by Daphne Maple
“I have a new project I’m working on,” Alice announced. Boxer ran up and threw himself down at Alice’s feet. She knelt to give him a good belly scratch and continued. “All the publicity we’ve gotten in the past few weeks has led to some organizations reaching out to us to see if we have room to take in new dogs, especially shelters that haven’t adopted a no-kill policy.”
“You mean shelters that put down the animals if they are there too long,” Kim said darkly.
Alice sighed and her eyes were sad. “There are so many stray animals that shelters get full,” she said. “Like we are here. And so some shelters choose to put down animals that haven’t been adopted.”
“It’s awful,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. The thought of innocent animals being killed because they couldn’t find a home made me both furious and sad. Lily, sensing my distress, came over and looked up at me with her sweet brown eyes. I sat on the floor and hugged her close.
“It’s a hard situation,” Alice said. “But I agree with you, Bri. Killing animals is not the answer. Finding them homes is. Which is why I want to start a fostering program.”
I liked the idea of a solution that saved pets, but I wasn’t sure what fostering was. And I could tell by the way Taylor was frowning and Sasha was pulling on a stray curl that I wasn’t alone.
“That’s when people take in animals on a short-term basis, while permanent homes are found for them, right?” Kim asked. Missy and Humphrey had settled down on either side of her and she was petting them both.
Alice nodded. I wasn’t surprised that Kim knew this because she seemed to know everything when it came to dogs.
“That’s right,” Alice said. “I’m hoping we can find people willing to host dogs for a month or two. We’ll ramp up our advertising, both to find foster families and to find people who will ultimately adopt the dogs.”
“Can foster families adopt the dogs they take in?” Tim asked. He was throwing a ball for Hattie, Daisy, Popsicle, Tuesday, and Mr. S, but was still following the conversation.
“Yes, absolutely,” Alice said. “One of the great things about a fostering program is that families who are considering getting a pet can try it out for a month or two and see how it works for them. Often they fall in love with the animal they’ve taken in and start the process to adopt.”
“That sounds like a happy ending,” Sasha said. Gracie dropped a blue plastic bone at her feet and Sasha gave it a toss across the big room. Gracie, Waffles, and Gus raced after it.
“Yes, exactly,” Alice said. “That’s what I’m hoping for, a bunch of happy endings. The shelters that have contacted me are hoping for that too. So the sooner we start finding foster homes for the dogs who need them, the better.”
“What can we do to help?” I asked. Lily was still nestled in next to me and I rubbed her head with my knuckles.
Alice grinned at me, which made me happy I’d asked. “We’re going to design flyers and then put them up everywhere,” she said. “And I was hoping you’d be willing to ask your mom to put one up at the Pampered Puppy. I know there are a lot of dog lovers there and I bet some would be willing to help a dog in need.”
My body tensed up at the request and Lily, feeling the change, burrowed in even closer to me. “Um, sure,” I said, hearing how fake my voice sounded. Luckily no one seemed to notice.
“I’ll put one up at the Rox,” Kim said.
“And I know my mom will put some up at her law firm,” Sasha said, while Taylor nodded. Sasha’s mom was an environmental lawyer and Taylor’s dad worked with her. They were old law school friends and enjoyed trying cases together. Their office would be a good place to post notices about the fostering program since they had a lot of clients.
“I’ll help put them around town,” I said, relieved to have the focus off the Pampered Puppy. “We all will.”
“Definitely,” Taylor agreed, while Kim and Sasha nodded.
“We’ll post a bunch at the high school,” Caley said. “And I’ll see if we can pass them out with the programs for the fall musical.”
“Oh, great idea,” Alice said. “I’m glad everyone can help, not that I’m surprised.” She smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “I know we all want to do everything we can to help save these dogs.”
We all nodded.
“Now we just have to design the flyers,” Alice said.
“Bri can help with that,” Taylor said immediately. “She’s great at art and graphic design.”
Her words made me feel warm all over. It was true that I really liked drawing and using the computer to design things.
“Bri, I didn’t know that,” Kim said.
“You should make us a logo for the flyers,” Taylor said, grinning at me.
“I’d love to do that,” I said, twisting my hands shyly. “I can start working on it tonight.”
“That would be wonderful,” Alice said. “The sooner we have flyers ready, the better.”
“Perfect,” Taylor said, giving me a thumbs-up.
I smiled at her gratefully. Taylor really had my back. I didn’t even remember telling her about my interest in art, since it was mostly something I did by myself at home. But here she was, giving me the chance to use it for the club. She really was the best.
Just then the door opened and a small reddish-tan furry head with pointed ears and a fox face poked in, followed by a slightly frazzled-looking young woman. “Stay, Jinx,” she said to the little fox dog.
But Jinx had spotted the toys, the dogs, and the wide open space, and was ready to go. Her nails scraped on the floor as she tried to escape her leash and join in the fun.
“Hi, I’m Alice, and this is Kim, Sasha, Taylor, and Bri, the Roxbury Park Dog Club members,” Alice said with a smile. “And our high school volunteers Tim and Caley. Welcome.”
“Thanks, and great to meet all of you,” the woman said. “Sasha, I’m Violet; we spoke a few times.”
“Right,” Sasha said, all business. “We’re happy to have Jinx here for her first visit to the club.”
“I think she’s eager to get started,” Violet said with a sheepish grin as Jinx tried to make another break for it.
Kim bent down and held out her hand for Jinx to sniff. Then she began to pet Jinx, rubbing gently behind her furry ears. “Sit,” Kim said kindly but firmly, and Jinx sat.
“Kim is our dog whisperer,” Sasha said.
Violet looked impressed. “She really is,” she said. “It normally takes me three tries and a doggy treat to get Jinx to do anything I say.”
“I can give you some pointers if you want,” Kim offered.
“I’d love that,” Violet said. “Jinx is a real sweetie, but getting her to come to me in the dog park can be a true exercise in patience.”
We all laughed at that.
“You can let her off the leash whenever you’re ready,” Kim said.
Violet released Jinx, who took a moment to see what looked like the best game, then ran over to join Tim, Boxer, Hattie, and Coco playing fetch with Boxer’s Frisbee. The other dogs took a moment to sniff Jinx, who sniffed back good-naturedly. Then Tim tossed the Frisbee and the playing began.
“She fits right in,” Violet said happily.
It really was easy for dogs to make new friends. You could tell Jinx wasn’t feeling like a fourth wheel at all.
“She does,” Taylor agreed, taking out her camera and snapping some pictures. “We put photos on our blog after every meeting. Is it okay if I put up some of Jinx?”
“That’d be great,” Violet said. “I’d love to see her in action.”
“We post in the Dog Club Diary after every meeting too,” Sasha said. Kim was in charge of that. “So you know exactly what Jinx does when she’s with us.”
“Great,” Violet said, smiling. “She’s my baby and I’m relieved to know she’ll be having fun while I’m at work.”
“We can pretty much guarantee she’ll enjoy herself,” Taylor said as Jinx raced past looking utterl
y blissful.
“You can leave her with us for the rest of the afternoon,” Sasha said, sounding professional. “And as long as it all goes well, she can become a regular member of the club. Let me tell you about our pickup service and also our new fostering program in case you know anyone who might be interested.”
Sasha was going to be a great businesswoman when she grew up. I never would have thought to mention the fostering, but it was a great idea. The more people who learned about our new program the better.
Sasha led Violet toward Alice’s office.
“Who wants to go outside?” Kim asked.
“Good idea,” Caley said, looking around at the groups of dogs frisking around the room.
“I’ll go,” I said.
“Not so fast, Bri,” Tim said, hands on his hips. “Or are you scared that this is the day I upset your record in doggy basketball?”
“No way,” I said, laughing. “Let’s play some doggy basketball.”
3
I was tired when I got home that night, but my coaching record in doggy basketball remained unbroken. That and all the fun with the dogs had me in a good mood when I walked into the dark house. I usually got home before my mom and it was my job to start dinner. When my dad was around he got home even later, but he was generally gone two weeks of every month on trips for work. Though now he was away for even longer: three whole weeks traveling between Singapore, China, and Japan. He always brought me back great presents, and when he went to China he came home with spices we used for the stir-fries and clay pot casseroles my mom made. But that didn’t make up for how much I missed him when he was away. He tried to video chat with us at night, even if he had to get up early to do it, but it wasn’t the same as having him here.
The house was cold so after I switched on the lights I turned up the heat. Not surprisingly the living room and connected dining room were spotless. My mom liked everything neat at all times. But our house was homey too, with a squashy green sofa and two plush armchairs in the living room, Chinese scrolls depicting flowers and mountains on the walls, and a thick rug that kept my feet toasty even in winter, since we never wore shoes inside.
I headed past the big oak table that could seat eight but usually just sat me and my mom, and into the kitchen that was, of course, gleaming. My mom loved to cook, but she cleaned as she went so there were never piles of dishes on the counter.
I checked the whiteboard on the fridge where my mom wrote out the dinner schedule and saw that tonight was sautéed eggplant and fried pork over rice. I got the rice started in the cooker and was just pulling the eggplant out of the fridge when my mom came in.
I heard her hang up her coat, put her shoes away, and put on the slippers that she wore around the house. Then she padded into the kitchen. I was short, but my mom was what my dad called petite, so I was nearly as tall as she was, which was kind of cool.
“Hi, Bun,” she said, planting a kiss on my cheek. Bun was her nickname for me, short for our favorite dessert, steamed sweet bean paste buns. “How was your day?”
“Good,” I said, getting out a cutting board. “I think I did well on my English quiz. There was a trick question about the conch, but I’m pretty sure I got it right.” We’d just started reading Lord of the Flies in Mrs. Benson’s class and so far it was really good.
“Nice work,” my mom said. She was slicing up the pork. “It’s satisfying to be prepared and then do well, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, trying not to sigh. Being prepared was one of my mom’s favorite things to lecture about.
“I loved that book when I was young,” my mom went on. “It makes you think a lot about human nature.”
“That’s what Mrs. Benson said too,” I agreed. I was peeling the eggplant, the skin coming off in long, thin strips.
“Maybe I missed my calling as an English teacher,” my mom said with a smile.
“You’d run a tight ship, just like Mrs. Benson,” I said.
“Yes,” my mom said, like this was a compliment. Which it kind of was, since Mrs. Benson’s class was actually my favorite.
“Rules are important,” my mom went on. “People need routine and structure to succeed. Dogs too.”
Uh-oh. This was exactly what I didn’t want to talk about. But once my mom got on this topic, it was pretty much impossible to stop her.
“Dogs are happiest when they get training and proper stimulation,” my mom went on. She’d prepared a plate of flour with spices and was rolling the pork strips in the mixture, then setting them in the sizzling wok. She had to talk a bit louder to be heard over the sound, but my mom had a voice that carried.
“Right,” I said. “What time is dad calling?” It was worth a try to see if I could derail her.
“Seven thirty,” my mom said. “And that’s why I don’t understand why you prefer to work at the shelter instead of our dog spa.” There was no derailing. And she said the word shelter like she was saying garbage dump.
“It’s fun and my friends are there,” I said. It wasn’t the first time I’d tried to explain.
“But the dogs just run around, helter-skelter,” my mom said. She sounded genuinely puzzled. “And the facility is falling apart.”
“Mom, you’ve never even been there,” I chided her.
“Yes, but I’ve seen pictures,” my mom said. “The floor is all scratched up, the toys are strewn about. It’s scruffy and unkempt.”
“It’s cozy and comfortable,” I countered. “We have a great time with the dogs and they have a great time with us.”
“Yes, but they don’t get trained or groomed,” my mom said. “Their individual needs aren’t taken into account.”
“Their need to play is taken into account,” I said. The eggplant was chopped up into neat cubes, just how my mom liked it. I slid the plate over to her and after she’d taken the pork out of the wok, she put in more sesame oil, then the eggplant, which she covered with minced garlic, ginger, and soy sauce.
“Dogs have more needs than that,” my mother said dismissively as she stirred. “Skills they need to learn and ways they should be challenged. That’s why we evaluate every dog we accept at the Pampered Puppy and create a plan just for that animal.”
“I know,” I said, trying not to be impatient. But we’d had this conversation a thousand times and it was starting to wear on me. Plus I was starving.
“It’s better for the dogs,” my mom said primly, like that was just a given fact instead of her opinion.
Dinner was ready so I got a break as we brought the food into the dining room, along with bowls and chopsticks. But as soon as my mom had served us each a mound of steaming rice, she started in again. “I just don’t understand why you want to waste your time in a second-rate care center like the shelter instead of working with me at the Pampered Puppy,” she said bluntly.
“It’s not second-rate,” I snapped. Then I took a bite of food so I wouldn’t completely lose my temper.
“But Bun, it is,” my mother said. “It’s an unstructured free-for-all that would probably fail a board inspection.”
“The shelter would pass any inspection because it’s clean and the dogs are well cared for,” I said, scooping up more pork. The sooner I was done, the sooner I could go up to my room and end this conversation.
“That setup is an accident waiting to happen,” my mom said firmly. “Plus look at the dogs you take in and how they’re handled. There’s no training at all. And then there are those older dogs who are nearly impossible to teach after years of bad habits. That’s most of the problem right there.”
I thought of sweet Lily, the way she followed me around, came to me when I was upset, and seemed to know how I was feeling much better than my mother did right now. “I love the dogs at the shelter,” I said, suddenly feeling almost tearful. Which was how these conversations always went: my mom pushed until she upset me. Before, I’d get angry and say something I regretted later. But now, when I was working to control what I said, her words ju
st hurt.
My mom waved a hand as though brushing away my words. “You need to spend more time with our dogs who get serious training. It just makes such a difference.”
Lily knowing how I felt was all I cared about. But my mom would never understand that. And this was why I could never ask her to put up a flyer about the shelter’s foster program at the Pampered Puppy.
I’d done everything I could to hide the truth from my friends, but the fact was that my mom looked down on the shelter and nothing I said was going to change her mind.
4
The cafeteria was bustling as usual with friends talking, calling to each other across the tables, and bursting out into loud laughter. Sasha, Kim, Taylor, and I wove our way around stray backpacks and gave a wide berth to the food fight going on at Dennis Cartwright’s table as we headed to our usual spot by a window along the back wall.
“Hey, guys,” our friend Dana said when we arrived. “I brought cookies today.” She, Emily, Naomi, and Rachel sat at the table next to ours and we often shared food.
“Ooh, what kind?” Taylor asked, setting down her tray so she could accept the tin that Dana passed over.
“Lemon cornmeal,” Emily answered. “And they’re delicious.”
Dana grinned. “I’m experimenting with recipes because my little sister wants a cookie birthday party this year.”