“Nope.” Martin shook his head. Forrest had been bugging him to drive the skid loader since he was about four years old. “But you can ride with me if you want,” he offered.
Forrest could have predicted that answer and was already climbing up into the cab so he could perch behind his dad while they shifted the pile with the giant metal bucket attachment on the front. Looking over his father’s shoulder, Forrest studied his every move. When his dad finally said yes to letting him drive, he’d be ready.
The two Sterlings lifted some of the larger beams and moved them to the side. Martin had flags over the areas where he’d installed “hides”—larger covered places for training assistants to conceal themselves and wait for dogs-in-training to locate them. They were going for another run to push the pile higher and make room for the dump when Forrest spotted Pedro hurrying toward them. He was tugging on his goatee … something he only did when he was thinking, or worried.
Forrest tapped his dad’s shoulder and pointed. Martin cut the engine.
“Have you seen Dusty?” Pedro asked, out of breath. “He got out of the trailer. I was just going to take him to Shelby, but I can’t find him.”
Martin and Forrest both shook their heads. “No lap rat here,” Forrest said. “Maybe Shelby went and got him?” It sounded possible. Shelby was hardly ever away from Dusty lately and had, like, zero patience.
“Maybe,” Pedro said, but he didn’t think it sounded like something Shelby would do. She loved the little pup, but … he turned to check in with Shelby just as she appeared on the path, empty-handed. She lifted one arm up in a wave, and Forrest felt his heart sink a little.
“Hey, Pedro! I came to take Dusty off your hands!” Shelby called, spotting the guys by the rubble pile. She scanned the area, looking for her favorite black-and-white companion. Then she looked at Pedro, who was stroking his whiskers. “Where is he?” she asked as worry crept into her voice.
“I was just coming to ask you if you knew,” Pedro told her. “The little Houdini must have gotten out of the trailer.”
Shelby bit her bottom lip. She tried not to panic. She’d been acting like she was doing Pedro a favor by watching Dusty. What nobody seemed to understand was that she needed the little dog’s company. Ever since the awful movie calamity, she’d been feeling awful about everything and everyone with a single exception: Dusty. She couldn’t explain why, but the micro mutt made her feel … better. “So, he’s missing?” Her voice broke.
“I’m not sure,” Pedro answered slowly. “I guess, yes. He’s kind of … missing. But he can’t have gone far.”
“Not on those legs,” Forrest joked. Nobody laughed.
“Missing” was not a word Shelby wanted to hear. She gasped for air and started to shake her hands like there was something sticky and gross on them that she wanted to get off.
Martin climbed out of the loader. “Easy, Shel. Everything’s okay.” He put a hand around his oldest daughter’s shoulders. He knew her tendency to make mountains out of molehills and wanted to talk her down before she was too far gone. “Panicking isn’t going to help,” he said reasonably. “He’s never run away before and he survived for a long time on his own. He’s probably at the pavilion, or dumpster-diving for food in the refuse area.”
Shelby stopped shaking. She leaned into her dad, still looking doubtful. Martin was about to start delegating search areas when they heard the rumble of the trucks that had found their way to the rubble pile without a guide.
“Hold that thought,” Martin told Shelby. The search was going to have to be postponed until the delivery was made—he couldn’t keep the drivers waiting. Shelby let out a shuddering breath and leaned on the skid loader, biting a blue-painted fingernail.
“Right in here. Close as you can get!” Martin yelled to the first driver, who was already maneuvering the dump truck toward the pile. Forrest grabbed the nearby hose and started spraying the area where the big load of rebar, wood, concrete, bricks, and steel beams would be deposited. He’d helped with this before and knew that before and during the dump it was important to spray the area to keep the dust down.
Forlorn, Shelby watched for a minute, and then headed back to the welcome center to see if Dusty was waiting for her there.
The first load slid out of the tilted truck bed with a resounding racket and a huge cloud of dust (in spite of the spray). Forrest kept dousing everything with the hose, getting as close as his dad would let him. After lowering its bed, the first truck made way for the second. Martin asked the second driver to drop his haul in two loads so it would be easier to spread around and not bury the covert hiding areas he’d installed. It was important to have multiple hides at the top, middle, and bottom layers of the pile. It was also important to keep the pile shifting. Dog training was all about continuous learning and preparing for the unknown.
Before they knew it an hour had passed. Martin checked his phone. He had thirteen texts from Shelby asking if they’d seen Dusty. He suspected her nails were down to the nubs.
Sorry. Haven’t seen him. I’ll send Pedro back to check his trailer.
Forrest stopped spraying and came to stand next to his dad. The trucks rumbled away and the area grew quiet. Martin was torn. Should he leave off work and go look for the scrap of dog, or keep going and get the pile ready for the teams anxious to train on it and hope that Dusty showed up with a belly full of something on his own? He ran his hand through the little hair he had left. The Chihuahua wasn’t an official Sterling dog, but he had a soft spot for the little mutt and his big attitude. At the moment he could picture his silly winglike ears and hear his decisive yaps—Dusty had a big bark for a small dog. He was pretty sure that everyone at the ranch was smitten with Dusty.
“Yip!”
Martin jerked his chin up. He looked at Forrest. Forrest looked at Pedro. They heard it, too.
“Yip! Yip!” The muffled sound came again. The bark was unmistakable. It was definitely Dusty. And it was definitely coming from inside the football-field-sized pile of debris!
Pedro, Forrest, and Martin froze. None of them moved or even breathed as they waited to hear another bark from deep in the massive pile. It was so quiet they could have heard a single leaf fall from the nearby scrub oak, but that wasn’t what they were waiting to hear …
“Yip!” The bark finally came. It was insistent but muffled—buried deep in the heap of treacherous construction debris.
Suddenly Shelby appeared on the path. She’d seen the trucks leave and couldn’t just sit in the welcome center while Dusty was missing! She rushed up to her dad, brother, and Pedro. They were all standing there like rusted tin men—not moving. “What’s going on?” she asked, confused. If they hadn’t found Dusty, why weren’t they searching?
A muffled “Yip!” was her answer.
“Wait! That’s him! He’s in there!” Shelby gasped. She stared wide-eyed at the horrifying pile. She did not want to imagine Dusty, who was no bigger than a cantaloupe, trapped inside a mountain of dangerous junk. He could so easily be smashed or skewered! They had to get him out. Now!
Forrest lurched toward the pile, ready to start pulling it apart with his bare hands, but Martin held him back.
“Hold on. We can’t go charging in there. The pile is unstable. One wrong step and we might cause a collapse.”
Pedro nodded. He was having trouble holding himself back, too. Especially when Dusty yipped again. But he knew Martin was right. He ran his hand over his bearded chin, feeling awful. He was the reason Dusty was in this mess. He felt determination rise—determination to get the little pup out safely. He just had no idea how.
“We have to do something!” Shelby wailed. She was fighting tears and looking up at the mass towering over their heads. The mountain of garbage took on a whole new meaning with Dusty trapped inside it. The jagged edges of broken concrete, the broken beams, the twisted pipes … It was a terrible snare filled with deadly pitfalls!
Pedro held up a hand, and the group went silent ag
ain. They listened carefully. Dusty’s bark had moved.
“Dusty!” Pedro called to the dog. “We hear you, amigo. Come to us.” To the others he said, “Let’s give him a chance to get out on his own. It might be the safest way. If anyone can move around in there, he can.”
“But—” Shelby started to protest. What if he was hurt? What if he couldn’t move? She tried to keep the awful thoughts at bay.
Martin put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “He’s small and light enough that he might not disturb the pile. He just has to find a way out.”
“And rats are great at maneuvering in garbage …” Forrest said. He meant it to be comforting, but the uncharacteristically stern look his dad shot him shut him up. He started walking the perimeter of the unstable hill, listening intently.
Dusty kept barking.
“Good dog,” Pedro murmured when it was clear the sound was traveling. “He’s letting us know he’s alive … and moving.”
“Wait, does it sound different?” Shelby asked, cocking her head to one side. “Is he getting closer?”
“We can’t be certain. Sounds and smells bounce around in debris piles, making them hard to interpret.” Pedro didn’t want to add that it takes months, sometimes years, to train SAR dogs to successfully navigate disaster piles. They spent a long time working on agility before they were even allowed to approach loose debris.
For several seconds there was no new sound. Then, “Yip!”
The next bark sounded different. They couldn’t say exactly where it was coming from, but it was definitely in a new place. Dusty could move around in there … at least a little.
“Yip!”
Shelby stepped toward the edge of the pile. The bark seemed to be coming from a tiny gap in the recent dump. Her eyes were bright with tears as she stared at the dark crack the sound seemed to be coming out of. “He’s so close, we have to help! We need to dig for him!”
“We can’t,” her dad insisted, though it was taking all his resolve not to start dismantling the pile himself. “It’s not settled. It could all come down and—”
“Flat rat,” Forrest said quietly. Not quietly enough.
Shelby tried to take a deep breath. It caught halfway. She gulped and followed the sound of the bark as it curved along the edge of the pile. It got higher, then dropped away. “Come on, Dusty!” she called out in encouragement. “We’re right here!”
“There!” Forrest pointed to a spot near the top of the scrap heap. Twenty feet up there was tiny movement. The tip of Dusty’s scarred ear appeared through a slot between a slab of concrete and a thick wooden beam. The opening was too small for even the teensy Chihuahua to come through.
“Dusty!” Shelby clutched her hands together near her throat and called out at the same moment that the pile moved. The heavy trash shifted like quicksand and sent up a rumble and a cloud of dust. “No!” Shelby shouted.
Martin turned ghostly pale. Pedro winced. He started to call out a stay command—which is what he would do if he were working with a trained dog to keep him safe. If only Dusty were trained, he might be able to help him navigate!
“Why isn’t he barking?” Shelby asked when the pile had settled. Then, before anyone could answer, Dusty wriggled out of the small opening. He scrambled up out of the pile and walked along a narrow board with the agility of a gymnast.
It took all of Shelby’s willpower not to scale the treacherous hill and grab him in a hug.
“Dusty!” Forrest crowed.
The tiny dog stopped on the board he was navigating. It teetered. Shelby drew in a breath. Dusty froze. He held his position until the board settled, then, carefully placing his paws as if he was in the middle of a choreographed dance, made it to the other end. With all eyes glued on him, Dusty calculated each step. He ducked under rebar, hopped onto a broken culvert, and made it to solid ground, where a very happy, very relieved crew of people awaited him.
Shelby reached the dog first and scooped him up close to her face. He was dirty and dusty but happy to lick the cheek of the girl he adored. He’d had a grand adventure!
“Careful,” Pedro cautioned. He wanted to check the dog for injuries. It wasn’t clear how the little guy had gotten out of the depths of the pile, and he could be hurt. The truck could have dumped on top of him! Shelby placed the dog on the ground, and Pedro gently felt his back and head and legs while Dusty stood straighter than a show dog. He was obviously proud. As soon as Pedro pronounced him unscathed, Shelby had him back in her arms.
“You are some dog,” Pedro said, shaking his head.
Even Forrest was deeply impressed. “He walked that pile like he’s been doing it all his life!”
“I guess sometimes it helps to be small,” Martin said with raised eyebrows.
Everyone agreed. In the face of a dangerous mountain of trash, Dusty’s tiny size was a huge asset.
Morgan helped her dad put the last leaf into the Sterling dining room table, and they pushed the ends together, expanding it to its maximum capacity. Everyone was coming for dinner, including Morgan’s grandma; her dog, Cocoa; the center’s lead trainer and Morgan’s hero, Roxanne; Pedro; and Dusty. They would be twelve including the dogs and fourteen if you counted cats, which Juniper would probably insist upon.
“Here.” Morgan counted out ten placemats from a drawer in the sideboard and handed them to her little sister. It was the kids’ job to set the table. Juniper doled the red woven mats out onto the dark wood like playing cards and then straightened them. Morgan followed her dad to the kitchen. She took a deep breath, breathing in cheesy, tomatoey goodness. Her mom’s lasagna was a family favorite. Make that a ranch favorite. Pedro was already in the kitchen, hovering near the stove and ready for the first piece. Morgan had noticed that even when he wasn’t invited, Pedro always managed to show up on lasagna night. She was pretty sure he could smell it baking from his trailer!
“What is your secret?” Pedro asked. “You make the best lasagna I’ve ever tasted!”
Georgia gave Pedro a sly smile. “Let’s just say that Italians brought their food to Eritrea, and the Eritreans brought their taste to Italian food!”
Georgia winked at Morgan, and Morgan winked back. Her mom’s Eritrean lasagna was way better than the sloppy stuff she’d had in Italian restaurants. She knew the secret ingredient was spicy berbere, but she wouldn’t give it away. Her mom liked being able to lure people to her table.
“Hi! Hope I’m not late!” Roxanne arrived in the kitchen, followed by Martin and Frances, who had been chatting in the living room. “Can I do anything?” Roxanne asked.
“I think we’re all ready. Your timing is perfect,” Georgia said. She carried the heavy dish of lasagna to the table, which Forrest and Juniper had just finished setting. Frances brought in a big salad, and Martin added a long loaf of bread spread with garlic butter and sprinkled with oregano.
Forrest couldn’t wait to dig in after his long day. He was starving! But one seat was still empty: Shelby’s.
“Morgan, can you go get your sister?” Georgia asked. She put her napkin on her lap and exhaled slowly. Shelby had not been herself lately—she’d been quiet, absent. When she joined them at the table, Georgia peered at her oldest while she served herself half the amount of lasagna she usually did.
“Honey?” Martin interrupted his wife’s thoughts. He was holding the giant bowl of salad midair. “Salad?”
Georgia forced a smile and tried to tune in to the conversation and tune out her concerns about Shelby. Everyone was talking about Dusty. The little dog had caused a big stir.
“I think he knows we’re talking about him!” Juniper pointed at the tiny dog, who had taken over Cocoa’s enormous bed. Curled in the center, he looked even smaller than usual.
“Of course he does,” Pedro laughed. “Look at his ears!”
Dusty’s triangle ears stood up straight, like oversized tortilla chips, catching every sound. His nose was tucked under his paws, and Pedro could have sworn he was hid
ing a smile. “You should have seen him, Roxanne. Forrest isn’t kidding. He was a natural on that pile. He could pass your agility training in a heartbeat! He’d put your dogs to shame!”
Everyone around the table laughed … everyone but Shelby.
Roxanne dabbed her eyes with her napkin. “That good, eh?”
“He’s wonderful company,” Pedro said. “But he could be more than a pet. Much more. Now that he’s feeling better he is getting feisty. I think he needs work to keep himself out of trouble.”
Shelby nodded without smiling. It was true. “He has a great nose, and those ears don’t miss a thing. He’s fast. He’s smart. Independent but not too headstrong.” She started listing his attributes, not including the fact that ever since the fiasco at the movies—where she’d made Ryan run from her—Dusty was the only thing that made her feel remotely good. It was like she was living inside a dark cloud and the little dog was the only ray of light.
Georgia stopped chewing when she realized what Shelby was saying, and what it would mean for her. She was encouraging the team to consider Dusty for SAR training. If they decided to train him, the pup would no longer be able to spend his days on her lap. He’d go from being a pet to being a work dog practically overnight. It would be a huge sacrifice for the high schooler.
“Are you saying you think Dusty has SAR potential?” Georgia asked. She looked from Shelby to Pedro while Roxanne choked back a laugh. Martin sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers lightly on the table.
“He’s a wonderful dog,” Roxanne said. “And smart, for sure. But he’s just so …”
“Tiny,” Forrest finished for her. “Seriously tiny. I weighed him this morning, and he still only weighs nine pounds.”
“That’s nine pounds of determination and smarts,” Shelby insisted, a bit of spark returning. “He can do it! He can do anything. You saw him today!”
“I am sure Dusty can do a lot of things, but there are many factors to consider. There’s no way he can cover as much territory as a larger dog, and does a dog his size have the reserves or the stamina to put in a full shift?” Roxanne wondered out loud.
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