Secondhand Dogs

by Carolyn Crimi

  “Huh. You don’t seem very excited about your breakfast,” Quinn said, placing the bowls down on the kitchen floor.

  They usually dug in frantically when their food was placed before them, but today they sniffed and picked at it.

  “Come on, you’ve got to eat,” Quinn said.

  Both dogs looked up at him, their eyes questioning.

  Quinn sighed. “I don’t think Tank did it, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said. He gave them both a pat on the head. “Eat your breakfast, okay?”

  They bent down and started crunching on their food, looking up at Quinn every once in a while for reassurance.

  Roo scratched at the back door.

  “Come on in, girl,” Quinn said. He opened the door for her and watched as she crept in, head low.

  “It’ll be okay, I promise,” he said. He prepared her breakfast and placed it in front of her. She ate with the same hesitancy that Gus and Moon Pie had showed.

  Quinn prepared Tank’s food, medicine, and vitamins and carried his bowl into the laundry room where the kennels were. Miss Lottie sometimes put the dogs there after a fight. Quarrels were rare. Usually it was just Roo growling or barking at one of the other dogs. Roo was easily upset.

  Tank was curled up in his crate with his back pushed against the wire door.

  Quinn’s stomach clenched when he saw how forlorn Tank was. Maybe some kibble would help. Tank loved his kibble.

  “Breakfast time,” Quinn said.

  Tank lifted his head, but that was all.

  Quinn crouched down and opened Tank’s kennel.

  “Come on out, Tank,” he said. “I put a little extra food in your bowl.”

  Tank didn’t move.

  “Come on, boy. I know you didn’t do it. There’s no way. Miss Lottie must be wrong.”

  Tank shifted.

  “You’ve got to eat, Tank. Please?” Quinn tried to keep his voice from trembling, but it was hard. Tank—lovable, huggable Tank. Quinn hated seeing the big guy like this.

  Tank turned around in his kennel so that he was facing out. His huge head hung down low.

  “There you are,” Quinn said. He reached in and stroked Tank’s rough coat. “Come on out, boy.”

  The door hung open. But instead of coming out, Tank plopped down again with an oof.

  “Oh, Tank,” Quinn said. He gently rubbed the sides of Tank’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll convince Miss Lottie that she’s wrong about this.”

  Quinn had no idea how he’d do that, but he was going to try.

  His phone rang again. He sighed and clicked it off.

  Some days he felt so tired and alone. Today was one of those days.

  Quinn Before

  There once was a time when Quinn and his older brother played together. He and Jessie threw rocks at cans and built forts in the woods. They took their dog, Murph, on long walks, taking turns holding the leash.

  But then Quinn’s dad died. He fell over while cutting the grass and never got up again. The doctors said his heart had simply stopped.

  Only four days later, when Quinn and Jessie were out for a walk, Murph got off the leash and was hit by a car. He died right in front of them.

  It was over in seconds. Quinn wasn’t even sure what really happened.

  “Why did you let go of the leash?” Jessie asked him, day after day after day.

  “I thought you had it!” Quinn said each time.

  Pretty soon after that, Jessie stopped playing with Quinn. Then he stopped talking to him.

  Quinn began to wonder if maybe it was his fault that Murph had died. Had he let go of the leash? He went over and over it but was never really sure.

  Four months later, Quinn’s mom moved them to a new town and a new house.

  “For a fresh start,” she said.

  They moved in August, and at first everything seemed okay. Packing up the stuff in his old room had helped Quinn take his mind off his dad and Murph. His new room had a window that looked out onto a big tree. The thick branches were perfect for a tree house. He even sketched plans for it. He hoped that maybe Jessie would start talking to him again, and that they could build it together some day.

  Things were beginning to feel a little better, day by day.

  But then, at their new school, Jessie started hanging out with Cole and Sam. When the three of them got together, things happened.

  It started out small. Mumbled insults. Shoves in the hallway. They would wait for Quinn at school, in the park, in the boys’ bathroom. The shoves turned to quick punches and sly kicks to the shins. Jessie didn’t do it, but he didn’t stop it, either. He just watched.

  With a target on his back, Quinn had trouble making friends.

  At home, he and Jessie would sit in silence in front of the TV until it was time for dinner.

  In some ways, their life went on just like it had before. Mom paid the bills, cooked the meals, went to work, cleaned the house. She was trying, Quinn knew, to keep things running smoothly. To keep things under control. But they had gradually stopped talking about Dad and Murph, as if their memories were like the old photo albums they had tucked away in the basement of the new house.

  What Quinn wanted to do more than anything, though, was talk about them. He worried that if he didn’t, his memories of them would fade away.

  “Didn’t Dad like pot roast?” Quinn asked one night at dinner. The question popped out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about it. They were having pot roast, and for some reason it reminded him of Dad.

  Mom sighed.

  “Yes,” she said simply. But that was it, and they never had pot roast again.

  After a few more tries, Quinn gave up trying to talk about Dad, Murph, or even their old house. He locked away everything he knew about Life Before in a special place in his brain, like a bureau with a secret drawer. Occasionally, when he was by himself, he’d open that drawer, but mostly he kept it locked.

  The taunting texts from Jessie’s friends started the second week of school. Then they flooded in daily. Even hourly. He wanted to stop reading them, but for some reason he couldn’t. He read every one. Texts about his clothes. His hair. His voice.

  One day, while watching TV with Jessie, Quinn blurted out a question that had bothered him for weeks.

  “Why don’t you ask Cole and Sam to stop texting me?”

  It felt like a fair question. Jessie was their friend. He could make it all stop if he wanted to.

  “What’s the big deal? They’re only texts,” Jessie said.

  Quinn stared at his brother for a moment. “Only” texts? Without a word, he went straight to his room to tear up the drawings of the tree house. It would never happen. Not with Jessie.

  Then, on the first day of October, a flier appeared on a tree in front of Quinn’s house.

  WANTED: ANIMAL LOVER WHO CAN HELP OUT BEFORE AND AFTER SCHOOL WITH MY SECONDHAND DOGS.

  There was a phone number and a group picture of the dogs. It was the picture that caught his attention. A three-legged dog. An old bulldog with a round belly. And a shaggy dog standing in the middle.

  Quinn stepped in closer to get a better look at the shaggy dog. The dog’s eyes were partially covered with scruff, but Quinn could still see his expression. He looked uncertain, as though he were sitting on a pile of blocks that could be knocked down at any moment. Quinn knew how that felt.

  Quinn wasn’t sure about many things in his life, but he was sure this was the right job for him.

  Miss Lottie only had one question when she met Quinn. “How soon can you start?”

  Gus

  Gus went back to the laundry room. He had visited Tank three times that day. Each time, Tank had been asleep, his snores filling the small room.

  Gus had replayed the incident in his mind over and over, and he always came to the same conclusion—it was all his fault. He should have stopped Decker. He should have stepped between him and Tank. Instead, he had just sat there and done nothing. It was his job to keep
the peace, and he had failed.

  Gus wished again, for the millionth time, that his special dog gift was being a good leader. If it was, this never would have happened.

  Quinn had tried to get Tank to eat earlier, but it was no use. Tank wouldn’t leave his kennel. Now it was late afternoon and time for dinner, yet Tank still didn’t seem to care.

  “Tank?”

  No response.

  “Tank?” Gus asked again. “You okay?”

  Tank opened one eye. “What do you think?” he said.

  “It’s not that big a deal, Tank. Miss Lottie will get over it.”

  “She thinks I bit him. She thinks I’m a biter.” He turned in his crate so that his back was to Gus.

  Gus sighed. Miss Lottie did seem mad at Tank. When she came home from the vet, she had gone straight to her bedroom with Decker. She hadn’t even stopped to see how Tank was doing.

  “She’ll forgive you,” Gus said. “She’s the forgiving type.”

  Gus couldn’t see Tank’s face, but he saw his ears twitch for a moment. Tank raised his head, but he didn’t turn to face Gus.

  “I would never, ever bite. How could she think I bit him? How?”

  “I don’t know,” Gus said. “This new dog—”

  “I told you not to let him in, Gus. I told you. But you didn’t listen to me.”

  “Tank, I—”

  Just then, Quinn entered the laundry room. He picked up the old food and dumped it into the garbage.

  “Hey, Gus,” Quinn said. He put a fresh bowl of food down for Tank and opened his kennel door. “Your food is in the kitchen.”

  Gus stayed where he was.

  “Okay.” Quinn knelt down and rubbed Gus behind the ears. “Just don’t eat Tank’s food.”

  Gus was often amazed at how well Quinn understood dogs. He was even better than Miss Lottie when it came to reading the pack’s mood.

  “Come on out, Tank,” Quinn said. He crouched down next to his kennel. “I put a treat in your bowl.”

  Tank got up and turned toward his bowl.

  “I don’t feel like eating,” Tank said to Gus.

  “Maybe it will help you feel better,” Gus said.

  “That’s not what I need.” Tank lay down on the floor of his kennel.

  “Oh, Tank,” Quinn said. He shook the bowl of food. When Tank didn’t budge, Quinn gave him one more pat on the head, then left.

  “Maybe he’ll be able to convince Miss Lottie that she’s wrong,” Gus said.

  “Maybe he won’t be able to,” Tank said.

  The image of Decker biting his own paw—his own paw—swooshed into Gus’s thoughts for a moment.

  Decker was bad. It was as simple as that. And something needed to be done about it.

  “I’ll make this right, Tank. I promise.”

  Quinn

  It was late, but Quinn didn’t care. He knew Miss Lottie needed him, so he helped out more than usual. As he cleaned up the drool and the stray bits of kibble from the dogs’ dinners, he thought of Tank. He tried to imagine the gentle giant biting the new dog. He could picture Tank barking and puffing out his chest, but that was it.

  Miss Lottie finally came out of her bedroom just as the sun was setting. Her gray hair was more messed up than usual. She gave him a tired smile.

  “Thanks for staying late, Quinn,” Miss Lottie said. She sank down into a chair at the kitchen table. “You’re a good kid.”

  Quinn got out a jar of peanut butter. He scooped a dollop onto a spoon, pushed Roo’s pill into it, and then held the spoon out to her.

  “Here you go,” Quinn said.

  Roo ignored it.

  “Roo, come on, now,” Miss Lottie said. “Take your medicine.”

  Roo did one quick circle on her bed.

  “Roo, you love peanut butter,” Quinn said. She didn’t like the hot dog buns for her pills the way the others did. She only ate her pills with peanut butter.

  “Come on, Roo, please?” he asked.

  She tilted her head, then licked the peanut butter off the spoon.

  “Good girl!” He patted her on the back. “She’s been nervous all day. They all have.”

  Miss Lottie put her elbows on the table and cradled her head in her hands. “It’s been a long day for everyone.”

  “I hope they calm down soon.”

  “Me, too,” Miss Lottie said. “I think it’s best if Decker sleeps with me again tonight. He’s curled up on my bed now. He’s still drowsy from the stitches.”

  Quinn picked up Gus’s eye drops. He bent down next to Gus and gently squeezed one into each eye. Gus blinked, stretched, then walked back to his bed.

  “Oh, hey, remind me to get new tags for Moon Pie. He’s still wearing the ones Gertie gave him,” Miss Lottie said. “Can’t believe it’s only been a month. Seems like we’ve had that little angel forever.”

  Quinn frowned as he screwed the cap back on the eye drops. “Do you really think Tank bit Decker? It doesn’t seem like Tank, you know?”

  Miss Lottie waved her hand dismissively. “These spats always happen when a new dog arrives. They’ll work things out. Anyway, let’s hope Tank learns his lesson.”

  Moon Pie, who had been napping on his bed, sat up and whimpered.

  “Aw, Moon Pie, are you still hungry?” Miss Lottie asked. “Maybe you want some popcorn?”

  Instead of jumping up, Moon Pie turned around to face the wall.

  Quinn shook his head. “He misses Tank. They all do.”

  “Maybe,” Miss Lottie said.

  “Can I bring Tank out now?” Quinn asked. “I know he’s sorry.”

  Miss Lottie paused.

  “Decker is in your bedroom and you said yourself he’s not budging. Tank gets along with everyone else.”

  “Okay,” she said finally. “He can’t stay in there forever. I’m sure he’s cooled off by now.”

  Quinn was already in the laundry room by the time Miss Lottie finished her sentence. He bent down and peered into the kennel. Tank was facing away from him.

  “You can come out!” Quinn said, opening the kennel door. “Everyone wants to see you.”

  Tank’s ears were up, but he didn’t turn around.

  “Come on, boy,” Quinn said, a waver in his voice. “Come out.”

  He saw Tank’s chest heave a long, heavy sigh.

  “All right, maybe you just need to hang out in here for a while.”

  That night, Quinn walked his bike home instead of riding it to give himself time to think. When he’d asked Miss Lottie if she had seen Tank bite Decker, she said no. So if she hadn’t actually seen it happen, it wasn’t a sure thing. Maybe the new dog had started it by growling at Moon Pie. There was no way Tank would sit by while another dog picked on the little pug.

  Quinn couldn’t help but think that Miss Lottie had it wrong. It was way too coincidental that things had gotten out of hand right after this new dog arrived.

  He knew strange things went on that grown-ups didn’t know about, and he was pretty sure Miss Lottie just wasn’t seeing what was really happening.

  Decker

  Decker whimpered.

  Something was on him.

  Something bad.

  He couldn’t breathe. He tried to bark, but no sound came out.

  When the pain finally woke him, Decker found himself wrapped up in sheets. He had been dreaming again of the dark place. He lay panting, too afraid to look around.

  Too dark too dark TOO DARK.

  He started to tremble, his whole body a jumble of quivering nerves, then—

  “Hrmph.”

  Miss Lottie turned on her side.

  He sighed, relieved. While he couldn’t say he loved Miss Lottie, or even liked her, she did make him feel safe. He shook his head and breathed in her toothpaste snores.

  He was okay. It was only another nightmare.

  His paw throbbed. He inhaled Miss Lottie’s sleepy smell and put his head back on the pillow. The pain was good. It made dogs strong, and Decker,
who had been through a lot in his life, was stronger than most. The pain fed him, kept him alert, kept him fierce. And it kept the darkness away for a while.

  A dry, salty taste filled his mouth. He needed water. He looked to the doorway and saw a dim glow coming from the kitchen. But it was still so dark. Would there be enough light for him to find his way?

  He hopped off the bed and slowly, carefully made his way down the dark hall, his heart beating wildly.

  Something was coming toward him. He could detect movement and a small shape in the dim light.

  His fur tingled. His breaths came in faster.

  What was it?

  He slowly backed away, hoping and praying it didn’t sense his fear.

  “Who’s there?” he demanded.

  “Oh, hi,” came a small voice.

  It was just the stinking little pug, nothing more. Decker gave himself a shake. He had been thinking a lot about Moon Pie. Planning. He had seen the way the pack looked when Moon Pie brought up Gertie. She was dead, obviously. Gus, being weak, didn’t know how to tell Moon Pie.

  It was all very useful.

  And now here was Moon Pie, hopping down the hallway like a stupid rabbit.

  “What are you doing up?” Decker asked.

  “I, um . . . ,” Moon Pie said.

  “You’re not scared again, are you?”

  “No, I’m not, not really.”

  But Moon Pie’s big eyes said otherwise. Decker could almost feel the small dog’s fluttery heartbeat. His own heart still beat quickly. He willed it to slow down.

  Decker sat down and stared for a few moments. “Do they sometimes call you ‘Moonie’?”

  “Y-yes, sometimes,” Moon Pie said.

  “What is it that you want, Moonie?”

  “I was sort of hoping that Miss Lottie might let me up on the big bed? It’s really dark in the family room.”

  “Moonie, I’m sorry,” Decker said. “I can’t let you up on the big bed. It’s just not right.”

  “Because I’m the lowest member of the pack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  “But you know, I bet your human, Gertie, would let you up on the big bed!” Decker said. He got to his feet and wagged his tail. “I bet she misses you! Don’t you think?”