Barney

by Ellen Miles

“This is Neal,” answered the voice on the other end.

  He didn’t sound like a little kid, but he was definitely not an adult, either. “Hi. This is Lizzie Peterson. Did you call about Barney, the wirehaired dachshund we’re fostering?”

  “Yup,” the boy answered. “I was calling for my family. We’re very interested in Barney.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Lizzie said. She felt hope rising in her chest, but first she had to find out more. “Can I ask you some questions? Barney is a very special dog, and I want to make sure your family is a good fit. It’s important to check on a few things before you even meet him.”

  “Sure,” said Neal. “Ask away.”

  Lizzie asked a lot of questions and Neal gave her a lot of answers. Neal and his twin sister were sixteen. Everyone in the family loved dogs, and no one had allergies. They’d had a Maltese named Gigi who had died a few months ago. They did not mind barking.

  “Is someone home during the day?” Lizzie asked, looking down at her checklist. She knew Barney was not a dog who could be alone all day while people were at work.

  “Yup,” Neal said. “My parents both work from home.”

  “Sounds great,” Lizzie said, making a note on her list. “And, let’s see. Last but not least, do you have a fenced-in outdoor space?”

  Neal paused. “Not really,” he replied. “We live in an apartment. We didn’t really need a yard for Gigi. We took her on walks and sometimes to the dog park.”

  Lizzie took a breath and told herself to be honest. The truth was important. She wanted to find the right home for Barney.

  “Hello?” Neal said.

  “Hi,” Lizzie replied with a sigh. “I know some dogs are fine without a yard, but I’m pretty sure Barney would not be. He has lots of energy, and he wants to go in and out all the time.”

  Now Neal was quiet.

  “And Barney really does bark a lot. Like, constantly. It might be too much in an apartment,” she added. “You’d probably get complaints from the neighbors.”

  “He really barks that much?” Neal asked. “I guess that might be a problem while my parents are trying to work during the day. I hadn’t thought about that.”

  Lizzie felt bad when she hung up. Neal had sounded so disappointed. Lizzie hated to say no, especially when it came to dogs. But Barney wasn’t just any dog. She told herself that she had done the right thing. But where, oh where, was she going to find the perfect home for Barney?

  Lizzie and Maria’s stations were right next to each other for the World Food Fair. They had a prime spot, just outside the cafeteria. All day long, Maria had a crowd of kids waiting in line for tortillas, even though there was a lot of other food at the fair. Kids had brought everything from mini egg rolls and Italian flatbread to kimchi and Wisconsin cheese.

  Lizzie had brought her apple butter in a slow cooker, and it filled the room with the smell of warm cinnamon. It also covered the table with sticky drips of cooked apples and sugar.

  “What you need is someone who doesn’t mind the barking,” Maria said. They’d been discussing the Barney Problem all afternoon.

  Lizzie had talked to the third person on Dr. Gibson’s list that morning before school, and she’d had to check them off, too. The family lived over two hours away, too far for Polly, Mavis, and Cassie to visit. Now, in the middle of World Food Fair day, the two friends were still trying to think of another solution.

  “Maybe for the right people, the barking could even be good,” Maria continued. “Like if they needed a watchdog.”

  Lizzie stared at her friend as a blob of apple butter dripped down her thumb. “What did you say?”

  “I don’t know,” Maria said. “I was just brainstorming. A watchdog? Is that what I said?”

  “Maria, you are brilliant!” Lizzie threw her arms around her friend.

  “Yeah, right?” a kid with a mouthful of tortilla said. “She really is. These tacos are delicious.”

  “And you’re such a good friend, too,” Lizzie said, wiping her hand on her apron. “That’s why I know you’ll do me a big favor.”

  “A favor?” Maria asked.

  “I need you to talk with Kathy,” Lizzie said. “I’ve got a plan, and that’s the first step.”

  “That’s easy,” said Maria. “I have my lesson today. But what’s your plan?”

  “It’s so obvious,” began Lizzie. For the rest of the school day, the two friends handed out food samples and talked about Lizzie’s plan. It made so much sense. Lizzie didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before.

  * * *

  “I still don’t get why you’re insisting on getting apple-cider doughnuts today of all days,” Mom said to Lizzie and Charles in the car later that day. “Didn’t you just have the World Food Fair?”

  “Yes, but you only get, like, one bite of all the stuff,” Charles said. “And I’ve been craving doughnuts ever since Lizzie forgot to bring them home.”

  “And besides, it’s a good way to celebrate,” Lizzie added. “You deserve a treat since you finished your article, Mom.”

  “I have a feeling you two are up to something,” Mom said. “But a doughnut sounds yummy, and it’s good to get the dogs out.”

  Barney and Buddy were in the backseat with Lizzie and Charles. Barney did not seem to bark as much when he was riding in the car. Lizzie stroked his long back. Barney was so easy to love—especially when he was being quiet.

  Mom pulled into the grassy lot by the farm stand. Lizzie saw a familiar truck parked there.

  “Isn’t that Kathy’s truck?” Mom asked.

  “Yep,” Lizzie said, jumping out. “Charles, you keep Buddy.” Lizzie took Barney’s leash and hurried over to the truck.

  Maria bounded out of the passenger side of Kathy’s truck and gave Lizzie a hug. “Fingers crossed,” she said as they headed toward the farm stand.

  When Lizzie looked back, she saw Mom talking with Kathy. Kathy gave her a thumbs-up. “I guess it’s all up to us now,” she said, looking down at Barney.

  With the others following behind, Lizzie and Maria and Barney approached the farm stand. Lizzie’s heart was thumping. Once again, there wasn’t anyone at the cash register. Before Lizzie could call out, Barney began to bark. He kept barking until Mrs. Bixby appeared from the back of the building, with Mr. Bixby right behind her.

  “Hello,” she called out. “Sorry you had to wait. I hate to make people wait.” She made her way to the main table. “Well, hello, there!” She stooped over to give Barney a pat, and he grinned up at her, waggling his eyebrows.

  “It’s okay. We just got here,” Maria told the couple.

  “Still, I keep telling him we could use a bell or something.” Mrs. Bixby stood up to give Mr. Bixby a knowing look.

  Lizzie paused. “Actually, that’s why we’re here,” she said.

  “You want to sell us a bell?” Mr. Bixby asked, looking doubtful.

  Lizzie smiled and shook her head. When she’d first seen him at the horse show, Lizzie had thought that Mr. Bixby was gruff and harsh, and kind of hard on Barney. He had very strong opinions. But as she’d learned more about dachshunds, she’d realized he might not be so mean after all. He really did know a lot about the breed, and maybe he was just thinking about what was best for Barney.

  “I noticed that you know a ton about dachshunds,” Lizzie began.

  “We do,” Mr. Bixby said. “Mrs. Bixby and I have had five dachshunds over the years. We just love them. They are terrific dogs.”

  “Well, we had this idea. We wanted to check with Kathy first, since she knows you. We didn’t want to push anything on you, but Kathy—well, she thought you might be ready for another dog,” said Lizzie. She glanced back at Kathy, and the trainer smiled and nodded.

  “You mean this little sprite?” Mrs. Bixby asked, pointing at Barney. “The little troublemaker from the show?”

  “Yes, he’s looking for a new home,” said Lizzie. “He might be small, but like most dachshunds, he’s a lot of dog. Too mu
ch dog, for some. He needs just the right family.” Lizzie pulled out her Barney checklist and went over the whole thing, spelling out all his good and bad points. She couldn’t even look at the Bixbys while she read. This had to work!

  When Lizzie was done, Mr. Bixby smiled. “You’ve pretty much nailed it with that list. Barney is a perfect example of a wirehaired dachshund.” Lizzie thought she saw the hint of a smile.

  “I don’t mind barking,” Mrs. Bixby said. “Goodness, my husband barks all the time. I think he and Barney have a lot in common.”

  Mr. Bixby and Barney both stared at Mrs. Bixby, and Lizzie had to laugh. They both wore the same expression, down to the wild eyebrows.

  “They have a lot to say,” Mrs. Bixby added, “and they both keep saying it until someone listens.”

  Lizzie coughed to hide another laugh.

  “My wife might have a point,” Mr. Bixby said. This time, Lizzie was sure he was smiling. “Anyway, his barking wouldn’t bug anyone around here.” Mr. Bixby crouched down and put out his hand. Lizzie let go of the leash, and Barney made his way over to the older man. He sniffed his hands and licked his fingers.

  “We live at the end of this road,” Mrs. Bixby explained, pointing to the long, gravel lane. “Our house backs on a fenced orchard. There’s no one else around for miles. He could bark, he could dig, he could run around outside all he wants.”

  “He wouldn’t be bored. We’re outside all the time: picking apples, pruning trees, working in the orchard,” Mr. Bixby said. His long, thin fingers swept over Barney’s back again and again.

  “And I guess he would certainly help let us know when customers arrive at the farm stand!” Mrs. Bixby added.

  Lizzie and Maria looked at each other, grinning. “That’s just what we were thinking,” said Lizzie. “That’s how we got the idea in the first place.”

  Lizzie had thought that she would have to convince the couple to adopt Barney. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Bixby were the ones trying to convince Lizzie.

  “But what about Barney’s other family?” asked Mrs. Bixby, frowning. “What about that cute little girl? She seemed to really love this pup. What happened to them?”

  “They do love Barney, but they decided he wasn’t the right dog for them right now,” Lizzie said.

  Mr. Bixby slowly nodded his head. Then he shook it ever so slightly. “From what I saw, I think that was the right decision,” he said, looking at the ground. “Dachshunds and toddlers aren’t always a good mix, and of course we would make sure that Barney didn’t bother any of our younger customers. But I feel bad. Giving him up had to be hard. Especially for the little girl.”

  “Well, I know they would love to come visit him sometimes,” Lizzie said. “If you would be okay with that.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Bixby said. “They can come by our house anytime. Or they can visit us here at the farm stand.”

  “We’ll give them free doughnuts whenever they come,” Mr. Bixby added. “Least we can do.”

  Charles had been standing nearby, holding Buddy’s leash. Now he perked up. “Can we please get some doughnuts, too?” he asked. “I mean, now that everything’s been decided about Barney’s new forever home.”

  Everybody laughed.

  Mr. Bixby looked at Lizzie, eyebrows raised. “Has it been decided?” he asked.

  “I guess it has,” Lizzie said. She felt tears pop into her eyes as she watched Mr. Bixby bend down to scoop Barney up into his arms.

  “Let’s celebrate!” Mrs. Bixby said. “Doughnuts for everyone, on the house.”

  Charles rushed forward, and Maria and Kathy followed him toward the doughnut case.

  Lizzie hung back for a moment, watching Mrs. Bixby hand out doughnuts while Mr. Bixby held Barney, cradling him in his arms to support his back. Mom came over to give Lizzie a hug, and they both smiled as they saw the little pup lick the old man’s face.

  I have a feeling I’m going to be very happy here.

  “Another puppy finds a forever home,” said Mom, giving Lizzie a squeeze. “Barney wasn’t easy, but I know you’ll miss him.”

  “I sure will,” said Lizzie. It was never easy saying good-bye to a foster puppy—even one as wild as Barney—but she was positive that she had found him the best possible home. She smiled up at her mom. “Now, let’s go get our doughnuts!”

  I love to hug my dog, Zipper—but did you know that some dogs really don’t enjoy being hugged? If you pay attention to their body language, they’ll let you know. If your dog pulls away, looks frightened or uncomfortable (ears back, whites of eyes showing, trembling, or panting are all signs), or even growls or shows her teeth, she might not like what you’re doing. Of course, you should never hug a dog you don’t know! It’s better to start off by letting a new dog sniff your hand. Then you can pet the dog gently if the owner says it’s okay.

  Dear Reader,

  I think wirehaired dachshunds are the cutest! I’m more of a big-dog person, but if I were ever to get a little dog, I would consider a dog like Barney. I used to know a wirehaired dachshund named Simon, and he was like a big dog in a little dog’s body. He really did remind me of a cartoon character the way he bounced around—and I loved his funny, furry face! I think a dog like that would keep me laughing every day.

  For another book about a dachshund, try Ziggy. If you like reading about horses, try Rascal. (That’s the book where Lizzie takes riding lessons with Kathy.) And if you want to learn more about dog body language, you might like Rusty!

  Yours from the Puppy Place,

  Ellen Miles

  Charles leaned against a tree, panting. “How much farther, Dad?” he asked.

  Dad laughed. “Almost there,” he said. “I know, it’s tough going with all this snow.”

  Charles bent down to scoop up a handful of the clean, fresh white snow. He bit into it, letting the cold flakes fill his mouth and melt into a sip of water. “You didn’t tell me we were going on a huge hike.”

  His father laughed again. “It only feels huge the first time. You’ll get used to it. And it’ll be worth it, you’ll see.” He ruffled Charles’s hair. “I’m really glad you came with me, sport. We’re going to have a lot of fun, and I know Steve will be happy for the help. Plus, we’ll be here for Steve’s annual Spring Fling Wing-Ding.”

  “His what?” Charles asked.

  “It’s a big open house party Steve throws every year, to celebrate maple sugaring time and the end of winter,” Dad explained. “It’s always a blast.” He started off again, and Charles followed him, plodding along on his snowshoes.

  It was spring break time, and Charles Peterson and his dad were on a special father-son trip together. Yesterday, the two of them had driven for hours to get to Vermont, where an old college friend of Dad’s lived. Charles had heard a lot about Steve, and he had even met him when Steve had come to visit one time, back when Charles was only a little kid. But he had never been to Steve’s place in Vermont.

  On the way up, Dad had told Charles how Steve lived all by himself, way back in the woods, in a tiny cabin. He didn’t even have a driveway—at least, not in winter. As soon as the snow began to pile up, he skied or snowshoed his way home whenever he went anywhere, parking his truck at the end of a trail through the woods. Steve made his living as a carpenter, but in late winter and early spring he spent his time sugaring—making maple syrup from the trees that surrounded his cabin.

  “It must be about ten years since I’ve come up here to help at sugaring time,” Dad was saying now, as he and Charles slogged their way up the snowy trail. “But I’m sure nothing has changed. Steve still makes his syrup the old-fashioned way, all by hand. It’s a lot of work, and he can always use help.”

  Charles didn’t know much about making maple syrup, even though Dad had tried to explain it during their drive. He’d been too sleepy to pay attention to the details, but he knew the basics: at the end of winter, the sap in maple trees starts to rise. If you collect it and boil it down, you get maple syrup. Charles loved
maple syrup. What was better than a plate of pancakes drowning in a golden-brown puddle of sweetness? That was exactly what they’d had for breakfast that morning at the inn where they were staying. Charles’s stomach rumbled just thinking about those pancakes. With all this hiking, his breakfast had already worn off, and his tummy was empty.

  “I’m hungry, Dad,” he said.

  “We’re almost there,” Dad said. “Steve promised he would have some lunch ready for us.”

  “I didn’t think it was going to be so snowy,” Charles said as he trudged through the soft, wet drifts. They were following Steve’s well-packed snowshoe trail, but Charles still punched through, his whole snowshoe pushing down past the top layer of snow until he was in up to his knees on every third or fourth step. Each time, it was a struggle to pull his snowshoes back out. He could feel the cold wetness soaking through his boots and into his socks.

  “I didn’t, either,” Dad admitted. “Steve told me they’d gotten a lot of snow this year, but I figured most of it would be melted away by now, the way it is at home. I always forget how much colder it is up here, and how much more snow they get. Even at this time of year. Steve says there’s always at least one big storm in March.” He stopped to catch his breath. “But look, isn’t it beautiful?” He held out his arms and gazed all around. “The bare trees, the shining snow, the bright blue sky, those puffy white clouds . . . and it’s so quiet! This is how I always remember Steve’s woods.”

  Charles looked around. Dad was right, it was beautiful. He liked the feeling of the cold snow beneath him and the warm sun above. “Is that a sap bucket?” he said. “We must be getting closer.” He pointed to a big, gnarled tree just off the path. Hanging from it was a silver bucket with a lid.

  “The welcome tree!” Dad said. “This is always the first one Steve taps.” He showed Charles where a metal spout had been pushed into a small hole drilled into the tree. The bucket was hanging from the spout. “Hear that?”

  “What?” Charles asked.

  Dad put his fingers to his lips. “Listen,” he said.