Sea Dog

Dayle Campbell Gaetz

with illustrations by
Amy Meissner

Text copyright © 2006 Dayle Campbell Gaetz
Interior illustrations copyright © 2006 Amy Meissner

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Gaetz, Dayle, 1947-

Sea dog / Dayle Campbell Gaetz; with illustrations by Amy Meissner.

(Orca echoes)

ISBN 1-55143-406-7

1. Dogs--Juvenile fiction. I. Meissner, Amy II. Title. III. Series.

PS8563.A25317S38 2006               jC813'.54                     C2006-900339-4

First published in the United States 2006

Library of Congress Control Number: 2006920831

Summary: Kyle finds a dog washed up on the beach and claims it for his own; when the dog's original owner shows up and tells his sad story, Kyle must make a hard choice.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Department of Canadian Heritage'sBook Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.

Design by Lynn O'Rourke

Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 5626, STN. B
Victoria, BC Canada
V8R 6S4

Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 468
Custer, WA USA
98240-0468

Printed and bound in Canada.

09 08 07 06 • 5 4 3 2 1

To Cypress. —
D.C.G.

For Pelle, who is also from the sea.
—A.C.M.

Wind howled around Kyle's house. A big gust rattled his window. Rain pounded the roof above his head. Waves crashed on the beach.

Kyle pulled the covers over his head. He didn't want to think about his dad. But the storm made him remember. When there was a big storm, Dad always woke up early. He always made pancakes for breakfast.

He always called Kyle and Mom. They ate pancakes until they almost burst. While they ate they looked out the window. Waves tumbled and roared against the beach.

“This storm will bring lots of treasures,” Dad always said.

After breakfast, Kyle and Dad always put on their rain slickers. They took their treasure bags. Hand in hand they went in search of treasure.

One day Dad found a glass fish float. Another time Kyle found a running shoe. It fit his left foot. The best treasure they ever found was a toy sailboat. It was yellow and red and had a white sail. “It must have fallen from someone's boat,” Dad said.

That morning Kyle felt happy and sad. He felt happy for himself. He felt sad for the child who lost this special sailboat.

This morning Kyle felt sad again. He felt sad for himself. He pushed the covers from his face. Morning light crept around his window blinds. He looked at the beautiful toy boat on his dresser. His eyes watered.

There would be no more treasures. Dad didn't live here anymore.

Kyle shut his eyes tight. He tried not to think about treasures. He tried not to hear the roar of wind and waves. Soon he drifted off to sleep. He dreamed about Dad. He dreamed they walked along the beach hand in hand. He dreamed they found the other running shoe.

“Kyle!” his mom called.

Kyle's eyes flew open. He smelled coffee brewing. He smelled pancakes cooking. Was his dream real? He leapt out of bed and ran to the kitchen.

His mom was making pancakes. She bent to give him a big hug. “Go and get dressed,” she said. “The wind is dying. It's almost time to search for treasures.”

She smiled at him with watery eyes. Kyle blinked. His eyes filled with tears.

Mom and Kyle didn't eat very much. They weren't hungry today. They watched green and white waves break against the beach. Rain streaked down from a dark gray sky.

Kyle helped his mom clear the breakfast table. “Go put on your rain slicker,” she said. “And don't forget your treasure bag.”

Kyle didn't want to go out. But he didn't want to disappoint Mom. She was trying to make things better for him. So he dressed in his yellow rain slicker. He took his red mesh treasure bag from its hook.

They walked hand in hand along the sand. Clumps of seaweed lay tangled on the shore. Chunks of driftwood dotted the beach. Kyle carried his treasure bag and tried to smile.

“Look, Kyle.” His mom stopped at a clump of seaweed. “This might hold a treasure.”

Kyle lifted handfuls of green eelgrass. He dragged a long brown piece of kelp from the clump. It felt cold and slimy in his bare hands. Underneath was a stick of driftwood. “Not much of a treasure,” he said.

The stick was just right for walking, though. Kyle carried it with him. He poked at another clump of seaweed. Underneath was a big, red, dead jellyfish.

“Don't touch,” Mom said. “The stingers hurt even after the jellyfish dies.”

“That's no treasure.” Kyle sighed. He wanted to go home.

“Look at that!” Mom said.

Kyle looked down the beach, near the water's edge. He saw a huge clump of tangled seaweed.

“I'll bet there's a treasure under there,” Mom said. They lifted away handfuls of seaweed. They moved chunks of driftwood. Underneath was a huge, flat driftwood board. On it lay something black. And wet. And hairy. It was tangled in seaweed.

“Don't touch,” Mom said. “I think it's a dead seal.”

But Kyle lifted one more handful of seaweed. “It has an ear,” he said. “It looks like a dog.”

“Poor dog,” Mom said. “It must have drowned in the storm last night.”

Kyle pulled away more seaweed. He uncovered the dog's face. “Its eyelid moved! It's alive!”

They uncovered the rest of the dog. It lay still on its driftwood board.

Mom put her hand on the dog's chest. “It's breathing!” she said.

“We need to take it home,” Kyle said. “How can we carry it?”

Mom took off her rain slicker and covered the dog. “You stay here,” she said. “I have an idea.”

Kyle sat on the wet sand beside the wet dog. He patted the dog's head and scratched behind its ear. “Please live,” he whispered. “I promise to take good care of you.”

Mom returned with the wheelbarrow. It was lined with towels and covered with a tarp. “Kyle,” she said, “you lift the dog's head. I'll lift its body. We'll put it in the wheelbarrow.”

The soggy dog lay limp in their arms. They laid it on the dry towels. They placed the tarp over top. Kyle put his stick and his bag in the wheelbarrow. He helped push the heavy wheelbarrow across the soft, wet sand.

They carried the dripping dog into the house. They laid her beside the woodstove. Kyle got some fresh towels. He rubbed the dog all over. The dog coughed, and water trickled from her mouth. She shivered.

“I'm going to phone the vet,” Mom said.

Kyle sat close beside the dog. He stroked her head. “Please don't die,” he whispered.

Mom returned. “The vet said to warm some towels in the dryer,” she said. Kyle helped wrap warm towels around the cold dog.

“She said to put a hot water bottle near her chest,” Mom said. So that's what they did.

“You stay with the dog. I'm going to heat some milk.”

“Did the vet say that too?”

Mom nodded.

Mom brought warm milk in a bowl. She put it near the dog's nose. The dog half opened her eyes. Her pink tongue hung out, but she didn't drink.

“I have an idea,” Kyle said. He went to the kitchen for the turkey baster. He dipped it into the warm milk. He pumped the bulb until milk rose into the tube. He dropped warm milk on the dog's pink tongue. She licked.

Kyle dropped more milk onto her tongue. She licked some more. Then she lifted her head and lapped up all the milk. Her head flopped back down. She curled up in her warm towels. She lay close to the warm woodstove. Soon she fell asleep.