Bruno the Wonder Dog
I remember as if yesterday the crowd that was gathered outside Wisp Smithers’ shack one July 4th when I was young. Wisp was an old fellow who lived a few miles from our place. We were coming home from the fireworks in town when Dad slowed the car, attempting to weave through the traffic. I thought Wisp might be throwing a party because people were everywhere, but I didn’t see any fireworks. Dad finally found a place to park and told us kids to stay in the car while he and Mom investigated.
We wanted to see what was going on, but being obedient souls, we stayed put. I have no idea how old we were, but Jude was probably ten, which would make me six, and my brother two years younger. What I remember most about that night is the quiet. Nobody was talking or at least not talking loud enough for us to hear what they were saying. Jude said it couldn’t be much of a party since there was no music. She was crazy about Bill Haley and the Comets and played their records until Mom said the record player needle was going to wear a hole right through the grooves. If someone had been playing one of Haley’s songs, she’d have left the car, rules or no rules. Anyway, we waited a few minutes then Mom came back and sat behind the wheel. She said Dad was going to stay and visit, and we were going home. Naturally, we asked why we couldn’t stay, but in those days parents didn’t answer questions from children, and we knew not to ask twice.
The next day Jude saw Wisp strolling down the road heading in our direction. I ran behind her as she ran to him. She wanted the lowdown about last night and knew once he got to our house, we wouldn’t be allowed to question him. He had almost reached the big spruce in Uncle Steve’s field when Jude flagged him down and motioned for him to join us underneath the tree. It was one of my favorite places.
Wisp sat between us and told his story. He said he was having a hard time of it. We asked what “it” was, and Wisp put his head in his hands and moaned. Apparently “it” was the death of his dog, Bruno, who was like a son to him. Bruno had been snooping around the nightstand and knocked down a bottle of pills. Wisp had arthritis in his wrists and ankles. Everybody knew he took pills to ease his pain. Everybody, that is, except Bruno. While the dog was enjoying the medicine, Wisp was weeding his garden. Then a neighbor stopped by and the men sat on a bench by the front door and visited for an hour. By this time, the sun was getting low in the sky and Wisp wanted to finish weeding before the day was over. He didn’t work on Sundays.
Jude and I looked at each other. We didn’t know he was religious. Everybody knows you have to work on Sunday if you’re a farmer. Cows need milking, pigs need slopping, chickens need scratch, and if the weather cooperates, the hay’s got to be baled, Sunday or not. Learning Wisp was religious made us look at him in a different light. We thought he was just an old drunk.
“By the time I got in the house it was almost ten o’clock,” he said. I washed up and fried potatoes and onions. Then I listened to the ballgame on the radio. It went into extra innings, so it was after ten by the time I crawled into bed.” Wisp stopped his story and wiped his eyes as tears ran down his face. Jude and I felt bad. This was the first time we had seen a man cry, and we didn’t know what to say so we said nothing. Wisp pulled himself together and continued.
“As soon as saw Bruno, I knew somethin’ was wrong. His head was layin’ on my pillow. He knows he ain’t supposed to sleep anywheres but at my feet, and he’s a good dog. He don’t break the rules. I give him a shove, but he don’t move, and he’s cold. Cold as stone. I tried shakin’ him awake, but it was no use. He was a goner.” Wisp stopped talking. Jude and I looked at each other.
“I think I hear Mom calling us,” she said. “We better go home.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “See you later,” she said to Wisp. When we got to our lane, we stopped running. I asked Jude why she was in such a hurry to leave old Wisp. I didn’t think it was very Catholic of us to run away when he was sad. Weren’t we supposed to comfort the suffering I asked. Jude told me that was just for grown-ups, not kids.
I was on the porch swing as Wisp walked down our lane. He smiled and waved as he headed for the barn where Dad was milking the cows. I followed him, thinking I would stand by the open door and listen. I always listened through the stovepipe when I played in the spare room above the kitchen. That’s the only way I ever found out all the news.
“Too bad about Bruno,” Dad said. “He sure was a good old dog.”
“Yup. I’m gonna miss him,” Wisp said.
“Too bad about the pills,” Dad said.
“Yup. I’m gonna miss them, too,” Wisp said.
I waited until all the cows were milked and Dad unhooked their chains and put them out to pasture. I waited and listened and didn’t hear one thing about last night except laughter. I knew that big crowd in Wisp’s yard didn’t have a thing to do with a dead dog. I just knew it, but I couldn’t wait any longer or they’d see me. I ran back to the house.
“Find out anything?” Jude asked. She was eating chocolate pudding and rocking in Gram’s chair. I sat on the porch swing next to her and told her Wisp didn’t say anything about anything except that he would miss Bruno.
“I guess he will,” Jude said as she licked the last of the pudding from her spoon. “Want to know the truth?” she asked. I said of course I wanted to know the truth. How dumb did she think I was?
“Bruno didn’t eat any medicine,” she said. “Mom said it was Wisp who swallowed all his arthritis pills. He tried to do himself in. Then he got scared and decided he wanted to live. He stood in the middle of the road and flagged down every car that went by. Then someone called the sheriff.”
“Are you lying?” I asked. None of this made sense to me.
“Honest,” she said. “It was the sheriff who got a long piece of rhubarb from Wisp’s garden and stuck it down his throat and kept it there until he threw up all the pills.”
“Now I know you’re lying,” I said. That was the craziest story I ever heard.
“Nope, I’m telling the truth. There wasn’t any music because there wasn’t any party. And Bruno isn’t dead. If you look down the lane you’ll see him running towards us.” And sure enough, there he was, a big black blur running like there was no tomorrow. Running and yapping and having a good old time as he jumped on Wisp and knocked him to the ground.
Which only goes to show. If you’re going to tell a lie, make it a good one.
