A boy and his dog-- is there any more poignant story, dear readers? Here is a story about Bruce, and his best friend, his dog, Gilbert, and what happens when life interferes with other plans.
Gilbert
“I’ll never believe them again,” Bruce Leonard said. He flung his arm around Gilbert, and swallowed hard. “They always say you can count on them for anything but, it’s all lies, Gilbert. They don’t care about us. This proves it, doesn’t it, boy?”
It was nigh on sunset, August 22nd, in Mason Heights, Arizona. Mr. Hardy from two doors down walked by and waved at Bruce with one hand, busy wiping the sweat from his brow with the other. Undulating sheets of gray mist flashed off of the hot pavement, dancing a slow waltz in front of Bruce’s eyes.
But Bruce was resolute, solidly planted at the bottom of his front porch steps. Gilbert, his obedient furry friend, all 
dog, and all loyalty, lay obediently by his side, occasionally glancing bachwards, at the front door of the house.
“It’s not fair!” the boy blurted. “It’s just not fair!”
He rubbed stubby fingers through Gilbert’s fur, twisting the coarse hair into a knot.
Gilbert rose, pushed a moist black nose into Bruce’s armpit, as if offering support, and stood there, motionless.
A creaking noise behind them revealed that someone had opened the front door to the house. The sound of soft shoes moving across the porch, followed. It was a familiar sound. Familiar enough to tell Bruce his mother, June, was coming down the porch steps in her sandals. He fixed his eyes on a spot directly in front of him, and stared without blinking. Gilbert sat. His tail brushed the cement walk lazily. He glanced from Bruce to June, and back again.
“Come in the house,” June said. She tilted her head to peer into Bruce’s face. “It’s so hot out here, Bruce. I don’t think this heat is good for Gilbert.”
“We’re not hot.”
June sighed. She moved her face closer to Bruce's face, poised as if ready to speak again, but finally, she sighed and returned to the house. The front door squeaked again as she closed it behind her.
Pale sunlight sliced around the pointed rooftops of the houses across the street. Bruce stared at the fuzzy paths of yellow drifting to the ground. He thought about Aunt Connie and how she said rays of sun were sent to Earth to form steps for the dead to reach heaven.
How far away is heaven from here? Bruce wondered. Flinging sun bleached hair out of blue eyes, he watched the dusky sunlight merge with the blue-gray shadows of night. When his hair inched down his forehead in a sweaty clump, he flung it back. Once, twice, three times.
“You’re just as much family as she is,” he said to Gilbert. “I won’t let them do it, boy. I’ll think of something. I will. I have to!”
Gilbert was panting heavily now. His lolling tongue made saliva puddles rimmed in white bubbles on the pavement between his paws. Darkness arrived, coating the rooftops along the street with pitch. Bruce watched one lone star shining in the night sky, thinking he might run away-- take Gilbert with him and hit the high road. Just because this was 1995, not 1950, didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. The train station wasn’t that far away. They could hide in one of the boxcars.
A commanding voice broke his reverie.
“Bruce, bring Gilbert and come in the house, now.”
Gilbert started to rise, as if the sound of the voice was a command. But, he paused mid-stir, and looked to Bruce for action. Bruce refused to move.
“Why?” he asked, without turning around. He flung his head up, tightened his arm around the big black spot of fur on Gilbert’s back, and kept his eyes focused straight ahead.
“Because I said so,” the voice said. And the creaking of the door closing told boy and dog the owner of the voice expected to be obeyed.
“Come on, Gilbert, I know what’s coming next. This is where I hear how ridiculous I’m acting.”
They rose as one; Gilbert leaned into Bruce while Bruce tapped his fingertips along Gilbert’s back while they walked. Once inside, Gilbert automatically plodded down the hall to Bruce’s room, flopping down in a heap next to the air-conditioning vent.
“In here, Bruce,” the voicefrom the porch called, halting Bruce’s steps.
Bruce dragged his toe across the hall rug, going in the living room to stand before Roy Calvin, his stepfather. Roy was in his recliner, the evening paper open on his lap. He regarded Bruce thoughtfully. For the most part, they got along okay. Bruce had accepted Roy without complaint two years ago; he’d known his mother would remarry someday. She was allowed that weakness. But, with the certainty of youth to back him up, he had stated that although Roy Calvin might become his ‘father’, he would never be his ‘dad.’ His dad was dead, and substitutes were not accepted.
“You’re being ridiculous about this,” Roy said, running a thin hand over his balding head. “We can’t always control the things that happen in our lives, Bruce. You, of all people, should know that. Try to concentrate on the fact that Jenny is a little girl and right now she needs a friend. Gilbert is only a dog.”
Bruce gave a snort, part laugh, part anger, because he’d been right about the ridiculous part and because Gilbert wasn’t ‘only a dog.’ But he wouldn’t expect Roy to understand that. He waited to see if Roy had anything else to say, and when the silence got too sharp, he turned away and hurried to his room. Stifling the urge to slam the door, he threw himself on his double bed, flat on his stomach, and let one hand dangle over the side to brush Gilbert’s ears.
Tomorrow, he thought. She’s coming tomorrow.
His cousin Jenny, a year younger than Bruce, was coming to live with them, tomorrow. The paperwork for her adoption, after being left orphaned six months ago, was finally all complete and signed. Jenny Campbell, Roy Calvin's niece, a virtual stranger, and a girl to boot, was invading his territory in just 24 hours.
Jenny, who was allergic to everything--especially dogs.
“If they really make me take you to Aunt Connie’s, I’ll die. That’s all, I’ll just die. Might as well give up my paper route, give my bike away, and forget about hanging out at Benny’s; King’ll be sniffing me all over wondering where you are. And what about the park? The guys think you make a great third base. Jeeze, Gilbert, why can’t my mom understand?”
He turned his thoughts to five years ago. To happier times, before . . . before that nameless, faceless policeman came to their door. He would never forget his mother’s tears, the way she covered her face and choked on her grief. That day, the day the policeman stood in their doorway with and mumbled the news that Patrick Leonard was dead, of a heart attack, at the age of 45, haunted Bruce's world every day. He still expected his Dad to come through the door at 6:15, with a wink and a swat at Bruce’s backside with the paper. But 6:15 only brought an emptiness that got bigger all the time.
“I wish you were here, Dad,” he thought out loud. “You loved Gilbert, too.”
The trip to pick Jenny up at the foster home was a four-hour journey by car. They left at seven a.m. June tried to coax conversation out of him, but Bruce gave only mumbled replies and kept his eyes on the white-ribboned highway spinning by. Over and over he replayed the scene at Aunt Connie’s that morning. Over and over he fought off tears. Gilbert went to Aunt Connie’s often, whenever Bruce and his mother and stepfather went on vacation, and every time they had a family get together; Gilbert was used to it there. But he didn’t know that this time he wouldn’t be coming back.
When they arrived at the foster home, Bruce watched Jenny approach their car hesitantly. His face remained cool. His lips wanted to smile, she was sort of pretty, in a skinny kind of way, but he refused to make the gesture. Her white teeth, her long dark hair, her searching black eyes, were not going to sway him, that was for sure. In fact, he was glad she was a girl. It made hating her easier.
Jenny’s foster parents were kind and cheerful. They had prepared a lunch of sandwiches and potato salad for a picnic in the backyard. When the picnic table was cleared, June and Roy followed the foster couple into the house. “You two can get better acquainted,” June said, giving Bruce a meaningful stare.
The afternoon was hot, but not especially humid. Jenny sat slumped over in a lawn chair, squinting at fingernails bitten to the quick. Bruce plopped down on the grass several feet away, staring up into a clear blue sky that looked like a clean plate. Behind them in the bushes, the croaking of a frog hiccuped through the afternoon quiet.
“You probably won’t like Arizona,” Bruce said.
Jenny peered at him with a squint. “Why not?”
“It’s hot,” Bruce said. “Hotter than here. Hotter even than Los Angeles.”
“I like hot,” Jenny said.
“I bet you don’t like bugs,” Bruce said quickly. “We got bugs as big as watermelon. Big and black and soft, they can squeeze through any crack. Why, I’ve known them to squeeze through the screen on my bedroom window . . ..”
Jenny was not to be put off so easily. “I’m sure Uncle Roy will kill them for me,” she said.
“Yeah, maybe. But we have. . . bats, too. Do you know anything about bats?”
Jenny shook her head, eyes widening.
“Well,” Bruce opened his eyes even wider, “they suck your blood. They’re all over Mason Heights. If you’re outside, they fly in your hair and crawl down your neck and when they get their teeth on your jugular. . ..”
His mother’s voice, calling from the back door of the house, interrupted him. It was time to come in and pack Jenny’s things, she said. The children walked to the house without enthusiasm. Bruce avoided looking at Jenny. He shrugged off the worried look she gave him over her shoulder, before disappearing in her room. then he veered off into the bathroom.
Let them load the car without him. If they called him to help, he wouldn’t answer. He planted himself at the sink, soaping his hands lavishly, and wondered if Jenny believed him about the bats. He could hear them talking, his mother and Jenny, over and above the sound of the water swishing in the sink.
“Mrs. Calvin . . .”
“Jenny, call me Aunt June, please.”
“Aunt June, does Bruce hate girls?”
“Hate girls? Why do you ask?”
“He says I’m going to hate Arizona. He was telling me these stories about bats, and bugs.”
“Jenny, there’s something that we haven’t told you. Your Uncle and I are very excited about having you come and live with us. We’re thrilled, really. But, in order to arrange that, we had to agree to leave Bruce’s dog at my sister’s. If Bruce is unfriendly, it’s because he’s having a hard time giving up Gilbert. He’ll come around, you’ll see.”
“You gave your dog away for me?” Jenny’s voice trembled. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“Gilbert is Bruce’s dog. His father gave Gilbert to Bruce when he was only three. But Gilbert isn’t as young as he used to be, Jenny. He’ll be fine at my sister Connie’s. And Bruce can go over there and see him every day if he wants to. Connie only lives a mile and a half from our house.”
That was enough for Bruce. He bolted out of the bathroom, barreled down the hall and burst into Jenny’s room.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said quickly, fiercely. “You can still come and live at our house. I don’t care.”
June stepped back in surprise. “Bruce,” she reached out instinctively, but Bruce rushed on, talking only to Jenny, flinging his words at her like sharp darts.
“Sure you can live with my mom and your Uncle Roy. I’m going to go live at Aunt Connie’s with Gilbert. That’s right, I’ll go live at Aunt Connie’s. You always wanted a girl, Mom,” turning his red face to his mother. “You got Jenny now, I guess you don’t need me.”
“Bruce Leonard!” His mother’s jaw dropped, her mouth formed a round, silent O.
Jenny backed up to the twin bed behind her. Her suitcase, balanced precariously on the edge, slipped to the floor, spilling nightgowns, jeans and a rag doll.
“I know you feel bad,” Bruce spoke softer. “You probably think I’m horrible. If it wasn’t for Gilbert, we could probably be friends. But if you come to live at my house and I can’t have Gilbert, then I don’t want to be there. That’s all.”
“You know,” Jenny began to speak.
“Bruce, you will apologize . . .”June said.
Jenny was quicker-- she won the race to speak. “I was invited to live with my Great-Aunt Helen in South Carolina,” she said. She looked clearly into Bruce’s eyes as she spoke. “She’s about sixty. She said I could have a TV in my room and everything. I wanted to come and live at your house, to be part of a real family. I didn’t think about your having a dog. A lot of my friends back home have pets, but I never had one.” She gave a little shrug. “I never had a brother, either.”
“I’m sorry about your parents,” Bruce said. “But I love Gilbert. I don’t want to give him up. I won’t that’s all. I won’t.”
Jenny didn’t reply. She blinked hard, caught her breath in her throat, and continued to watch Bruce with those wide brown eyes.
“Bruce,” June tried to reach out to her son, but he moved away from her touch, “there is nothing we can do about this now. You must understand that. Jenny is coming home with us. We’ll have to deal with hurt feelings and Gilbert, later on. Right now we’re the only family Jenny has, and that has nothing to do with my wanting a little girl. Do you understand?”
“Sure,” Bruce shoved his hands deep in his jeans pockets, and left the room.
“Aunt June,” Jenny began.
“Enough. Not another word, Jenny. We’ll work this out at home.”
The car was loaded with Jenny’s suitcases and her collection of music boxes, and it was time to go. Bruce’s stepfather glanced at the two children and shook his head as he slid behind the wheel.
“Am I missing something?” he said. June just shook her head at him.
Bruce was sitting directly behind Roy. He leaned crookedly against his door. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jenny curled up in the opposite corner. They each kept their eyes on the passing neighborhood as if they were alone in the car.
When the car pulled to a stop at the corner, Jenny ventured a look at Bruce. “I’d like to meet this dog,” she said.
“What?” Bruce gave her a confused stare across the seat. “I thought you were allergic.”
“I am,” she shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I can’t meet him. It only means I can’t live with him. You know, in the same house. Or have him in my room. Stuff like that. I can pet him, for heaven’s sake.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Bruce gave a half-nod. That made sense. “Gilbert’s a great dog, the best. You’ll like him.”
Jenny nodded. “Probably,” she said, licking her bottom lip thoughtfully. Then, holding his gaze, she asked, “If he likes me, can I stay?”
End
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