Dog Gone by Cynthia Chapman Willis

stupid gardens, and dumb vegetables. Good thing my mom likes you or I’d be home this minute helping her can tomatoes.”
    He should have said Good thing my mom still feels sorry for you.
    Cub kicks at the floor. “I’m sick of Donny tellin’ me what to do.”
    Donny, Cub’s oldest brother, the tall one with the dark eyes and hair, and the kindest smile I’ve ever seen. Donny sends all my girlfriends into giggles and whispers. His deep voice turns me into something like oatmeal. As much as I want to ask Cub questions, get him talking about Donny, Cub’s mood screams that this isn’t the time. Especially since he’s never been even close to being okay with me talking about Donny. Not long ago, when I hinted at how nice Donny was after he congratulated me on a first-place ribbon I’d won in a jumping event, Cub started choking as if he’d swallowed a horsefly.
    But now he keeps kicking at the floor. “I’m sick of my house. I’m sick of hand-me-down clothes, and I’m sick of too many church functions .”
    I want to tell Cub that he should be glad that he has a whole family wrapped around him, but he won’t listen. He thinks I’m lucky to be an only child. He tells me he loves the peace and quiet of my home. To Cub, his house is too much like that of the old lady who lived in a shoe—the one with so many children that she didn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel the hollow chill of the ranch the way I do.
    â€œAnd my dad wants me to put in more hours working at the stable. Somethin’ about the importance of responsibility and commitment to a job.” Cub rolls his eyes. “I took that job to be around animals and make a little money, not to be responsible.” He huffs. “Truth is, I’m sick of always workin’. I can’t remember the last time you and me did anything fun, Dill. We haven’t even been in the river this summer. And unless you’re keepin’ secrets, you’ve made none of your usual plans for cool stuff to do. By this time last year, we’d built a raft and taken it on the river, been fishin’, and built that tree fort. Remember?”
    â€œYeah,” I mutter. Cub has always relied on me to come up with ideas for entertainment. And I depend on him to make them happen. The problem is, I’ve lost my sense of adventure. “Okay,” I tell him anyway. “After we get Dead End back, I’ll help you with your chores. Then maybe we can go to the river or something.”
    I don’t share that I’m not ready to be around his family again, all happy and whole and normal, even though helping Cub might get me Donny time because he sometimes works with us or brings us lemonade or even finishes up a job if we’re tired. And always with something nice to say. Like the time he told me I was too cute to be hanging around mangy, old Cub . That sent my heart galloping.
    â€œI got a riding lesson this morning, so here’s what we’ll do,” I add. “I’ll look for the pooch on my way to the stable. You look for him while you’re doing stuff around your place. Then we’ll meet in the barn. By then I’ll have come up with more of a plan to find that dog.”
    â€œGuess that works,” Cub agrees. “But, Dill?”
    I glance at him sidelong, certain he’s about to dump ice water on my idea.
    He shifts again, looks right into my face. “What if your dog is long gone?”
    Shaking my head, I turn to the window, not wanting Cub to see my eyes fill up at even the possibility. That’s when I see G.D. by the garden fence, staring at the vegetables. I can almost see his hand gripping the cane tight, his thin lips pressed together, his eyes red and wet from missing Mom again. Only now, he’s missing Dead End, too.
    â€œThat pooch can’t be gone forever,” I answer in a slipper-soft voice. “He just