HONEY BEAR
by BJ Bourg
Gracie swatted the mosquito on her arm and frowned. Time to go inside. She hugged the stray puppy. “I’ll bring you more food tomorrow. Promise.”
Gracie began walking home, but the lonely puppy followed. “Stay,” Gracie ordered. “I have to go home, but I promise to come back tomorrow.”
It was no use. The more Gracie tried to make him stay, the more playful and excited he became. “I’ll just have to outrun you!”
Gracie bolted down the dirt road, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Just as she reached her backyard, she tripped and fell. The hard dirt skinned her knees and the palms of her hands, but she didn't notice. The puppy had pranced onto her back and began licking her neck. She giggled and squirmed. “Stop! That tickles!” This only encouraged the puppy to lick faster. Gracie sat up and reached for him, but a booming voice caused him to dart away.
“Gracie! Time to come inside!”
Gracie scrambled to her feet and ran around the house to the front porch. The puppy followed at a safe distance. They both stopped when they saw her dad. His eyes went from her to the dog. He shook his head. “Where did you get that?”
“I found him in the back.”
“Where'd he come from?”
“One of the neighbors said a man in a van dropped him off.” Gracie brought both hands to her chin in a prayer position, frowned, and jutted out her lower lip. “Can I keep him? Please? I’ll name him Honey Bear!”
“Baby, having a dog is a huge responsibility. Your Mom and I are too busy to give it the attention it needs.”
“But I can take care of him.”
“Like you take care of your toys?” He shook his head. “Maybe when you're older and a little more responsible.” He squatted, rubbed the puppy's ears. Honey Bear rolled onto his back and his tail slapped the porch.
“But look at him, Dad, he's so golden and pretty! Can't I keep him?”
“He can sleep on the porch tonight, but tomorrow he goes to the animal shelter.”
Gracie dropped her head. She knew better than to argue. That night she brooded over supper, passed on desert, and went to bed with a heavy heart. Sometime before she drifted off to sleep, she heard rain patter against the roof of the house. Her thoughts immediately went to Honey Bear. “He's probably cold and wet,” she whispered.
Within the hour, thunder rumbled outside and lightning flashed in her window. She pulled the covers over her head and said a silent prayer. As though he'd heard her, Honey Bear barked from the porch. She heard him scratching furiously at the front door. His barks became louder.
“What's wrong with that dog?” her dad called from the living room.
Gracie heard the anger in his footsteps as he marched to the front door. She heard the door open, and a sudden whiff of air circulated throughout the house. The walls shook. The windows rattled.
“Cathy! Tornado! Get Gracie into the bathroom!”
Gracie's heart pounded in her chest. She jumped from her bed and met her mom in the hallway. They raced to the bathroom and climbed into the cast-iron bathtub. They clutched each other tight. Moments later, amidst a terrifying rumble, her dad bolted through the door with Honey Bear in his arms. He kicked the door closed and dove over them in the bathtub, shielding them with his body.
Outside the door, something crashed violently through the roof. Wood splintered. Glass shattered. The house rocked on its foundation. Gracie felt her ears pop. She screamed. Her mom screamed. Tears pushed through her clinched eyelids, streamed down her face. Honey Bear whined and shimmied closer to her.
As suddenly as it had come, it was gone. Gracie opened her eyes and stared into the darkness. She swallowed to relieve the pressure in her ears, wiped her tear-streaked face. Her dad fumbled in the dark and snatched a flashlight from the bathroom cabinet. He flicked it on, aimed it around the bathroom. “Y'all okay?” The concern was evident in his voice.
Gracie and her mom nodded. Honey Bear barked, wagged his tail.
Gracie's dad eased the bathroom door open and peered outside. He gasped.
“What?” her Mom asked.
“The oak tree fell through Gracie's room. Her bed is smashed!” He turned and fell to his knees. It was the first time Gracie had ever seen him cry. He held out his arms and she ran into them. Clutching her tight, he said, “That dog…your dog…saved your life!”
“Does this mean I can keep him?” Gracie asked in a muffled voice.
Her dad didn't respond, but that was okay...she already knew the answer.
THE END
Previously published in the June 2006 issue of Writer’s Post Journal.
BJ Bourg lives in southeast Louisiana with his beautiful wife and two wonderful children. He has had many titles during his career as a law enforcement officer, but the title that brings him the most joy is “Dad”. To learn more about the author, visit his website at www.bjbourg.com. Contact BJ.
