Kate DiCamillo - Because of Winn-Dixie

Number three was he could run fast.

Number four was that he snored.

Number five was that he could catch mice without squishing them to death.

Number six was he liked to meet people.

Number seven was he liked to eat peanut butter.

Number eight was he couldn’t stand to be left alone.

Number nine was he liked to sit on couches and sleep in beds.

Number ten was he didn’t mind going to church.

I kept on going over and over the list in my head. I memorized it the same way I had memorized the list of ten things about my mama. I memorized it so if I didn’t find him, I would have some part of him to hold on to. But at the same time, I thought of something I had never thought of before; and that was that a list of things couldn’t even begin to show somebody the real Winn-Dixie, just like a list of ten things couldn’t ever get me to know my mama. And thinking about that made me cry even more.

Me and the preacher looked for a long time; and finally, he said we had to quit.

“But Daddy,” I said, “Winn-Dixie’s out there somewhere. We can’t leave him.”

“Opal,” the preacher said, “we have looked and looked, and there’s only so much looking we can do.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to give up,” I told him.

“India Opal,” the preacher said, rubbing his nose, “don’t argue with me.”

I stood and stared at him. The rain had let up some. It was mostly a drizzle now.

“It’s time to head back,” the preacher said.

“No,” I told him. “You go ahead and go, but I’m going to keep on looking.”

“Opal,” the preacher said in a real soft voice, “it’s time to give up.”

“You always give up!” I shouted. “You’re always pulling your head inside your stupid old turtle shell. I bet you didn’t even go out looking for my mama when she left. I bet you just let her run off, too.”

“Baby,” the preacher said. “I couldn’t stop her. I tried. Don’t you think I wanted her to stay, too? Don’t you think I miss her every day?” He spread his arms out wide and then dropped them to his sides. “I tried,” he said. “I tried.” Then he did something I couldn’t believe.

He started to cry. The preacher was crying. His shoulders were moving up and down. And he was making snuffly noises. “And don’t believe that losing Winn-Dixie doesn’t upset me as much as it does you,” he said. “I love that dog. I love him, too.”

“Daddy,” I said. I went and wrapped my arms around his waist. He was crying so hard he was shaking. “It’s all right,” I told him. “It’s okay. Shhhhh,” I said to him like he was a scared little kid. “Everything will be okay.”

We stood there hugging and rocking back and forth, and after a while the preacher stopped shaking and I still held on to him; and I finally got the nerve to ask the question I wanted to ask.

“Do you think she’s ever going to come back?” I whispered.

“No,” the preacher said. “No, I do not. I’ve hoped and prayed and dreamed about it for years. But I don’t think she’ll ever come back.”

“Gloria says that you can’t hold on to anything. That you can only love what you’ve got while you’ve got it.”

“She’s right,” the preacher said. “Gloria Dump is right.”

“I’m not ready to let Winn-Dixie go,” I said. I had forgotten about him for a minute, what with thinking about my mama.

“We’ll keep looking,” said the preacher. “The two of us will keep looking for him. But do you know what? I just realized something, India Opal. When I told you your mama took everything with her, I forgot one thing, one very important thing that she left behind.”

“What?” I asked.

“You,” he said. “Thank God your mama left me you.” And he hugged me tighter.

“I’m glad I’ve got you, too,” I told him. And I meant it. I took hold of his hand, and we started walking back into town, calling and whistling for Winn-Dixie the whole way.

We heard the music before we even got to Gloria Dump’s house. We heard it almost a block away. It was guitar-playing and singing and clapping.

“I wonder what’s going on?” my father said.

We walked up Gloria’s sidewalk and around back, through her yard and into her kitchen. What we saw was Otis playing his guitar, and Miss Franny and Gloria sitting there smiling and singing, and Gloria holding Sweetie Pie in her lap. Amanda and Dunlap and Stevie were sitting on the kitchen floor, clapping along and having the best possible time. Even Amanda was smiling. I couldn’t believe they were so happy when Winn-Dixie was missing.

“We didn’t find him,” I shouted at them.

The music stopped and Gloria Dump looked at me and said, “Child, we know you didn’t find him. You didn’t find him because he was right here all along.”

She took her cane and poked at something under her chair. “Come on out of there,” she said.

There was a snuffle and a sigh.

“He’s asleep,” she said. “He’s plumb wore out.”

She poked around with her cane again. And Winn-Dixie stood up from underneath her chair and yawned.

“Winn-Dixie!” I hollered.

“Dog,” Gertrude squawked.

Winn-Dixie wagged his tail and showed me all his teeth and sneezed. I went pushing past everybody. I dropped to the floor and wrapped my arms around him.

“Where have you been?” I asked him.

He yawned again.

“How did you find him?” I asked.

“Now there’s a story,” said Miss Franny. “Gloria, why don’t you tell it?”

“Well,” said Gloria Dump, “we was all just sitting around waiting on you two. And after I convinced these Dewberry boys that I ain’t no scary witch all full of spells and potions —”

“She ain’t no witch,” Stevie said. He shook his bald head. He looked kind of disappointed.

“Naw,” said Dunlap. “She ain’t. If she was, she would’ve turned us into toads by now.” He grinned.

“I could have told you that she wasn’t a witch. Witches don’t exist,” said Amanda. “They are just myths.”

“All right now,” said Gloria. “What happened was we got through all them witchy things and then Franny said, why don’t we have a little music while we wait for you two to get back. And so Otis played his guitar. And whooooeee, there ain’t a song he don’t know. And if he don’t know it, he can pick it up right quick if you hum it to him. He has a gift.”

Gloria stopped and smiled over at Otis, and he smiled back. He looked all lit up from the inside.

“Tell what happened,” Sweetie Pie said. “Tell about that dog.”

“So,” said Gloria. “Franny and me, we started thinking about all these songs we knew from when we was girls. We got Otis to play them and we started singing them, teaching the words to these children.”

“And then somebody sneezed,” Sweetie Pie shouted.

“That’s right,” said Gloria. “Somebody sneezed and it wasn’t none of us. So we looked around, wondering who did, thinking that maybe we got us a burglar in the house. We looked around and we didn’t see nothing, so we started into singing again. And sure enough, there was another big achoo . Sounded like it was coming from my bedroom. So I sent Otis in there. I said, ‘Otis, go on in there and see who is sneezing.’ So Otis went. And do you know what he found?”

I shook my head.

“Winn-Dixie!” shouted Sweetie Pie.

“That dog of yours was all hid underneath my bed, squeezed under there like the world was about to end. But he was smiling like a fool every time he heard Otis play the guitar, smiling so hard he sneezed.”

My daddy laughed.

“It is true,” Miss Franny said.