George Gibson is determined to check off the last item on his bucket list: a trip across America. He hops in his RV to visit - and sketch - the buildings and places across America that he and his wife never got to see. When his daughter learns of a young boy forced to give up a beloved Saint Bernard named Lewis, she suggests George adopt the animal as a traveling companion. The dog even fits perfectly in the sidecar of George's Vespa motor scooter. As George warms to his travel mate, he begins talking to Lewis, sharing stories from his life and his unrealized dreams. Along the way, Lewis seems to attract people and make instant friends with the quirky and charming, funny and odd people who cross their path. Could it be that his new friends - and this strange dog - will help George to finally confront the secret he's been hiding? Can Lewis's devotion to the truth be enough to save George from himself? A widower with a painful secret. A Saint Bernard who seeks to set things right. The interactions between the two are nothing short of life-changing. Jim Kraus grew up in Western Pennsylvania and is a graduate of the University of Pittsburgh. He attended the Paris-American Academy in 1971 and has spent the last twenty years as a vice-president of a major Christian publishing house. He has written more than 20 books and novels (many with his wife, Terri) including the best-selling The Dog That Talked to God (Abingdon Press, 2012). His book, The Silence, was named as one of the top five releases in 2004 by the Christian Book Review website. He is also an award-winning photographer. He and his wife and 14-year-old son live outside of Chicago with a sweet miniature schnauzer and an ill-tempered Siberian cat. Conversations with Saint Bernard A Novel By Jim Kraus Abingdon Press Copyright © 2015 Jim Kraus All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4267-9160-4 CHAPTER 1 Lewis had not been the largest of his litter. St. Bernard puppies are never small, yet Lewis was "smallish." Lewis's mother had been on the smaller side of the breed, as well, weighing in at no more than 125 pounds or so. Lewis earned the name Lewis because of the Burden family—the family who had adopted him. Alex Burden, the singular offspring of Trudy and Lyle Burden, sat on an old, modestly shabby couch in the basement of the breeder's house, the upholstery covered with a thin veneer of dog hair. A slight boy, of average height, with a shock of brown hair with a mind of its own, Alex also had brown eyes, penetrating brown eyes, making him look older and wiser than his years. Alex's parents remained at the doorway, watching their son watch the puppies. Alex was a deliberate and careful child, observant to a fault. Six yelping, growling, jumping, tussling, happy puppies were among his choices. The Burdens had been promised the first pick. And his parents had declared Alex, and Alex alone, would make this decision, this puppy choice. "After all," they said quietly to each other the night before, "they are all St. Bernard puppies with a good bloodline. Alex can't make a bad choice." So they agreed. Alex had been a child with more than his share of troubles in his first eight years of life. There had been open-heart surgery, almost as a newborn. There had been a repaired heart valve at age three. There was the coarctation—a serious narrowing of the aorta—at age five. Other maladies had plagued his childhood. Surgeries and doctor visits had pocked his first years of existence. But for the past three years, his health had improved, and his doctors claimed the most obvious dangers had passed and happily declared Alex to be a normal, healthy child, with no limitations on his activities. Mostly. Just be careful. And observant, the doctors said. Once burned, you know ... "Normal kids have dogs," his father stated. "I had a dog. We have twenty acres of woods behind us. Our house is big. We can handle a big dog. Alex would like a full-sized dog." So the three of them came to Clairvaux Kennels just west of the port of Gloucester. The breeder, Penny McAlister, a kindly woman of scattered attention, hovered behind the Burdens. She swatted at an errant strand of hair. Most of her hair was in strands, and most were errant. A personal style, but it fit her like a cold hand in a warm mitten. "I know which one he'll pick," she whispered. Trudy turned her head, just a bit. "Which one?" she whispered back. One puppy, the smallish one, the smallest of the litter, not actually called a runt, for no St. Bernard can truly be called a runt, the one who stood at the edge of the enclosure, his front paws at the top of the small solid partition, his eyes showing a fierce determination to scale the wall, to explore what none of his brothers and sisters had yet explored—or wanted to, apparently. The remaining members of his litter had been content to squirrel about in a large furry ball near their sleeping mother. "Him," Penny said with finality. "He will want the one who