Mountain Dog by Margarita Engle Read Free Book Online Page B

ends
    with his escape from the secret police,
    on a homemade raft, in hurricane season.
    Then the sea, the wreck, being stranded
    on that nameless spit of sand, and finally,
    surviving on rainwater, shellfish,
    and seaweed. After a fisherman
    found him, rescue became Tío’s passion.
    Nature had fed him, God and people
    helped him. He was determined to do
    the same for someone else.
    He received asylum in Florida,
    learned English, studied forestry,
    then worked in the Everglades,
    Yellowstone, and Yosemite,
    before choosing to patrol
    the most remote places
    along the Pacific Crest Trail,
    places that seemed almost
    as vast and perilous
    as an ocean.
    Wherever he went, he always
    experimented with wild foods
    and survival skills. He experimented
    with wild feelings, too, trying out
    different emotions
    the way people in cities
    try on clothes.
    He had to decide which feelings
    could be trusted
    and which ones would poison
    his mind.
    Anger was useless, fear deadly,
    and despair was the most dangerous
    emotion of all. He realized that hope
    was the only feeling strong enough
    to keep him alive.
    When Tío falls silent, I gaze up
    at beach stars, gather my courage,
    and ask about Mom.
    What was she like when she was little?
    Did she fight, was she cruel, did she care
    about people and puppies?
    My uncle’s answer makes me feel
    as clear and limitless
    as the starry sky.
    Mom was ordinary.
    Something changed her.
    But she could change back.
    And I’m not like her.
    I’ll always be free
    to be myself.

 
    28
    GABE THE DOG
    BEACH DREAMS
    Sleeping in a tent on the moon-bright sand
    I dream
    swim-run-swim
    and in the morning
    I can still smell the dreams
    of my Leo and Tony
    because they were swimming with me
    so that even alone on the water
    I was never
    alone.

 
    29
    TONY THE BOY
    WHEN ELEPHANTS JUMP
    By the time we drive back
    from our cool beach vacation,
    I’ve collected a few experimental
    feelings of my own
    along with sand dollars
    and seashells
    and a gooey bag of chewy
    saltwater taffy for Gracie,
    who’s due back from India.
    She arrives in a loud burst
    of hilarious jungle poem-stories
    about elephant sunscreen (mud)
    elephant pizza (squashed trees)
    and elephant dreams (jumping,
    because when they’re awake,
    elephants are the only mammals
    that can’t leap).
    After her welcome-home
    nonelephant pizza party,
    all I expect to do is sleep,
    but a call-out comes at midnight,
    and Tío takes me with him.
    I wait restlessly at base camp,
    wondering if I’ll ever master
    the frustrating art
    of patience.
    The lost person is a teenage boy
    with a homemade bow and arrow.
    There is no place last seen—so Gabe
    has to search a huge area, off leash
    and eager, as he races against time,
    because the boy is diabetic, and if he
    doesn’t get his medicine,
    he’ll die.
    His family brings candles, food,
    flowers, and a makeshift altar.
    They pray in a language I can’t identify.
    The women wear colorful dresses,
    and somehow, the worried men
    manage to look strong
    and helpless
    at the same time.
    The search goes on and on,
    but this time, Gabe isn’t the hero.
    A helicopter pilot makes the find,
    spotting the lost boy from midair.
    Exhausted but happy, Tío assures me
    that search and rescue is teamwork,
    not individual
    glory.
    Still, as I think about how hard
    Gabe tried, I can’t help but wonder
    if SAR dogs ever feel
    discouraged.
    Lately, my mind is so full
    of questions
    that there doesn’t seem to be room
    for answers.
    Wondering and wishing are all
    I can manage at Cowboy Church,
    where I try and try to pray
    for Mom …
    but end up feeling
    like wondering and wishing
    are better than seeing her
    or opening her hopelessly
    angry letters.
    Now I know
    how elephants must feel
    in between their lively
    jumping dreams
    while they’re awake
    and limited
    to plodding.

 
    30
    GABE THE DOG
    MY WISHFUL NOSE
    I’m not discouraged, just