Big Boys Don't Cry

Big boys don’t cry, that’s what they keep telling me, big boys don’t cry. I don’t care what they say; he was my friend and now he’s dead, ‘cos they took him away to the vet and he didn’t come back. “He was only a dog, Jerry,” they keep telling me, “he was only a dog and big boys don’t cry.” But I can’t stop crying because Rumble was my friend and I loved him and he loved me. He loved to play chase and run after the ball and I’d throw sticks for him and he’d bring them back to me. Then they tell me that I shouldn’t cry because he’s gone. Don’t worry son, we’ll get you another dog, they say, but it won’t be Rumble. They didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye to him, ‘cos I was staying with my Auntie Beth and my cousin Billy and we played with his dog Woofer; he’s nice but he’s not the same as Rumble. When I got home I couldn’t find Rumble even though I called for him for a long time. Then they told me that had to have him “put down”. That’s what they called it, but I know they had him killed. They told me it was because he was old and in pain but he used to wag his tail when he saw me and gave me great big licks on my face, so I don’t think he needed to die. He was my friend but they said he was only a dog and they didn’t care that I loved him. I was the only one who looked after him, fed him, brushed him, rubbed his tummy. I took him for walks and looked after him when he hurt his leg. And I cleaned up his doggy dos; I didn’t like that much ‘cos it was messy and stinky, but I still did it. He barked at Jimmy Simkins when he tried to bash me, and Jimmy ran away. I told mum that it was me that broke her plants when I saw Rumble run over them but I didn’t want him to get into trouble, so I told her I did it. Now they tell me that big boys don’t cry and I don’t care ‘cos they took my best friend away. If big boys don’t cry then I don’t ever want to be a big boy. Now they’re getting cross with me ‘cos I don’t want to talk to them, and they tell me to stop being a baby and to grow up, and I don’t care. They told me that they know how I feel and that they’ve had pets that died but they don’t know how I feel ‘cos it was Rumble and he was my friend, now I don’t have any friends but “big boys don’t cry”. I don’t care; that’s how I feel after my friend’s been taken away without me being told about it. “We didn’t want to upset you”, they said, and “it was very quick - he didn’t know anything about it” and now I’m not supposed to be upset even though Rumble has gone and I won’t see him again. Mandy Martin next door gave me a hug and said it was alright to cry; she’s nice, and I gave her a hug when her pussy cat was hit by a car and she cried and nobody tried to stop her. Perhaps that’s ‘cos she’s a girl and girls are allowed to cry. That’s not fair really; if girls can cry when something sad happens, why can’t boys do the same? I wonder if big girls cry? I know my big sister Julie didn’t cry when Rumble was taken away and killed, but she never liked Rumble anyway and used to say nasty things about him. She hasn’t talked to me much since he died and I hope she’s sad because of what she said about him. She cried when the boy she used to see went away and he wasn’t even dead so I don’t understand why I can’t do the same when my friend has been taken away. They all cried when grandma died and she was an old lady and she’d been sick for a long time and she didn’t even remember who I was. Even Dad cried then; now I can’t understand why he can cry when some old lady dies and I can’t do the same when my friend dies. It’s not fair. They told me that the kids at school will laugh at me if they see me crying over a dog, but Rumble wasn’t just a dog, he was my friend. Anyway, Mandy wouldn’t laugh at me, but I suppose that’s ‘cos she’s a girl and they’re different. Mandy got another kitten soon after her pussy cat was killed and she likes this one and doesn’t talk about her old cat any more. That doesn’t seem right, but I s’pose cats are different from dogs. You can’t play with a cat the way I used to play with Rumble. He was my best friend ever and I never even got to say goodbye to him. They don’t even want me to cry because my best friend has gone. I won’t ever be able to see Rumble again and that makes me feel real sad but I’m not supposed to be upset about it. I’d like to run away like I did that other time – but now I haven’t got Rumble to talk to, so maybe I’ll just stay here and keep out of their way. Oh-oh, now they’re yelling at me to get back inside. I’d better get back or I’ll be in trouble again.



They’re all gathered round in the family room with silly grins on their faces – even Julie, and they want me to open that basket on the floor. It’s got something moving inside it; I expect it’s something nasty like a snake. Still, I s’pose I’d better do what I’m told and not make a fuss so here I go. Oh they’ve gone and got another dog, and I told them it’s not the same as Rumble and I feel angry ‘cos they think they can stop me crying just by getting another dog. Don’t want another dog I just want Rumble. Don’t know why he had to be killed.



Still, I s’pose this is kind of a nice little puppy and he waggles his tail all the time. Don’t think he’ll ever be as good as Rumble but he has got nice soft fur and he does look happy to see me. Now they’ve got him, I s’pose he’ll be staying with us and he might be someone I could play with. He’s so friendly – perhaps he could be my friend ‘cos now he’s licking me all over my face. I think I’ll call him Waggle. “Hello, Waggle, I’m Jerry; are you going to be my friend?”



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