Read Online Shiloh by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor - Free Book Online Page B

alive.
    â€œThis Judd Travers’s dog?”
    I sit back on my heels and nod. Wipe one arm across my face.
    Dad looks around. “Take those gunnysacks over there and put ’em in the back of the Jeep,” he says, and then, still holding the flashlight in one hand, he slips his arms under Shiloh and picks him up. I can see Shiloh wince and pull back on his leg where it hurts.
    The tears are spilling out of my eyes, but Dad can’t see ’em in the dark. He can probably tell I’mcrying, though, ’cause my nose is clogged. “Dad,” I say, “ please don’t take him back to Judd! Judd’ll take one look at Shiloh and shoot him!”
    â€œTake those gunnysacks to the Jeep like I said,” Dad tells me, and I follow behind as we go down the hill. I keep my mouth open to let the breath escape, crying without making a sound. Just like Shiloh.
    Ma’s watching from inside, the screen all covered with June bugs where they been buzzing about the light. Dara Lynn’s up, standing there in her nightshirt, watching.
    â€œWhat is it? What’s he got?” Dara Lynn says, pestering Ma’s arm.
    â€œA dog,” says Ma. And then she calls out, “Ray, is it alive?”
    â€œJust barely,” says Dad.
    I put the gunnysacks in the Jeep, and Dad carefully lays Shiloh down. Without waiting to ask, I crawl in the Jeep beside Shiloh, and Dad don’t say no. He goes in the house for his trousers and his keys, and then we’re off.
    â€œI’m sorry, Shiloh,” I whisper, over and over, both hands on him so’s he won’t try to get up. The blood’s just pouring from a rip in his ear. “I’m so sorry! Jesus help me, I didn’t know Bakers’ dog could leap that fence.”
    When we get to the bottom of the lane, instead of going up the road toward Judd’s place,Dad turns left toward Friendly, and halfway around the first curve, he pulls in Doc Murphy’s driveway. Light’s still on in a window, but I think old doc was in bed, ’cause he come to the door in his pajamas.
    â€œRay Preston?” he says when he sees Dad.
    â€œI sure am sorry to bother you this hour of the night,” Dad says, “but I got a dog here hurt bad, and if you could take a look at him, see if he can be saved, I’d be much obliged. We’ll pay. . . .”
    â€œI’m no vet,” says Doc Murphy, but he’s already standing aside, holding the screen open with one hand so we can carry Shiloh in.
    The doc’s a short man, round belly, don’t seem to practice what he preaches about eating right, but he’s got a kind heart, and he lays out some newspapers on his kitchen table.
    I’m shaking so hard I can see my own hands tremble as I keep one on Shiloh’s head, the other on a front paw.
    â€œHe’s sure bleeding good, I can tell you that,” Doc Murphy says. He puts on his stethoscope and listens to Shiloh’s heart. Then he takes his flashlight and shines it in the dog’s eyes, holding each eye open with his finger and thumb. Finally he looks at the big, ugly wound on Shiloh’s hurt leg, torn open right to the bone, the bites around Shiloh’s neck, and the ripped ear. I turn my head away and sniffle some more.
    â€œI’ll do what I can,” Doc says. “The thing we got to worry about now is infection. That leg wound is going to take twenty . . . thirty stitches. What happened?”
    I figure Dad will answer for me, but he don’t—just turns to me. “Marty?”
    I swallow. “Big old German shepherd chewed him up.”
    Doc Murphy goes over to the sink and washes his hands. “Bakers’ dog? Every time that shepherd gets loose, there’s trouble.” He comes back to the table and takes a big needle out of his bag, fills it full of something. Something to make Shiloh numb, maybe. “This your dog, son?”
    I shake my head.
    â€œNo?” He