WINN-DIXI

He was standing there all red-faced, screaming and waving his arms around.

He skidded to a stop and smiled right at me.

I hollered.

“Please,” said the manager, “somebody call the pound.”

And that dog came trotting over to me just like he had been doing it his whole life.

He was big, but skinny; you could see his ribs.

And there were bald patches all over him, places where he didn’t have any fur at all.

He smiled so big that it made him sneeze.

And I have to admit, he stank.

He was kind of limping like something was wrong with one of his legs.

Sometimes he reminded me of a turtle hiding inside its shell, in there thinking about things and not ever sticking his head out into the world.

Sometimes he reminded me of a turtle hiding inside its shell, in there thinking about things and not ever sticking his head out into the world.

I went to the trailer door and I hollered, “Winn-Dixie!”

Winn-Dixie’s ears shot up in the air and he grinned and sneezed, and then he came limping up the steps and into the trailer and put his head right in the preacher’s lap, right on top of a pile of papers.

Winn-Dixie’s ears shot up in the air and he grinned and sneezed, and then he came limping up the steps and into the trailer and put his head right in the preacher’s lap, right on top of a pile of papers.

Winn-Dixie’s ears shot up in the air and he grinned and sneezed, and then he came limping up the steps and into the trailer and put his head right in the preacher’s lap, right on top of a pile of papers.

He looked at his ribs and his matted-up fur and the places where he was bald.

He looked at his ribs and his matted-up fur and the places where he was bald.

He pulled back his lips and showed the preacher all of his crooked yellow teeth and wagged his tail and knocked some of the preacher’s papers off the table.

He was making him poke his head out of his shell.

“Well,” said the preacher, “he’s a stray if ever I’ve seen one.”

He put down his pencil and scratched Winn-Dixie behind the ears.

I used the garden hose and some baby shampoo.

He looked insulted and the whole time he didn’t show me his teeth or wag his tail once.

I nodded my head at him and went on talking.

Winn-Dixie twitched his ears and raised his eyebrows.

He was working on a sermon and kind of muttering to himself.

Winn-Dixie looked up at the preacher and kind of gave him a nudge with his nose.

“She had red hair and freckles.”

The preacher nodded.

She could stick a tyre in the ground and grow a car.”

She could stick a tyre in the ground and grow a car.”

Winn-Dixie started chewing on his paw, and I tapped him on the head to make him stop.

Winn-Dixie started chewing on his paw, and I tapped him on the head to make him stop.

Winn-Dixie started chewing on his paw, and I tapped him on the head to make him stop.

She couldn’t make head nor tail of a piece of meat.

She couldn’t make head nor tail of a piece of meat.

She said it made her feel like a bug under a microscope.”

Winn-Dixie hopped off, too.

If me and the preacher went off and left him by himself in the trailer, he pulled all the cushions off the couch and all the toilet paper off the roll.

The other thing about the Open Arms that is different from other churches is there aren’t any pews.

I asked the preacher.

“Arrruiiiiipppp,” wailed Winn-Dixie.

One minute everything was quiet and serious and the preacher was going on and on and on; the next minute Winn-Dixie looked like a furry bullet shooting across the building, chasing that mouse.

One minute everything was quiet and serious and the preacher was going on and on and on; the next minute Winn-Dixie looked like a furry bullet shooting across the building, chasing that mouse.

He was barking and his feet were skidding all over the polished Pick-It-Quick floor, and people were clapping and hollering and pointing.

Winn-Dixie stood up there in front of the whole church, wagging his tail and holding the mouse real careful in his mouth, holding on to him tight but not squishing him.

Winn-Dixie stood up there in front of the whole church, wagging his tail and holding the mouse real careful in his mouth, holding on to him tight but not squishing him.

Winn-Dixie stood up there in front of the whole church, wagging his tail and holding the mouse real careful in his mouth, holding on to him tight but not squishing him.

And there weren’t that many kids at the Open Arms, just Dunlap and Stevie Dewberry, two brothers who weren’t twins but looked like they were.

And Amanda Wilkinson, whose face was always pinched up like she was smelling something real bad; and Sweetie Pie Thomas, who was only five years old and still mostly a baby.

This is what happened: I was picking out my books and kind of humming to myself, and all of a sudden there was this loud and scary scream.

Chapter Seven “Back when Florida was wild, when it consisted of nothing but palmetto trees and mosquitoes so big they could fly away with you,” Miss Franny Block started in, “and I was just a little girl no bigger than you, my father, Herman W.

Chapter Seven “Back when Florida was wild, when it consisted of nothing but palmetto trees and mosquitoes so big they could fly away with you,” Miss Franny Block started in, “and I was just a little girl no bigger than you, my father, Herman W.

“I don’t want to appear prideful,” she said, “but my daddy was a very rich man.

She nodded and then leaned back and said, “And I was a little girl who loved to read.

I raised it up slowly and then I aimed it carefully and I threw it right at that bear and screamed, ‘Be gone!’

Well, the men in town used to tease me about it.

And you could tell that he was proud of looking so good, proud of not looking like a stray.

I thought what he needed most was a collar and a leash, so I went into Gertrude’s Pets, where there were fish and snakes and mice and lizards and gerbils and pet supplies, and I found a real handsome red leather collar with a matching leash.

But I love this collar and leash, and so does my dog, and I was thinking that maybe you could set me up on an instalment plan.”

“Maybe,” Otis mumbled.

On the way out of Gertrude’s Pets, I said to Winn-Dixie, “You are better at making friends than anybody I have ever known.

I bet if my mama knew you, she would think you were the best dog ever.”

She was standing there, sucking on the knuckle of her third finger, staring in the window of Gertrude’s Pets.

She had her hair tied up in a ponytail with a pink ribbon.

She says if I’m real good, I might get to buy me a goldfish or one of them gerbils.

“The witch will eat that dog,” Stevie said.

I got off my bike and went up to the gate and hollered, “Winn-Dixie, you better come on out of there.”

“Get lost, you bald-headed babies,” I said.

“Get lost, you bald-headed babies,” I said.

I went around a really big tree all covered in moss, and there was Winn-Dixie.

She was old with crinkly brown skin.

“Go on and sit down,” she said, pointing at a lawn chair with the back all busted out of it.

“Like maybe you got her green thumb.

“Could be that you got more of your mama in you than just red hair and freckles and running fast.”

He had peanut butter in his whiskers, and he kept yawning and stretching.

He had peanut butter in his whiskers, and he kept yawning and stretching.

When I was done talking, the preacher kissed me good night, and then he leaned way over and gave Winn-Dixie a kiss, too, right on top of his head.

But it was too late.

Winn-Dixie was already at the other end of the trailer, in the preacher’s room.

There were rabbits and hamsters and gerbils and mice and birds and lizards and snakes, and they were all just sitting there on the floor like they had turned to stone, and Otis was standing in the middle of them.

He walked over to the counter and started digging through a pile of things, and finally he came up with a broom.

“Did they escape from their cages?”

She stood there and sucked on her knuckle and stared at me.

That’s my mama on the porch.

Sometimes Sweetie Pie snuck in for the concert, too.

One time Stevie said to me, “My mama says you shouldn’t be spending all your time cooped up in that pet shop and at that library, sitting around talking with old ladies.

“Otis is not retarded,” I said.

“I think they are just trying to make friends with you in a roundabout way,” Gloria said.

Or I imitated Otis tapping his pointy-toed boots and playing for all the animals, and that always made her laugh.

Or I imitated Otis tapping his pointy-toed boots and playing for all the animals, and that always made her laugh.

Or I imitated Otis tapping his pointy-toed boots and playing for all the animals, and that always made her laugh.

There were whiskey bottles and beer bottles and wine bottles all tied on with string, and some of them were clanking against each other and making a spooky kind of noise.

Me and Winn-Dixie stood and stared at the tree, and the hair on top of his head rose up a little bit and he growled deep in his throat.

“And them Dewberry boys, you try not to judge them too harsh either, all right?”

Winn-Dixie nudged me with his wet nose and wagged his tail; when he saw I wasn’t going, he trotted after Gloria.

I wondered if my mama, wherever she was, had a tree full of bottles; and I wondered if I was a ghost to her, the same way she sometimes seemed like a ghost to me.

I worried about him hogging the fan, and I worried about the fan blowing him bald; but Miss Franny said not to worry about either thing, that Winn-Dixie could hog the fan if he wanted and she had never in her life seen a dog made bald by a fan.

I worried about him hogging the fan, and I worried about the fan blowing him bald; but Miss Franny said not to worry about either thing, that Winn-Dixie could hog the fan if he wanted and she had never in her life seen a dog made bald by a fan.

I worried about him hogging the fan, and I worried about the fan blowing him bald; but Miss Franny said not to worry about either thing, that Winn-Dixie could hog the fan if he wanted and she had never in her life seen a dog made bald by a fan.

And when Miss Franny stopped shaking and started talking again, Winn-Dixie would lick her hand and lie back down in front of the fan.

Whenever Miss Franny had one of her fits, it reminded me of Winn-Dixie in a thunderstorm.

And I got real good at holding on to Winn-Dixie whenever they came.

Winn-Dixie yawned real big and lay down on his side with a thump and a sigh.

Miss Franny shrugged.

Block was just a boy when the firing on Fort Sumter occurred,” Miss Franny Block said as she started in on her story.

I shrugged.

“Hell is a cuss word,” said Amanda.

I stole a look at her.

And he was covered with all manner of vermin: fleas and lice.

And he was covered with all manner of vermin: fleas and lice.

And he was covered with all manner of vermin: fleas and lice.

It stinks so.

And the only thing that made Littmus forget that he was hungry and itchy and hot or cold was that he was getting shot at.

Dead of typhoid fever.”

“Littmus was an orphan?”

When he finally finished crying, he had the strangest sensation.

“That big spooky one?”

“Sorrow,” Miss Franny said.

“Hey,” he hollered.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her hands on her stomach.

“It has a peculiar flavour...” “Root beer?”

He was hunching up his shoulders and lowering his chin and getting ready to pull his head inside his shell.

“It tastes sad,” he said, and sighed.

But he calls Gloria Dump a witch all the time, and he calls Otis retarded.

“Other people’s tragedies should not be the subject of idle conversation.

He patted Winn-Dixie on the head and got up and turned off the light and closed the door.

“Gertrude,” Gertrude squawked.

She picked up the Littmus Lozenge wrapper in her beak and then dropped it and looked around.

“It was on account of the music,” he said.

Gloria wiped her eyes with the hem of her dress.

“That’s why Amanda is so pinch-faced,” I said.

I slammed the book shut.

Winn-Dixie’s head shot up from underneath Gloria’s chair.

She stuck her knuckle in her mouth and then pulled it back out.

She wrapped her arms around Winn-Dixie and squeezed him so hard that his eyes almost popped out of his head.

Chapter Twenty-One After I got Otis convinced to come, the rest of getting ready for the party was easy and fun.

We cut them up in triangles and cut off the crusts and put little toothpicks with frilly tops in them.

We cut them up in triangles and cut off the crusts and put little toothpicks with frilly tops in them.

We cut them up in triangles and cut off the crusts and put little toothpicks with frilly tops in them.

She was wearing a pretty green dress that was all shiny and shimmery.

Even when she was standing still, she still kind of swayed, like she was standing on a boat.

Even when she was standing still, she still kind of swayed, like she was standing on a boat.

And the whole time Winn-Dixie was standing right in the middle of everybody, wagging his tail so hard that I thought for sure he would knock Miss Franny right off her high heels.

I shrugged.

“Otis,” I hollered at him over the rain, “come on, we’re going inside.”

She waved around her wad of magazine pages.

And then he whistled loud and long.

It was mostly a drizzle now.

“He’s plumb wore out.”

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.

If she was, she would’ve turned us into toads by now.”

He grinned.

And if he don’t know it, he can pick it up right quick if you hum it to him.

So we looked around, wondering who did, thinking that maybe we got us a burglar in the house.

“You hum it,” said Miss Franny, nodding her head, “and he can play it.”

I was just teasing you.”

I went up on the porch and took hold of her hand and pulled on her.

I cannot speak to the soporific powers of pickle juice, but I do know about the comforting power of words.

Because of Winn-Dixie was my first book, and suddenly I was on the receiving end of a tremendous – an astonishing, an overwhelming – amount of love.

The Dewberry boys use a derogatory word about Otis and another derogatory word about Gloria Dump.