Just gus, p.1
Just Gus, page 1
Other Middle-Grade Novels by McCall Hoyle
Stella
Cover illustration: Vivienne To
Back cover illustration: nearbirds/AdobeStock
Book design © Shadow Mountain
Art direction: Richard Erickson
Design: Garth Bruner
Photo provided by the author
Illustrations © 2023 Vivienne To
Text © 2023 McCall Hoyle
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain Publishing®, at permissions@shadowmountain.com. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain Publishing.
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This is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Hoyle, McCall, author. | To, Vivienne, illustrator.
Title: Just Gus / McCall Hoyle; illustrations by Vivienne To.
Description: [Salt Lake City, Utah]: Shadow Mountain Publishing, [2023] | Audience: Ages 8–11 | Audience: Grades 4–6 | Summary: “After guardian dog Gus is injured defending his flock of sheep, he is sent to recuperate and heal with a young boy, Diego, whom Gus finds he can help by learning how to work as an emotional support animal”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2022037409 | ISBN 9781639930937 (hardback) | eISBN 9781649331533 (eBook)
Subjects: CYAC: Dogs—Fiction. | Human-animal relationships—Fiction. | Pets—Fiction. | Emotional support animals—Fiction. | Sheep dogs—Fiction. | North Carolina—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Social Themes / Emotions & Feelings | JUVENILE FICTION / Animals / Dogs | LCGFT: Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ10.3. H837 Ju 2023 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022037409
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Trey, my favorite boy, and his dogs
Everyone thinks they have the best dog, and none of them are wrong.
—Unknown
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Chapter One
My nose never sleeps. My ears don’t either. They both have important work to do, especially at night. That’s when the sheep need me most because that’s when the coyotes prowl around our farm.
My name is Gus.
I’m a livestock guardian dog. I protect the flock. That’s what I do.
Protect. Protect. Protect.
And I’m good at it. We’ve never lost a lamb on my watch. Thanks to my super senses, the nice boss lady, Esperanza, can rest at night, and so can her girl, and so can the two dogs that sleep in the house with them.
Inhaling, I sniff the cool mountain air for any sign of trouble. My eyes grow heavy, though the rest of me is wide awake. There doesn’t seem to be any danger, but I open one eye every now and then just in case. The sheep sleep. The forest at the edge of the field sleeps. Even the pumpkin moon rising above the mountaintops seems to sleep.
But I still have work to do. I stand, and careful not to wake the flock, I stretch. The corners of my mouth rise. The night air feels nice on my belly. I could stand like this forever, but I must remind everyone who’s boss around here. So I head toward the edge of the field, lift my leg, aim carefully, and mark fence post after fence post. No predator will miss that scent. Not even the scrawny coyote that’s been hanging around the chicken coop behind the barn.
I will fight if I need to protect my flock or the farm, but I’d rather not. Marking is smarter than fighting. It reminds other animals that I mean business, but nobody gets hurt. Tilting my head back, I bark a few times just in case my nose might have missed any sign of danger. A watchdog can never be too careful.
Most of the sheep open their eyes. A couple of them stand, but they will rest again as soon as I lie down near them. Proud of my work, I step toward the old oak tree near the main gate. I should mark it too. Halfway there, the air changes direction, and I catch a hint of an unfamiliar animal.
The scent swirls around the inside of my nose. It’s definitely an animal—a large one. I don’t like it one bit either. Lifting one ear, then the other, I listen for a clue, but hear nothing. Squinting, I search the forest shadows. Then the air shifts again, and the smell disappears.
I know the scent of every animal on this farm and in that forest, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t identify that mixture of berries, insects, and rotting fish. I’ve smelled it before though. That’s for sure.
The odor brings back memories from puppyhood, from my time before the sheep, before the nice boss lady, Esperanza, and her daughter who live in the house on this farm. That smell is from a time I want to forget—a time with other humans—humans who shook their fists and kicked their feet when a young pup lifted his leg anywhere near their house. Despite my size and strength, I am small again. A whimper rises in my throat.
The sheep stir, bringing me back to present and reminding me I have work to do.
Flapping my jowls, I shake my body to get rid of those memories. Then I circle the field again before scratching out a cool spot in the grass to watch the sheep sleep and the moon drop behind the mountains.
I try to rest and trust my nose and ears to keep the sheep safe for the rest of the night. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t forget the stink of that big animal mixed with berries, insects, and rotting fish.
Chapter Two
The sheep wake when the first ray of sun shines through the trees. The rooster behind the barn crows. The smallest lamb in the flock struggles to her feet. She’s more leg than anything else and more interested in her mama and her morning meal than me right now. After breakfast, she’ll want to play headbutt with me though. It’s really not my kind of game; I’d rather chase a squirrel. But I’ll lower my head and play with her for a bit. It’s the least I can do. The bigger lambs ignore her, and she tires so fast. I can squeeze in a game before my midday rest without any problem.
Giving the flock a quick tail swish, I signal everything is safe this morning then set off to check the edges of the field one last time before the boss lady, Esperanza, arrives with our morning meal. When the sun rises a little further, the humans and other dogs will come out to work and play. I can let my guard down then. Even my nose can relax a little when Esperanza is on duty.
As I finish my patrol, the front door of the house down the hill opens. Esperanza’s dog, Nando, rockets down the steps and toward the barn followed by her daughter’s dog, Stella, who trots along at a more doglike pace. Things have changed a lot since Stella came to the farm several seasons ago. For one thing, no dogs used to sleep in the house—ever. Now, two of them do.
“Morning, Gus!” Esperanza waves a strong arm in my direction, giving off a whiff of the hot brown liquid she drinks every morning. The two house dogs head for the barn without even a glance at me. I can’t blame them. They have one thing on their minds—food.
Recognizing Esperanza’s morning greeting, I swish my tail again. No dog could understand all the human words, but I’ve learned enough to get by. Some words I’d rather forget, especially the angry ones. I learned a lot of those as a pup when my job was learning to protect the junkyard and the mechanic’s family. It’s easier to understand humans by sniffing the liquid that seeps from their skin and the air that whooshes from their mouths than by trying to understand all their words.
“I’ll be back in a minute with your breakfast, Gus.” Esperanza’s boots crunch the gravel driveway near the fence. When she slides the barn door open, Nando darts inside, his black-and-white fur disappearing into the shadows. I like Nando. He’s gentle with the sheep and helpful to Esperanza, but he’s different from other dogs. He zips from one part of the farm to another, like he’s part rabbit. Stella hurries into the barn behind him, her much shorter legs working hard to keep up.
The routine never changes. It’s what I love about the farm and the sheep. I always know what to expect. Sheep don’t have good days or bad days. They just have days. They eat a lot of grass—and not because their bellies hurt and they’re trying
Don’t get me wrong. Some humans are great. I like Esperanza and her daughter, Cloe, a lot. They are wise dog people and understand the importance of a dog that barks at night and marks territory. Most humans do not. As a pup, I had the dream all pups do, the one about finding a special human made just for me, the one about a dog and his boy exploring the world and living happily ever after. Nando and Stella found their people.
I’ve done okay too. I’ve come a long way from the rusty chain and the falling-apart cars at the junkyard. I have important work, a routine, and best of all, raw bones. And I’m about to have a very full belly.
“Come and get it.” Esperanza clatters toward the field pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with dry grass for the sheep. I love my sheep but will never understand what they like about the dry, prickly grass Esperanza gives them. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s even worse than the green stuff growing from the ground.
Esperanza also has a metal bowl full of bones and meat for me. Nando and Stella don’t get meat or bones. They get something horrid called “kibble.” It smells almost as bad as the dry grass Esperanza gives the sheep. I don’t get kibble though. I get the best morning meal of any animal on the farm because I’m a livestock guardian dog.
The sheep rush toward the main gate. This is the most excitement they will show all day. My mouth waters, but I walk patiently behind them. After tossing prickly grass to the sheep, Esperanza turns to me with a grin.
“Here you go, big guy.” She pats my side and places a large bowl on the ground in front of me. “Must have been a pretty quiet night. I barely heard you bark.”
I swish my tail, same as always, then crunch the meatiest bone with my teeth.
Nando and Stella remain on their side of the fence. Stella isn’t much bigger than Oscar, the orange cat who walks around here like he owns the place. Nando is so fast I couldn’t catch him if I wanted to. I wouldn’t hurt either of them anyway. They know that. We understand each other, but that doesn’t mean there’s any reason for me to share my meat and bones with them.
As I lick the last of the morning meal from my lips, the girl, Cloe, steps out of the house followed by a dark-haired boy. He would be taller than she is if he stood up straight. Cloe’s a good girl. She smells like grass, books, and, best of all, cookies. Sometimes she used to smell like funny chemicals and fall down, but I haven’t seen her do that outside since Stella came to the farm.
The boy seems okay, but he’s new, and I learned to be cautious around boys his age last summer. Some boys play with fire and other dangerous things. We had a couple of them hanging around here who almost burnt Cloe and the whole farm to dust. Despite her small size, Stella was a real hero. She found her girl and protected the rest of us from the smoke and flames.
“Hey, Stella Bella!” Cloe squats down as her little black-and-white-and-brown dog runs to greet her. Stella sniffs Cloe’s hands, feet, and pockets, her tail flapping so hard it wags her body instead of the other way around. Stella only cares about two things—Cloe and treats.
When Stella notices the dark-haired boy, she wags at him too. He smiles down at her then whispers something so quiet I can’t understand the words. And I can hear a twig crack from across the field.
Cloe turns and points toward me. “Him?” she asks.
The boy nods.
“That’s just Gus.” She gives Stella another scratch behind the ears. “Mama calls him a nose with legs. She says he can smell danger from a mile away.”
My ears perk at my name. My tail waves back and forth.
“Come here, Gus. Meet my cousin, Diego.” Cloe pats her leg.
I glance at the sheep then back in the direction of Cloe and the boy whose name must be Diego. I think his eyes are brown, but his hair is shaggy and falls over his face. He kicks at the dirt with scuffed sneakers.
“Come on, Gus.” Cloe claps her hands then pulls a tasty bit of meat from her pocket. “Come on.”
I step toward them. Peeking at the field, I check the sheep one more time before heading over to investigate Cloe’s meat-cookie-treat.
“He’s enormous.” The boy’s words are so quiet I can barely hear them.
“He’s a gentle giant.” She waves the meat around when she speaks.
My eyes follow it wherever it moves. I don’t know what humans do to their food, but it is delicious, even more delicious than meat and bones, which I know is very hard to believe.
“He’s a Great Pyrenees—a livestock guardian dog. He’ll bark and even fake charge a dog or strange animal that wanders onto the farm, but he almost never attacks. The sheep trust him to sleep with their lambs at night. He’s gentle. I promise. Come on, Gus.” She pats her leg again.
I poke my head through the fence. Stella prances around their feet, wagging her tail and nose-bumping Cloe, but Cloe ignores her and offers me the meat. Careful not to scrape her skin with my teeth, I take the food from her small hand. My tail waves again.
“You can pet him.” She reaches through the fence and scratches me behind the ear.
My lips turn up. The boy’s hand slides through the fence. He smells like the large blocks of salt Esperanza places in the field for the sheep, lots of water, and the faintest hint of fish—not the rotting fish of the creature in the woods but the fresh fish that zig and zag in the creek in the forest.
“Does he sleep out here all alone?” Diego’s hand trembles when he rubs the fur above my eyes.
My head droops. The top-of-the-head greeting is not my favorite, but he’s gentle. So I stand still and accept it.
“He’s not a pet. He’s a working dog. Mama says he needs a job more than he needs a warm bed. It’s in his blood. We’ve tried letting him in the house, especially when the weather’s bad, but he barks and paces until we let him back out with the sheep.” Her shoulders lift toward her ears.
The boy, Diego, makes a little sound in his throat that I don’t recognize. In addition to all the words, humans also have all sorts of sounds and hand movements that mean different things.
“Scratch him like this.” Cloe rubs her fingers under my chin.
I let out a loud breath, and they laugh.
“It took a long time for him to even let us pet him. Now, he likes this too.” She gives the back of my other ear a nice hard scratch.
Then Diego scratches me. He’s too gentle though, and a sour smell, sort of like fear but not exactly, seeps from under his arms and the inside of his hands.
“Mom said he was abused—that the people who owned him neglected him. He was chained to a broken-down car at a junkyard his whole life until animal rescue called Mom about him a couple years ago. His old owner barely fed him. Gus was skin and bones.”
Bones? My ears lift. My tail wags. That is a word I know very well—almost as well as my own name. I close my mouth to focus all the smells directly at my nose, but my ears and tail sag. There are no bones anywhere close by. That’s another confusing thing about humans. A lot of times they will say a word that doesn’t have anything to do with what’s happening around them.
“That’s awful.” Diego’s hand drops to his side.
When he stares into my eyes, I look away. He doesn’t seem to understand that it’s rude to look me directly in the eye, so I try not to hold it against him.
Whining, Stella rubs her face against Cloe’s leg, telling her not to pay attention to me. When Cloe smiles down at her, Stella wags harder and bounces around Cloe’s feet. “No need to worry, little girl. You’ll always be my best—”
A loud truck rumbles on the road in front of the farm. My tail freezes. My head jerks to attention. I glance from Cloe and Diego to the sheep. The hair on my back bristles. I know the sound of that truck. It belongs to Vern, the man who lives with the pigs across the creek, the man responsible for the boys who set the forest on fire last summer and who came very, very close to hurting Cloe, Stella, and my sheep.
Cloe watches, hands on hips, as the truck screeches to a halt in the gravel near the fence. Diego stares at his feet, smelling nervous. Esperanza steps from the barn with Nando stuck to her leg like a prickly patch of briars she snagged in the forest. Squinting in our direction, she shields her eyes from the sun. Certain they feel as uneasy as I do, I lift my shoulders and let loose a bark from deep in my chest. They all jump, even little Stella.
