Buster by Caleb Huett (ebook reader library txt) 📕

Tonio—well, it was summer, so Tonio had appointments with Dr. Jake and then didn’t leave the house much otherwise. I was trying to figure out how to change that.

If Mr. Pulaski was going to work nights, then they’d eat dinner early. If Mrs. Pulaski was pulling extra hours designing for Gobble (Google but for Thanksgiving supplies), then they’d eat dinner late. But when both were happening, things got a little weird. Sometimes dinner was at noon. Sometimes it was at nine (if Tonio was still awake). My first unusual “dinner” with the family was at six the morning after it was scheduled to happen.

“The Gargle account really likes the latest draft,” Mrs. Pulaski was saying. She had finally burst out of her office an hour before, triumphant and hungry, and had woken the rest of us up for dinner. A few sleepy seasonings and a pot of coffee later, she was devouring a pile of steak and mashed potatoes while Tonio and Mr. Pulaski stared at their plates queasily.

“That’s …” Mr. Pulaski had only come home three hours before. He forgot what he was saying and his eyes drifted closed.

“Great?” Tonio suggested. Mr. Pulaski nodded, or maybe just nodded off. Tonio secretly dropped a little piece off his plate, and I caught it out of the air. I’ll chew on anything that’s even touched a steak, any time of day.

Mrs. Pulaski’s fork clinked against her plate. She was staring at Tonio and chewing, deciding what to say. Finally, she said, “I love you, Tonio. Do I tell you that enough?”

“I think so.”

“Good. I was reading this summary of a book that looks amazing—a book about kids, I think, but also just about people, you know, and it said that most of us don’t hear nice things enough. That’s probably true.”

“You just read the summary?” Tonio asked.

“Yes, but I think that was good advice already.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Tonio realized Mrs. Pulaski was waiting on something, because she was making a cartoonish grumpy face. His face reddened, and words tumbled out of his mouth in a jumble. “IloveyoutooMom. Sorry.”

She looked disappointed for the tiniest second—her eyebrows pulling together and her mouth tugging down—but then she grinned and wiped her face with a napkin. “That does feel great. And I didn’t even have to buy the book! What a deal. Honey?”

Mr. Pulaski picked his face up off the table. Mashed potatoes held one of his eyes closed. “Mm?”

“I need to get some sleep. Are you done with your dinner?” Mrs. Pulaski was already picking up the plates while Mr. Pulaski was trying to remember how to nod. “And, Tonio, please take Buster to the dog park today. He tore up a roll of toilet paper yesterday, and I think it’s because he’s been stuck inside.”

(I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation.)

Now Tonio was staring at the table, face still red. He wasn’t listening to what his mom was saying, but she wasn’t waiting around to notice. His parents left the room together, and I stood up so I could get a good sniff.

Tonio was breathing just a little bit harder than normal, through his mouth. His eyes were zoning out, so I could tell he was lost in his head thinking about something. I could hear his heartbeat up this close, too—it was faster than it should be, but not pounding. He wasn’t having a panic attack yet, but he was lost somewhere. Stuck in a thought. I needed to help him out of it.

I kicked off the floor onto my hind legs, careful not to slip on the tile, and pushed both of my front paws into his stomach. He didn’t do anything the first time, so I bounced off and pushed harder.

“Ow! Hey!” Tonio’s eyes finally snapped over to me, and his face scrunched up, confused. I kept my paws on his stomach, and after a few seconds of confusion, he leaned over and put his forehead up against mine, his curly hair tickling my ears. “Oh, wow. Thank you. How did you know?”

(I would like to note, for the Court, that this was entirely within my training as a service dog. This technique is perfectly normal and was not overstepping my position even a little bit.)

“What happens now?” Tonio asked. “Do you just stay there?”

I stared at him.

“Do you want a treat?”

My ears swiveled on their own and my tail gave two good wags before I forced it to stop. I needed to stay strong. I know what you’re thinking—a Good Dog would have wanted the treat. And you’re right—a regular Good Dog. But as a service dog, I had to stay focused and committed to my work. If I took a treat, I was admitting my job was done. And it wasn’t done.

But I could smell those good treats in his back pocket … and when he grabbed the bag and started crinkling it, I felt my mouth betraying me with drool. I clamped my teeth shut and turned away when he brought the treat up to my face.

Tonio frowned. “What’s wrong? You love these.” I did love these. Little packets of chewy something wrapped around a perfect pouch of peanut butter—

No! I thought. I kept my teeth together and bounced up and back down on his stomach.

“Oof!” Tonio let out a breath of air. “Go easy. I’m okay, I promise.” He scratched around my collar. “I just … I didn’t even think to tell Mom I loved her back. And what kind of— Who doesn’t—” He stopped, because he was getting lost again. Then he mumbled, “I don’t think I’m a good person. I never notice things like that. Everyone is always so nice to me, and I just hurt their feelings. Even Mom.”

The whole thing was a big misunderstanding, but Tonio didn’t understand that, and now he was sitting here thinking he was a bad person.

“Maybe she’s upset in her room right now. I should probably go apologize, or make