Buster, Caleb Huett [great novels .TXT] 📗

such good treats.) Tonio had taken a really strong step toward feeling better—all because I stopped trying to be a Good Dog.

But we still had a lot to talk about. And I had no clue what was coming.

The door to Mrs. Pulaski’s office wore at least fifteen Do Not Disturb signs slapped on at various angles, including the handwritten one hanging from the handle. I’d never been inside before, but she opened the door for us when we got home from Dr. Jake’s—Tonio had asked to borrow a tablet.

“There’s definitely one around here somewhere you can use!” Mrs. Pulaski swept a pile of old snack food wrappers into her trash can. The room smelled like salt, sugar, ink, and the tiniest whiff of a candle she must have lit to try to combat the snack food dust. “Just have to find it.”

Tonio began collecting old cans of soda and sparkling water, piling them in his arms to take to the recycling. “Do you need help, Mom?” he asked. “I don’t mind cleaning up in here.”

She dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand. “Oh, no, I’ll get to it after I finish this project. Once the Gargle site is done, I’ll take a bit of time off, get everything organized.” She sniffed at a bag of Cheese Bobs, apparently decided they were still good, rolled the top shut, and shoved them in a drawer.

“Really? You never take time off.”

“Well, I’m trading emails with a few clients right now, so I’ll probably be doing something, but less, for sure.” Tonio’s face looked like that was about what he expected. “Hopefully something other than websites for a little while. I’m bored!”

I looked around at her walls and saw posters for a bunch of old bands—Blip Gloss, AARCTIIC TUUNDRAA, Typorgaphy Error, Our Elaborate Misconceptions … Her office walls were a catalog of famous bands from the last twenty years. It didn’t take me long to realize why. All the posters had the same signature in the bottom right: L(squiggle)P(squiggle). Laura Pulaski. She’d designed all of them.

“Aha! Here we go!” She found a tablet lying on one of her desks under a printed-out design with handwritten notes scribbled all around it. “I hardly use it, so you can keep it in your room. The charger is …” She rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a cord. “This one will work. I’m glad you’re interested in digital work! Let me know if you need any help, okay?”

Mrs. Pulaski was excited to see Tonio interested in the kind of art she was making, too—which was making him feel nervous, because he was basically lying about why he wanted the tablet. “Okay, Mom. Thanks.”

Music rumbled from under her door once we were out of it, loud enough that I was sure even Tonio could hear it until we shut the door to his room—that was normal, though. She liked to work to music. Sometimes she even sang.

Tonio waved the tablet at me triumphantly as we walked up the stairs. “This will be perfect!” he said once his mom’s music made sure she wouldn’t hear. “It might take a little bit of practice, but you can type on here, and we can talk for real. Wait—” He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to me. “You can’t just talk, right? I never really asked.”

Nope. I tried to imitate the way a human speaks: “Aargggeeeohm!”

“Got it.” He pushed open the door and plugged the tablet into the wall. We watched while it charged enough to turn on; then I unlocked it with a swipe and opened up an app to type in. “That is so weird.”

What is? I typed slowly, with the pads of my paws and a lot of backspacing.

“Watching you use technology! You’re a dog!”

I’m not very good at it. You should see Jpeg.

“Jpeg? The Shiba at the shelter? She’s—” He blinked. “Of course she is. They all are. You’re all smart.” I gave him the space to process. “What about other animals? Birds?”

No.

“Squirrels?”

No.

“Cats?”

I winced. It’s complicated.

“How is it complicated?!”

We think they have an Underspeak language like we do, but it’s different from ours, and they don’t seem interested in talking to us.

“Can you teach it to me so we can talk without a tablet?”

I’ll try. You can learn to understand, I think, but probably not speak it.

“Why not?”

You don’t have a tail. Or the right kind of ears.

“Are you going to get in trouble for telling me?”

I tried not to scare him. Probably not. Maybe.

“Then why did you tell me?!”

I wanted to help you.

“But why are you helping me?”

It’s my job. I saw the look on Tonio’s face—a disappointed look—and I tried to explain it better. Not exactly job. It’s like my purpose. Dogs aren’t supposed to change anything about the world—we’re just supposed to watch while humans do. Being a service dog is one of our only chances to make a difference, instead of just lying around and getting petted.

“That sounds kind of nice. Not having anything to worry about, I mean.” Tonio got a faraway look in his eyes, and I booped his nose with my paw.

It’s not. Not for me, anyway.

“I hate making choices. It feels like ever since I was born, all I’ve done is get in the way.” Tonio sighed. “I wish you were a human instead of me.”

I don’t. Humans are gross.

Tonio grinned. “YES! I’ve always thought that! We’re so gross. Like, fingernails? The worst.” Weird choice, I thought, but sure. “Don’t dogs, like … eat poop, though?”

There’s good stuff in there sometimes.

“THAT’S EVEN GROSSER THAN FINGERNAILS!” he yelled, the loudest I’d ever heard him get, with a big smile on his face. I wagged my tail, glad to see his mood swing over into something more positive. “I thought that would be one of the fake dog things!!!!!”

We spent the next few hours going over everything. I told him how I’d never met my