"The Greatest Guest"
Written and Illustrated by Ron Hevener
He wasn't the most beautiful dog in the world. His ears never stood right -- an embarrassment to any show-minded breeder -- and his tail was carried a bit too high. But his eyes . . . his beautiful, knowing eyes . . . were haunting.
Raised in the green fields of Ireland, he played with his brothers and sisters as if their happy life would never end. Early-morning mist fizzing into golden sun; starry nights stirring his soul, howling at the moon. It was a good life; and with the boy who loved him, it was the best life.
They played a lot that summer, running along the shore, racing up hills until their legs were numb, gasping for air and laughing. The boy . . . the dog . . . the land where hearts are free and dreams are plentiful.
The dog didn't know the boy's shoes were worn; his shirt was a hand-me- down. The dog didn't know the boy was thin because food at the house was scarce. The dog only knew the boy's voice, only knew the touch of eager, sun-burnt hands; only knew how much he loved this boy at the center of his world.
Outside, this day was like all the others. The morning cried her way through a meager breakfast of hot cocoa and toast. "It's good, Momma," the boy smiled. "Another, please?" he asked, running his tongue over the remains of toast between his teeth. His mother, sipping hot water in a cup of bone china that once belonged to her grandma, lowered her eyes and looked away. Like the woman, herself, the cup was flawed now; a dark-stained crack running down a face that had once been almost- beautiful.
There would be no second piece of toast. They both knew that. When would his Dad come home? ...the boy wondered. When would they have jelly-toast and stuffed chicken and fluffy potatoes drenched in butter again? He glanced around the kitchen, once so cheerful. When would it smell of pies and cinnamon rolls? When would his mother laugh again, and fill the house with songs?
"It s OK," he said, pushing back his chair and crossing the room to the nail beside the door where his hat waited.
At the sound of his master's chair, the dog arose from his crumpled blanket on the floor. Where would it be today? ...he wondered. Would they play in the neighbor's cornfield, freshly planted? Would they feel the fresh-plowed dirt, soft and crumbly, between their toes? Would they trot along the stream, skimming stones and splashing in the cold water? He loved when his master laughed. Would his master laugh today?
Together, they walked outside; past the red chicken house once brimming with fluttering, crooning birds, now empty. Together, they passed by the rose bushes, once so neatly trimmed and now rambling and loose. Together, they walked out the gravel driveway that once knew the tire marks of so many friends. The boy didn't notice the grass growing tall, that he had promised to mow ... he didn't notice much at all today.
"Here, Fella," he managed to say.
Perking his ears, the dog tilted his head side-ways as if to catch every last word.
"I hope Mr. O'Ryan is home," the boy said, as they neared a stately, well-kept Tudor-style house with manicured grounds. The sound of dogs barking filled the air as champions past and present greeted their visitors. "Now, you be good, Fella. Keep that tail down and hold your ears just right. Remember what I said," he whispered urgently.
Removing his hat and slicking back his hair, the frightened boy knocked on the imposing, dark-wooden door.
Hearing footsteps within the house, the dog lifted his ears attentively. "That's it, Fella! You look real handsome now."
Gathering his courage, the boy braced himself for what might come.
"Yes?" a starched and tidy house-keeper asked as she opened the door. "Is . . . Is . . ."
"Speak up young man!" commanded the woman, staring down at him and adjusting a pair of gold-rimmed glasses propped on a thin, pointed nose.
Heart falling down to the pit of his growling stomach, the boy touched his dog for strength and asked for Mr. O'Ryan.
"What for?" the woman asked, as if she had no time for nonsense and children.
"It's business, Ma'am," the boy said, his knees shaking.
"Business!" the house-keeper scoffed. "I'll tell you what's business -- I've got a whole house to clean for the meeting of the kennel club tonight. Mr. O'Ryan wants roast beef for everyone and home-made bread. Now, how am I supposed to do all that and get to town for the butcher," she glowered, "if I must stand here all day talking to the likes of you!"
"But, ma'am, my business is with Mr. O'Ryan!"
"I'm the one who decides who does and doesn't see Mr. O'Ryan, little boy, and by the looks of you -- and your dog! -- I can't see what your business would be about! Go home!" she said, starting to shut the door.
"Hattie?" a deep and kindly voice called out from behind her. "Is there trouble?"
"No, sir. I'm just getting rid of someone who would be wasting your time."
"Time is something I've got plenty of, Hattie. Step aside and let me take care of this."
Taking the door handle and swinging it wide, Robert O'Ryan, famed breeder and president of the Kennel Club, looked out . . . then down . . . and down.
"And to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" he asked -- recognizing at once the dog beside the boy. "Why!" he laughed with surprise, "if it isn't a dog of my own breeding!" He could say this because no one else raised his breed.
Something familiar about the man drew the dog toward him.
"Yes, sir! That's right, sir! He was born in this very kennel. His daddy was a champion!" the boy added proudly.
"To be sure!" said the man. "And, from the look of him, I would venture a guess that his sire is none other than my great champion, O'Ryan Bob! Come in! Come in!" he said, ushering his guests into the sitting room. "Hattie! Bring us some tea and toast. And, for the dog, a dried biscuit. Go on, Hattie! Do as I say!" Hattie took off for the kitchen, every inch of her registering resistance.
"Now, then!" the man said, seizing the moment. "How did you come upon such a dog?"
"My father gave him to me," the boy said. "A present."
"A present! It must have been a very special occasion to receive such a present."
"My birthday."
"Ah!" Mr. O'Ryan nodded as he remembered a worried young father carefully opening his wallet for the runt of a pup advertised in the local paper. "Your birthday," he said.
The boy nodded silently. "It was my birthday and my Daddy ... He said he must go away and find work. He's coming back -- he told me so."
It was a statement of faith. A statement of hope.
"That was," O'Ryan surmised from the size of the dog, "a year ago?"
Like a cloud, a shadow of remembrance crossed over the boy's face. His eyebrows twitched ever so slightly.
"And you wanted me to see this dog of yours?" O'Ryan asked, taking in the boy's torn shirt, ragged pants and scuffed shoes. "Ah! Thank you, Hattie," he said to the house-keeper. "Would you care for some, Thomas? . . . You are Thomas Riley, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir, I am . . . but how did you know?" "The Thomas Riley whose father is the greatest carpenter in the world?"
The boy's eyes brightened and he reached for toast and jam.
"I'm sure your father will be home sooner than you think. Now, what was it you wanted to talk with me about, Thomas?"
"My dog, sir. Could . . . Could . . . you tell me where I might sell a good dog? I've taken very good care of him. But, we need something to tide us over . . . Just until my Daddy comes home, is all . . . . Fella, here, is all I have."
All that he had, thought Ryan? Dear boy, he thought! You have so much more than that. You have hope. These are hard times. Has no one told you that your father might never come back? You have the greatest faith I've ever seen! At such a young age, you know unconditional love! The president of the kennel club thought about other guests who would share his home that night, partying and dining the night away. Thinking about dogs and why he loved them, he knew that, here, before him, offering his most cherished treasure, was his greatest guest of all.
Smiling kindly, he winked at the housekeeper to hold her tongue and, once again, he turned to the frightened young boy. "Thomas Riley, I thank my lucky stars you came to my door this day. Why, it must be destiny, just when I'm askin' myself what I can do! If my dogs looked as grand an' fit as yours, why, I'd be the proudest man in all of Ireland!"
The boy looked sadly at his dog and back to Mr. O'Ryan. "Does this mean you want him?"
"Want him! Why, young man, I could never afford such a grand dog. But," reaching for his wallet, he said, "I'll make you an offer . . . Would you consider keepin' him, Thomas? Could you keep him for me? If you could do that, I'd be mighty grateful. You see, I've got a litter of pups in the kennel right now, Thomas, just ready for weaning. Fine pedigree ... and I sure would like to see what they could do at the big dog show comin' up. How would the both of you like to help me raise them?"
As the boy and his dog ran home with the news, across the fields and through the streams of Ireland, the dog raced with a joy he had never known before and no boy ever ran so fast.
Life was filled with surprises and sudden turns ... but the true of heart could find their way.
Essay #1 - Think
Essay #2 - You
Essay #3 - His Master's Smile
Essay #4 - You're Not Alone
Essay #5 - The
Essay #6 - No Longer Alone
Essay #7 - Let the Music Play...
Essay #8 - "The Littlest Puppy"
Essay #9 - "The Love of Animals"