Webster

by Ellen Emerson White

  To his shock, the Bad Hat almost started crying, too.

  “Hey, come on, cheer up, little man,” he said. “Everything’s okay. One of these days, it’s going to be your turn, too.”

  Jack kept crying.

  “You’re really cute,” the Bad Hat said. “People won’t be able to resist you. Seriously.”

  Jack wept even harder. “They’ve been resisting me for months. No one is ever going to love me.”

  It was hard to disagree with that, when the Bad Hat felt the exact same way. But, then again, Jack was actually friendly and eager to be chosen by someone—which would have to help him be able to find a new home.

  The sadness must have been contagious, because within a minute or two, almost every single dog in the kennels was crying. Sobbing, even.

  In fact, the truth was, the Bad Hat curled up on his bed in a tight ball, and cried, too.

  A little.

  Maybe.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Bad Hat wasn’t sorry that he, personally, hadn’t gotten adopted—even though the little boy and his parents had seemed nice and fun and genuine. But, because all of the other dogs wanted so much to find homes, and people who would love them—and maybe none of them would ever get adopted, which was really, really awful—he cried. And cried. And then, cried some more.

  After listening to nonstop weeping throughout the kennels for what felt like a really long time, he finally heard a tiny stump, stump, skitter, skitter coming down the hall.

  “It’s okay, everyone,” Florence said, in soothing meows. “Josephine is going to be very happy, and you all will find homes someday, too. Joan and Thomas will make sure of that. So, please don’t be upset.”

  No one stopped crying.

  “And there are some positively brilliant liver-flavored biscuits baking in the kitchen,” Florence said. “I’m sure Monica will bring them in here for all of you, while they’re still warm, and they will taste delicious. And then, everyone can go out to the meadow, and run and run until the sun goes down.”

  The dogs kept crying. Whimpering. Wailing. Sobbing. Wrenching, terrible, heart-breaking sobs.

  The Bad Hat heard Florence sigh. Then, she stumped over to his door—and looked stunned.

  “Are you crying, too, Bad Hat?” she asked.

  Caught in the act. “Nope,” the Bad Hat said, and was embarrassed that his bark cracked and sounded squeaky. He quickly got up, shook himself all over, and tried not to sniffle audibly as he strode to the door. “I’m too cool to cry.”

  “Maybe you have allergies,” Florence said kindly.

  That was it. Allergies! The Bad Hat nodded. “Yeah, it’s the pollen, that’s all. Or—leaves. Autumn leaves bother me. Are the cats crying, too?”

  “Most of them, yes,” Florence said.

  Wow. “Does this happen every time someone gets adopted?” the Bad Hat asked.

  Florence sighed again. “I’m afraid so. It’s worse for the ones who have been here for a long time, although some of them, like Cole, have given up on ever finding a home. So, they just shrug it off, and pretend they don’t care, and in some ways, that’s even more sad.”

  He had never thought of it that way, but maybe it was true. It was hard to decide what was worse—having hopes that never came true, or having no hopes at all. “Do you think those people will be good to Josephine?” he asked.

  Florence nodded. “Indubitably. Their application and references were very carefully checked, and there will be home visits to make sure. Also, the adopters have to promise that if, for any reason, it isn’t working out, they will bring the animal back here. No one will ever end up in a public shelter again.”

  The Bad Hat didn’t believe that, but he was sure that Joan and Thomas meant well, and always tried as hard as they could to make things work out.

  “Who is the most upset?” Florence asked.

  The Bad Hat motioned with his head in the direction of Jack’s cage.

  “Okay, thank you,” Florence said, and limped over to the kennel next door, where Jack was still sobbing miserably. “Jack,” she said. “You are adorable and charming. You will be adopted. I promise.”

  “I was jumping really high, and doing spins in the air, and they didn’t even care,” Jack said, through his tears.

  “Of course they cared,” Florence said. “But, their application for Josephine had already been approved, so she was going home with them.”

  Jack kept crying.

  “When you do get adopted, Jack, I’ll be the one sitting here weeping,” Florence said. “Because you are my dear friend, and I shall miss you terribly. But, I’ll be glad, too, because you will be going off to a wonderful new life.”

  Jack sniffled so hard that he sneezed. “I’ll miss you, too, Florence. And be really sad that you’re unadoptable.”

  Not that he was eavesdropping or anything, but the Bad Hat laughed.

  “Right, I forgot,” Jack said. “The Bad Hat says that Joan is, like, your person, and that you are already adopted.”

  Florence laughed, too. “The Bad Hat may have a little bit of cat in him.”

  Oh, gross. No way. “I am all dog,” the Bad Hat said. “In fact, I’m a dog and a half! All other dogs bow before me.”

  Duke—who had been crying in his kennel across the corridor—perked up. “They actually bow? How’d you manage that? Florence, you’re not going to rename him King, are you? Because I’m still trying to work my way back up.”

  “No, he’s the Bad Hat,” Florence said. “It rather suits him.”

  Raw-ther. The British accent cracked him up, so the Bad Hat laughed again.

  “Don’t worry, Duke,” Florence said, ignoring that. “You may still try to earn your promotion.”

  “Whew,” Duke said, and flopped back down on his bed.

  The connecting door to the house opened, and the smell of baked liver and cheese and other good things came wafting into the hall.

  “Oh my, so much howling and yowling back here,” Monica said, in her friendly way. “What a ruckus you dear little things are making. But, you’re all going to have some nice biscuits now, and cheer up.”

  At least six of the dogs yelled, “Biscuits! Biscuits! Biscuits!”—and now, everyone was barking instead of crying.

  Since he was so very resistant to congeniality and the Ways of the Civilized World, the Bad Hat stubbornly decided not to eat his fresh dog biscuits right away. In fact, he lasted almost two full minutes before devouring them.

  Then, a couple of volunteers whose names he didn’t know came in and took turns leading everyone outside to the meadow. The dogs mostly forgot how unhappy they had been, and romped energetically. Except for a little bit of goofing around with Jack, the Bad Hat was determined to keep to himself. But, when Rachel, a grey-and-white Greyhound mix, challenged him to a race, he took her up on it.

  She was fast. The Bad Hat realized that he wasn’t going to be able to keep pace, so he gave her back hip a quick bump with his shoulder. It knocked her off balance, and she slowed down enough to stare at him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  Wasn’t it obvious? The Bad Hat shrugged. “I hate to lose.”

  Rachel looked puzzled. “But, that’s cheating.”

  Was it? Not really. “No, it’s gamesmanship,” the Bad Hat said. “It’s not the same at all.”

  Rachel narrowed her eyes. “What’s the difference?”

  It was a jock thing, and someone either got it, or not. She seemed to fall right smack into the not category. “I wanted to win, but you were faster, so I knocked you down,” the Bad Hat said.

  Rachel frowned. “Just like that?”

  Yep.

  Lancelot, who was jumping around with a skinny little Spaniel mix named Matilda, laughed. “Dude, that is so totally twisted. You’re going to be a really good villain.”

  Oh, yeah. He was going to be a fabulous villain. And a ne’er-do-well, and a punk, and all of that other great stuff.

>   The rest of the dogs kept playing, but after a while, the Bad Hat wandered over to the fence by himself. He stood there, gauging the height. It looked pretty high, but it really wasn’t. He would need a running start, but if he put a good effort into it, he could almost certainly jump high enough to be able to scramble over the top and escape.

  Which was, of course, his goal, but did he want to do it today? Right after everyone had finally stopped crying? Maybe he should bide his time.

  Not that they would all go to pieces, if he left—but, still. This wasn’t the right moment.

  Jack bounced over next to him. “What’s up, buddy?”

  Buddy? Okay, definitely not today. He didn’t want to have Jack dissolve into tears twice in less than an hour. “Just thinking,” he said.

  Jack shrugged. “Okay. You sure do that a lot, Bad Hat. But, want to chase our tails, instead? That would be so fun.”

  There were worse ways to spend an hour, yeah. “I’ll watch you, little man,” the Bad Hat said. “Then, maybe I’ll join in.”

  “Okay!” Jack said. He chased his tail in one direction, stopped to scratch for a few seconds, and then chased his tail wildly in the other direction.

  “That’s a pretty dumb game,” the Bad Hat said.

  Jack reversed direction, and chased his tail some more. “That’s probably why it’s fun.”

  Well, yeah. Dog games had never been famous for their complexity. The Bad Hat liked to think of himself as being unusually intelligent and clever—but, that didn’t make it true.

  “Can I climb on your back and look around?” Jack asked. “See what it’s like to be big?”

  What? No! “Of course you can’t,” the Bad Hat said.

  “Come on, colleague, bend your legs a little, so I can climb up,” Jack said impatiently.

  He was never going to live down the colleague crack, was he? The Bad Hat sighed, and lowered his front paws and shoulders. “Fine. But, just for a minute.”

  “Yay!” Jack said, and scrabbled his way up.

  The Bad Hat winced. “Ow. You need to have your claws clipped.”

  “I know,” Jack said, very cheerful. “I was really bad the last time they tried, so they postponed it.”

  Great. The dog stood patiently, resisting the urge to shake Jack off.

  Jack looked around, balancing precariously, digging those annoying claws in. “Wow, it must be cool to be this tall.”

  Yeah. Although the Bad Hat was pretty sure he would be cool no matter how big he was.

  Jack enjoyed the view for a while longer, and then jumped down to the grass. “Want to chase our tails some more?”

  Why not. “Sure,” the Bad Hat said—and that was what they did, until it was time to go inside again.

  • • •

  After midnight, all of the animals gathered in the den for snacks and movies. They watched E.T.—which made most of them cry again, during the sad scenes. But, it was still a really good movie, and the dog was glad they had chosen it. Next, they watched a movie called The Blind Side —which was about football, and so, in the Bad Hat’s opinion, a fine viewing choice.

  They were going to watch a third movie, but it was close to dawn, and it would take a while for everyone to get back to their kennels without being seen. So, they made sure that the television was off, the kibble bags were dragged out of sight, and the room looked neat and orderly, as though none of them had ever been in there.

  “I liked the movies,” Jack said drowsily from his bed.

  Hard to disagree with that. The snacks had been good, too. “Yep,” the Bad Hat said, and decided that he sounded just like a cowboy. All terse, and laconic, and heroically aloof.

  “Do you really think Josephine will be happy?” Jack asked.

  “Yup,” the Bad Hat said. Did he want to be a cowboy, instead of a villain? Maybe, yeah. Although it was so hard to choose.

  “That’s good,” Jack said, and yawned. “Someday, we will be, too. See you tomorrow, best friend. I mean, colleague!”

  In spite of his better instincts, that made the Bad Hat smile. “You bet, little man,” he said.

  • • •

  It was colder the next day, but they were still all eager to run in the meadow for most of the morning. Then, it was time for lunch, and long naps. Thomas came to get the Bad Hat at one point, and brought him to the examination room, for a quick checkup by Dr. K., who reported that his ribs were healing beautifully. The Bad Hat didn’t go out of his way to be friendly, but he cooperated with the exam and stood without moving the entire time. He was very glad, though, when it was time to go back to his kennel for another nap.

  After supper was over—they had hamburger and yoghurt with their kibble!—the dogs were restless, because everyone could feel a storm coming. It was going to be something called a nor’easter, which the Bad Hat thought was a mighty fancy Yankee way to describe a little wind and rain. He wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but the rest of the animals were edgy, and for once, MacNulty wasn’t the only one pacing around.

  So far, there was just a cool breeze in the air, and it was drizzling a little, and the Bad Hat had no trouble nodding off.

  But, around ten o’clock, the rain really started coming down and the wind intensified. It was a serious downpour now, and the pressure from the wind made the Bad Hat’s ears hurt. They all stayed inside the warm, enclosed parts of their kennels, and away from the outdoor runs. The storm was a lot more powerful than the Bad Hat had expected, and he was glad to be indoors.

  To make matters worse, right before midnight, the power went out, and it was suddenly completely dark.

  “Oh, no,” MacNulty groaned. “No movies or TV tonight.”

  That was disappointing, but then again, the Bad Hat felt snug and sleepy on his soft bed. So, it might be okay to have a full night’s rest for once. One thing he had learned during the past couple of days was that afternoon naps just didn’t make up for gallivanting and hobnobbing all night, every night.

  After a while, Thomas and Joan came through the corridor, holding flashlights and battery-powered lanterns. They checked every kennel to make sure that all of the dogs were okay, and stopped to comfort some of the more anxious ones. Matilda was shivering uncontrollably, and by craning his neck, the Bad Hat saw Joan strap her into some kind of little jacket. Once she was wearing it, Matilda wagged her tail and settled down onto her bed.

  “That’s a ThunderShirt,” Jack said. “Makes bad weather seem less scary.”

  Which made no sense. “How does it do that?” the Bad Hat asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “One time, during a thunderstorm, I pretended I was all upset, so I could try one on.”

  That figured. “Did you like it?” the Bad Hat asked.

  Jack thought about that. “Well, it was snug, so that was sort of nice. But then, it got wicked hot, and I had to pitch a fit so they would take it off me.”

  These New England animals loved using the word “wicked” to describe things. It was peculiar. But, the image of Jack kicking and writhing and making a scene—in a too-tight jacket—was pretty funny.

  After a while, even the really nervous dogs relaxed, and the Bad Hat fell asleep to the sound of pounding rain and howling winds. Thomas and Joan had left two of the battery-powered storm lanterns in the hall, so it wasn’t as dark and spooky anymore.

  He wasn’t sure what time it was when a violent crashing sound woke him up. Then, something heavy smashed into his kennel so hard that it felt like the whole building shook.

  He leaped to his feet, barking out a fierce “Whoa!”

  All around him, the other dogs had also woken up. Everyone was asking what happened, and if anyone was hurt.

  “I think a branch fell,” Lancelot said. “There’s leaves and stuff in my run.”

  “There’s leaves and stuff in my water dish,” Jack said. “Yuck! How am I going to drink it, when it’s all gross like that?”

  “I think it’s a tree,” MacNulty said. “It looks
like there’s a tree on top of my kennel.”

  The Bad Hat peeked out through his swinging door, not sure what to expect. But, it was definitely a fallen tree, and it had pretty much crushed his section of chain link fence. There were so many branches and leaves that he couldn’t see into the exercise runs on either side.

  “You okay, little man?” he asked. “You okay, MacNulty?”

  They both yelled, “Yes!”—which was a relief.

  “Looks like you got the worst of it, Bad Hat,” MacNulty said. “Mine isn’t so messed up.”

  “Mine’s okay, too,” Jack said. “Except for my water, which is, like, ruined. I hope I can wait until morning, for them to clean it out.” He coughed experimentally. “But, I don’t know. I’m suddenly wicked thirsty.”

  Such a baby. Weren’t Terriers supposed to be tough? “My fence is broken,” the Bad Hat said.

  “Wow,” one of the dogs from across the hall said. “You’re lucky it only fell outside. Your whole cage could have been smashed, and you, along with it!”

  What a comforting thought. The Bad Hat wormed his way through some of the thick, wet branches and saw that the end of his kennel had been torn off completely from the force of the tree landing on top of it. So, the kennel was now open.

  Open.

  Inviting him.

  Beckoning.

  “The fence isn’t attached anymore,” he said slowly.

  “That’s okay,” MacNulty said. “They’ll fix it in the morning.”

  With the fence gone, the wind—and the meadow—smelled even more fresh and tantalizing than usual.

  “I could get out,” the Bad Hat said.

  In fact, he could get out easily. Be free, and independent. He ventured forward a few steps, careful not to let his paws touch any of the sharp metal ends sticking up from the torn chain-link fencing.

  “Don’t do it, man,” MacNulty said, in a low warning voice.

  “Come on, it’s right there in front of me,” the Bad Hat said. “Like a sign. And I’m an adventurer.”

  “Fine, whatever,” MacNulty said. “But, don’t be an idiot, too.”

  Was he really supposed to resist such a perfect opportunity? The Bad Hat shook his head and climbed over a pile of wet branches.