didn't he take the bus today like everyone else? A sob suddenly welled up in his throat, and he instinctively broke into a sprint for as long as he could. He ran as hard and as fast as he'd ever run in his life. He ran until his lungs ached. The physical pain helped him feel better, somehow. He wiped his eyes as he slowed to a jog and tried not to think about the little white and tan dog he'd just left behind.

He made it to his locker a full four minutes before first hour bell. Oblivious to the crowd of kids all around, his mind was racing as he fumbled with the lock, and dug through the mess for his Science book. There had been no homework yesterday, as finals were completed the day before. Today, they were doing a class experiment on gravity from the back of the book. It would be an easy day academically, anyway.

He almost didn't notice Shelly Scribner as she sidled up when he closed his locker. "Congratulations, David. I'm glad you made it on time. I was a little worried about you this morning." Shelly was in his Science class, and knew all about his predicament.

"Yeah. Thanks, Shelly. Didn't wanna miss the big experiment, anyway. I figure a guy can never know too much about gravity. Probably can't even get a decent job without an in-depth background in gravitational theory."

Her laughter was like a sweet salve. Too bad Billy Jenkins wasn't around to see them laughing and walking to class together. David would wager Billy never made her laugh like this on that Halloween hayride.

"Nice to see you made it on time, young Mr. Burke," Mr. Wade said as they walked into class and took their seats.

The familiar rhythm of the school day was comforting, but his thoughts kept wandering back to the dog. He wondered who she belonged to, and how she had gotten lost. He remembered a story in the Weekly Reader a few years back. A dog had been found over a thousand miles from its home, after being lost for several months. It was hungry and tired, but otherwise okay. No one had any idea how it had gotten so far from home. Its family had given up hope, and were very relieved to have their dog home, and now with a story to tell. That dog probably ate pretty well for awhile, at least.

But without tags, David had no idea how he could find this dog's owner. He wondered if the Weekly Reader would be interested in a story about a little dog that was rescued, but its owner unknown. Maybe he could get the Star to run a story, since his mom was an employee and all.

Anyway, even if he never found the owner, he could keep her in the yard, at least. Sleeping alone outside on a cold winter night with a belly full of food and a friend a short distance away was definitely better than whatever horrors she had been facing the past few weeks, or perhaps even months. How come nobody helped her? Maybe she had been lost in the woods. Or maybe she was afraid of strangers, though she had seemed friendly to him.

He thought about names. He liked Libby, though he had no idea why. He thought about Lady, too. Then he remembered that Grandpa Mahoney was always talking about a dog he used to have before David was born. Its name was Lokey, and Grandpa had been crazy about her. He had three or four good Lokey stories he used to tell over and over. Grandpa Mahoney loved to laugh and tell stories. David really missed him. So Lokey it would be. He was sure Lokey would give him some good dog stories of his own to tell his grandkids someday.

At lunch, he wrapped his chicken thigh in a napkin, and took some additional scraps from Billy Jenkins' tray. He thought about making a dash right then and there. But even if he didn't get caught on the way off school grounds, he would definitely get busted by the office when the attendance sheets came in. It was a risk he just couldn't take. Too much to lose right now. Besides, she'd seemed okay when he left. Surely she could hold on till this afternoon. Then he would make sure Lokey never went hungry again.

Finally, the last bell sounded and he raced to the tracks. He hoped she was still near where he'd left her. He would search for her if she'd wandered away. There was a four day weekend break between semesters, and David hoped to help his new dog settle in with the Burke family, even if it was just the yard. He settled into a jog as he hit the tracks, breathing through his nose as the gym teacher instructed.

As he neared the bridge, he could see Lokey was right where he'd left her. It appeared she hadn't moved at all. As he got closer, he couldn't see her breathing. His own breath got suddenly sucked out of him as he bent down and stroked her neck, and realized she was dead. Still warm. It hadn't been long. He flung down the food scraps in anger, and cursed up a blue streak of unbridled rage. He screamed every vile, nasty, profanity he had ever heard in his life, and even made up a few new ones of his own as he began throwing rocks at the bridge as hard as he could. He cursed Mr. Wade, he cursed his dad, but mostly he cursed at himself. Soon he found a new target, something he could actually damage. He began picking up handfuls of gravel and slinging them as hard as he could at a railroad signal near the side of the tracks. The glass lenses shattered as wave after wave of gravel smashed into its face. The destruction did little to ease David's hurt, but he kept at it anyway, over and over, until there was not a piece of glass left in the signal at all.

Finally, spent from the outburst, he sat down and bawled. He cried like he had never cried in his life. He cried like a baby who had lost its Mama, over a little brown and tan dog he had not even really known. Gradually, his sobbing subsided, and there were no tears left. The walk home was a virtual blur. He trudged along slowly, pondering the miserable fates.

His mom was in the kitchen. One look at her son, and she knew something was wrong. "How was school today? Make it on time okay?"
"Yeah. Five minutes to spare."
"How was your day? Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, mom. Just a little tired, I guess."

Up in his room, he saw the new Rawlings glove on his bed. His mom must have put it there. Suddenly, like a lightning bolt, he knew what had to be done.

"I'll be back before supper," he shouted to his mom as he headed out the back door. He pulled the spade shovel out of the shed, put the glove over the handle, and headed back down the tracks.

She was colder now, and starting to stiffen up. The topsoil was soft from the recent warm spell, but the ground underneath was cold and hard as he began to shovel. That was okay. He wanted to work hard right now. Even though Lokey was a small dog, it took David almost an hour to dig deep enough, in an area about thirty feet from the tracks, for a proper grave. He may not have done the dog right while it was still alive, but he would make sure she rested in a place where she would be remembered by him every day as he walked to school.

When he was finished, he laid Lokey along with the brand new Rawlings into the hole, and began to cover them up one shovel full at a time. When he had finished filling the grave and stomping the topsoil good and hard to make sure no varmints could easily get to her body, he placed three large rocks side by side to mark the spot. He looked at the sky. Sunset was well on its way. It was getting colder. Time to go home. He felt better now that it was done. He knew that just like his Grandpa Mahoney, he would never forget his Lokey, either. She was just one stray dog with a string of bad luck. David knew there were probably thousands just like her, or worse, all over the world. But at least her suffering had not all been in vain. He had grown up some on this day, and learned some hard lessons in the bargain.

Never again would he ignore his conscience for convenience or expedience, or from fear over punishment. From this day forward he would do what he knew to be right, even if he was unfairly punished, no matter how harshly, as a result.

And he would never play baseball for the Dunbar Manufacturing Eagles traveling team.

Tom Barkwell, a native of Kansas City, MO, is a twenty-year military veteran presently working in the Information Technology field for the American Embassy in Antananarivo, Madagascar.