New Beginnings

by Laurie Halse Anderson

  Cuddles hops out again and begins to chew on the cord to my desk lamp.

  “No, no, Cuddles,” I say. I quickly unplug the lamp and move the cord up where she can’t reach it. Then she starts pulling the books off our lower shelf with her front paws and chewing on them.

  “My book!” Sophie howls. “She’s ruining my favorite book!”

  I grab the book and shoo Cuddles away from the shelf.

  “I see why your teacher named her Chewie,” Josh says.

  “Okay, Cuddles goes back in her cage until we can bunny proof our room,” I say. I put her back in her cage and latch the lid. Cuddles immediately puts her front paws on the cage and sits up on her hind feet, sniffing at the air as if she wants out again.

  “Look, look!” Sophie laughs. “Cuddles pooped under my bed. I’m not cleaning that up. You have to, Jules!”

  “Fine,” I say. “Josh, could you please bring me a paper towel? But don’t tell Mom why, okay?”

  “Sure,” Josh says. He leaves the room, closing the door behind him again.

  Sophie jumps around the room, chanting, “We have a bunny, we have a bunny!” Cuddles starts to chew on the wire of her cage. Then she chews on the plastic edge of her water bottle, instead of drinking from the little metal pipe.

  “Sophie, quit jumping around. You’re making her nervous,” I say.

  Sophie finally calms down but wants to be right next to the cage. She sits on the carpet in front of Cuddles. Sophie pulls out her homework and a book she brought home from school. Just then, Cuddles chews a big hole through the bottom edge of her water bottle. Water gushes out in spurts right on Sophie’s book, her homework, the carpet, and of course on Sophie.

  Sophie jumps up screaming, “Look what she did!”

  “Shh!” I say, moving Sophie away from Cuddles and the wet mess.

  Josh comes back in. “What’s going on?” he asks.

  “We’re going to need more paper towels,” I whisper.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wednesday morning before school, I clean out Cuddles’s cage and give her fresh food and fresh water in the water bottle I replaced the night before, then Sophie, Josh, and I all take turns petting her. She is so sweet and funny. But I need a backup water bottle or two for now if her chewing continues. I get to science class early so I can ask Mr. Hart where I can buy more.

  “Did she chew through another one already?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “Does she do that often?”

  Mr. Hart nods. “Give her plenty of chew toys. And get her spayed soon.”

  “Right,” I say, “but there’s no rush, is there? Getting her spayed, I mean. If I don’t have any male rabbits around her, she can’t get pregnant, right?”

  “Getting her spayed isn’t just for preventing overpopulation of rabbits. Getting her spayed will keep her calmer. She’ll live a longer, happier, healthier life, too. You still have the coupon for Dr. Mac’s, right?”

  “Yes.” I say. But I’m careful not to promise to use it. Instead, I’m wondering how many weeks’ allowance it will cost me to have her spayed somewhere else. I’d rather not run into Maggie.

  After school, Josh goes to Wrenches & Roses to help Dad, and Sophie and I take Cuddles out of her cage to let her hop around the room.

  We pet her and feed her some carrots and try to keep her from chewing all the wrong things—the bedposts, more books, the comforter hanging from the bed, Sophie’s doll. You name it, Cuddles wants to chew it. I put her back in her cage, then check her new water bottle. Sure enough, she’s chewed a small hole in the new one, too. Water is dribbling out, soaking the clean newspapers I just added to the bottom of her cage.

  “Sophie, can you please go ask Mom if she has any extra newspaper?” I ask.

  “Okay,” Sophie says. She runs out of the room.

  That’s two bottles she’s ruined in less than twenty-four hours. I’ll need to buy a glass water bottle at the pet store. She won’t be able to chew through that. I hope they’re not too expensive.

  “Cuddles,” I tell her, “you’d better behave. We’re not rich, you know.”

  Cuddles tilts her head and twitches her nose, looking cuter than ever.

  “Fine, you’re worth it,” I say. “But no more chewing stuff you’re not supposed to, okay?”

  The shelter is not too far past the pet store. I’ll drop in there today, too, and show them my recommendation letter and ask about volunteering. And I’ll make an appointment for getting Cuddles spayed at the shelter so I can avoid Maggie and her grandmother’s clinic. Sure, it’d be free at Dr. Mac’s and more convenient. And of course it’d be great to be a Vet Volunteer with Sunita and David and Josh, but I don’t think that’d ever be possible after I’ve messed up so much with Maggie. Besides, I don’t need to be a Vet Volunteer to be around lots of animals. I have Cuddles. There are tons of animals in Mr. Hart’s science class, and I can volunteer at the shelter. It’s kind of a long walk to get there, but exercise is good for people and pets.

  I go sit in the back alley, planning my walk and reading over the bunny facts again to see if there is anything else I need to buy at the pet store. I watch and wait, too, to see if the gray tabby is around.

  Sophie sits down next to me with a pile of newspapers.

  “If you sit quietly,” I say, “we can see if the tabby cat will come for a visit.”

  After a few moments Sophie is fidgety and bored, so I read her the bunny facts pamphlet. That quiets her down.

  “Remember, most rabbits do not like to be picked up or held in your lap,” I say.

  “Why not?” Sophie asks.

  “They just don’t,” I say. “And that’s what the pamphlet says.”

  “Oh.”

  “Next, rabbits can be easily litter-box trained.”

  “Like Cuddles,” Sophie says, “except when she poops under the bed.”

  “They are good at grooming themselves,” I say, “but rabbits need to be brushed often and have their nails clipped periodically.”

  “I can brush her,” Sophie says.

  “Okay, great. Let’s see, what else? Their teeth are always growing so they need hard things to chew.”

  I don’t think Sophie will understand the next part so I don’t read it out loud:

  Neutering and spaying prevents or reduces undesirable behavior and increases female rabbits’ life spans.

  I look out over the back parking lot, thinking, Okay, so maybe Cuddles needs to be spayed sooner rather than later to cut down on her chewing. I’ll make an appointment at the shelter right away.

  “Is your tabby cat ever going to come back?” Sophie asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I’m worried about him, but I don’t want to worry Sophie. “He must have found his way home.”

  When I tell Mom I’m going for a walk to the pet store, she insists I take Sophie along and stop at the park for a while, too, so she can play.

  Sophie is all smiles.

  “All right,” I say, “but you have to walk fast and keep up.”

  “I will.”

  When we start walking, I tell Sophie that after the pet store we’re going someplace better than the park.

  “Where?” she asks.

  “To look at the cute dogs and cats at the shelter.”

  “Can we pet them?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes you can pet them. Sometimes you’re only allowed to look. We’ll see when we get there.”

  It’s a long walk to the shelter, but Sophie is a trouper, keeping up with my pace the whole way. The weather is warm, and I should have brought some human water bottles along for us. Luckily, there is a water fountain at the shelter.

  Sophie and I look through the windows at the cats and dogs before I approach anyone at the counter. Even thou
gh we can’t pet them unless we are with our parents, it relaxes me to be here and to see all the animals.

  I work up my courage to approach the man behind the counter. I wonder what I should ask him about first. Volunteering or getting Cuddles spayed? I can’t decide which, and then Sophie distracts me.

  “Look, Jules,” she says. “There’s another room with rabbits and birds and a rat just like Ratty. Let’s go look.”

  I peek through the window. Sophie is right. There are cages of rabbits, some birds, a snake, a lizard, a few hamsters, and a rat. I check the door, but it is locked. I wonder if all the rabbits waiting to be adopted chew on things, too. A teenager with a blue streak in her hair approaches and unlocks the door.

  “Would you like to come in and see the small pets?” she asks.

  “Yes,” Sophie says, turning and giving me her biggest grin.

  Sophie and I enter the room as the girl holds the door open for us. “Thanks,” I say. As we pass, I read her name tag. It says LEAH, and underneath her name it says VOLUNTEER.

  “So, what kind of small animal are you looking for?” Leah asks as she pulls out some portable fencing and begins to set it up.

  “We already have a rabbit,” Sophie says, peeking her nose close to every cage. “Her name is Cuddles.”

  “Cute name,” says Leah. “Just one rabbit, though? Rabbits are very social creatures. They like companionship. I have three rabbits at home.”

  “What are their names?” Sophie asks.

  “Marshmallow, Bert, and Cupcake. They love playing with each other,” Leah says as she opens up the fencing to make a little corral on the floor about four feet wide. She adds a ball, some hard plastic baby toys, an open paper bag, a couple of cardboard boxes, and a cardboard tube.

  “Are you going to play with the rabbits?” Sophie asks.

  “Yes, they need more space than their cages for exercise, and they need to exercise every day. Plus, rabbits are very curious. They love to explore, burrow, shred stuff, and chew.”

  Leah opens one of the smaller cages and carries a bunny that she calls Lolli to the enclosure she made. Lolli makes a couple of excited leaps the moment she has room to play. She sniffs at one of the boxes, gnaws on the corner, then hops on top of it and looks around. Sophie laughs, but Lolli has just gotten started. When Leah adds another rabbit named Sunshine, the two sniff at each other, then chase the ball, each other, and hide out in the paper bag and cardboard tunnel.

  “Our rabbit chews a lot of stuff,” Sophie says. “Her name used to be Chewie.”

  Leah laughs. “That’s a perfect name for a rabbit.” She sits down inside the enclosure and closes it behind her. “Don’t mind me,” she says. “I’m just getting Lolli and Sunshine used to being friendly around people. It increases their chances of being adopted.”

  “You know a lot about rabbits,” I say. “What do you do if your rabbits chew too much? Or if they chew stuff they’re not supposed to?”

  “Well, first off, give them plenty of nontoxic things to chew. Cardboard boxes like this one, an untreated wicker basket, carrots and veggies, of course, gobs of timothy hay, nontoxic wood or baby toys, willow balls, you name it. And believe me, if your bunny is bored, she’ll find something to chew.”

  Sophie and I squat down to watch Lolli and Sunshine hop around.

  “Jules,” Sophie whispers too loudly in my ear. “Let’s take Lolli home to play with instead of Cuddles.” I shake my head and tell her to shush.

  “My rabbit Bert loves to shred phone books,” Leah says. “Give him a phone book and he’s a happy camper, shredding it like it’s his job. Rabbits are full of curiosity, so keep giving your rabbit new toys. I’m always making new agility activities like ramps and cardboard boxes or tubes full of paper for Bert and Cupcake to dig through. They love to chase each other and burrow and toss paper around. Cupcake likes to fetch things and rearrange and bunch up and push her own towel like a home decorator. And Marshmallow? He likes to sit and watch all the antics like a big, sweet lump. Each rabbit has its own personality and temperament. And if they have another rabbit or friendly pet to bond with, they’ll have someone furry to snuggle and play with. Isn’t that right, Lollipop?”

  Lolli rubs her neck and chin against Leah’s hand.

  Sophie leans into my ear again. “We could bring Lolli home to play with Cuddles,” she says. “Two rabbits are better, right?”

  “Of course if you get two or more rabbits,” Leah says, “be sure that they are all spayed or neutered before you put them together, or you’ll have too many bunnies in no time. I’ve read that rabbits can reproduce about once every month with up to ten kits in each litter.”

  “We plan to get Cuddles spayed soon,” I say. “Do you know how much it costs to do it here at the shelter?” I hold my breath, wondering if I can get Mom to pay me for babysitting Sophie. Or how many weeks of my saved allowances this will cost me.

  “They only spay and neuter dogs and cats here. The best place to go for rabbits is Dr. MacKenzie on Main Street,” Leah says.

  “Are there any other vets in town?”

  “Not that I know of,” Leah says, petting Lolli and then Sunshine as she hops by. “Besides, not every vet knows how to care for rabbits. Dr. Mac is the greatest. You really should take your rabbit there.”

  This is not what I was hoping to hear. I start to unzip my backpack pocket, where I put my recommendation letter.

  “How long have you been volunteering at the shelter?” I ask.

  “For about a year—ever since I turned sixteen.”

  “Sixteen?”

  “Yes,” Leah says. “You have to be sixteen or older to volunteer here.”

  “What if you have experience,” I say, “but you’re not sixteen yet?”

  “Then you have to wait. How old are you?”

  “Twelve,” I say, and zip my backpack pocket closed again.

  “Bummer,” Leah says. “That’s a long time to wait.”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Sophie and I thank Leah and let ourselves out of the room because Leah is still inside the enclosure, petting the rabbits. Sophie presses her nose against the window to the small animal room.

  “Bye, Leah. Bye, Lolli. Bye, Sunshine,” she says.

  Leah waves and smiles.

  “Are you sure we can’t take Lolli home?” Sophie asks. “Cuddles would like her.”

  “No, Sophie. One rabbit is expensive enough for now,” I say. Gee, I’m starting to sound like Mom.

  Sophie is disappointed we can’t bring Lolli home, and I’m so disappointed about not being able to volunteer there until I’m sixteen that I almost forget to stop at the pet store.

  “Hey,” Sophie says. “Don’t forget, we need a new water bottle for Cuddles.”

  “Right,” I say.

  The glass water bottles at the pet store cost twice as much as the plastic ones, so I buy just one instead of the two I had planned on. Cuddles better not break this one.

  We look at the rabbit toys and chew sticks, but since I’m spending so much on the water bottle, I decide to try some of Leah’s strategies to entertain Cuddles instead. Maybe Cuddles will like a phone book.

  It’s a long walk back. We stop briefly at the park to rest. Sophie’s so tired that we just sit on a bench, watching other kids play. I don’t know what Sophie is thinking, but I’m thinking I have to get Josh to go with me to make an appointment for Cuddles to get spayed at Dr. Mac’s. I’ll ask him as soon as we get home. With any luck Maggie will still be at basketball practice like she was yesterday afternoon.

  “Come on, Sophie,” I say. “Time to go home and set up Cuddles’s new water bottle and get her some new things to play with.”

  Chapter Twelve

  When we get home, we find Mom painting roses on a WELCOME TO WRENCHES & ROSES si
gn at the kitchen table. Mom’s brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s got pink and green paint smudged on one cheek.

  “Cool sign,” I say. I give her a kiss on her clean cheek.

  I’m thinking I’ll have to bribe Josh somehow to convince him to go with me to Dr. Mac’s. Now would be a perfect time, because Mom looks happily busy.

  “Where’s Josh?” I ask.

  “David called, and Josh went to visit him down the street,” she says. “It’s nice to see him making friends right away.”

  “I don’t know how he does it,” I say.

  Mom sets down her brush and gives me a hug.

  I melt in her arms. I want to tell her how tough this has all been, but she’s got enough worries with the store. So I just say, “Thanks, Mom. I needed that hug.”

  “Me too, sweetie, me too,” she says. Then she pulls away and dabs at my chin with a napkin. “Oopsie, I didn’t mean to get paint on you.”

  “Do you know when Josh will be back?” I ask.

  “I told him to be home by six thirty—in time for dinner.”

  Six thirty! Too late. Dr. Mac’s clinic closes at six o’clock. And when we were there yesterday at five forty-five, Dr. Mac said Maggie would be home any minute. I’d love to peek in on the tiny kittens if they’re still there, but if I want to avoid Maggie, maybe I could just call to make the appointment? Then Josh could take Cuddles in to be spayed, and I can avoid Maggie and the clinic altogether.

  Back in my room, I carefully take Cuddles out of her cage and let her hop around with Sophie watching her. Meanwhile, I set up Cuddles’s new water bottle and clean out the wet cardboard and newspapers from her cracked and dripping old bottle.

  “Don’t let her chew on anything, or tell me if she starts,” I say.

  “Okay,” says Sophie, grinning her biggest smile and happily petting Cuddles. Cuddles looks calm and happy, too, so I take the opportunity to make my call to Dr. Mac’s in the hallway—away from both Mom and Sophie. I punch in the number from the free spay coupon and hope that Maggie is still at practice and won’t answer the phone. I downright dread hearing her voice. If she answers, I’ll just hang up. I hold my breath while it rings—three, four, five times.