Walking the Dog

by Linda Benson

  WEDNESDAYS AND FRIDAYS? No, that’s not going to work at all. I try to think what I can tell Gloria. What excuse I can give her.

  “Sophie and I wanted to work together,” I say. “Besides, her mother wants me to ride my bike up here with her, so she won’t be alone on the road.”

  This might be true. I don’t actually know Sophie’s mother, and she doesn’t seem like the greatest mom in the world, but I’m sure she’d feel better if someone stayed with Sophie on that steep road out there.

  Gloria shakes her head. “We’d like our volunteers to come up on alternate days if possible. That way, the dogs have more of a chance to get outside.” She glances toward the kennel area. “But I guess if you two work as a team, maybe you can get all the dogs out on the days that you both come. How does that sound?”

  It sounds like a big job. But I don’t care, as long as I get the same schedule as Sophie. “Yeah, I’m sure we can do that.”

  I wander back into the dog area. Sophie is already slipping the collar off the little beagle in the front kennel, and then opening the door to get the next dog out.

  What a waste. All these great dogs and nobody wants them.

  “I told Gloria we’re going to work together—as a team.” I shout the words to her. I can barely hear my own voice over the frantic barking of the dogs.

  Sophie attaches the leash to a skinny black Lab. He seems petrified of his surroundings, and his claws scrape on the concrete floor. Sophie pets the dog, talking sweet to him, and I push his rear end. We finally coax him out of the heavy doors and into the fenced grassy area.

  It’s quieter out here in the fresh air. I sit on a wooden bench next to Sophie. The Lab puts his nose to the ground, investigating. “Gloria asked me to come on Wednesdays and Fridays. I told her that I had to come on the same days as you. Because your mother doesn’t want you to ride up here by yourself.”

  “Ha.” Sophie spits the word out. “That’s a laugh. As if my mother even cares what happens to me.”

  “Well, it was sort of a little white lie.”

  Sophie turns her head and looks me square in the eye. “A lie’s a lie, Jared Westin.”

  I should know—I’ve been making up a lot of them lately. “Well, it wasn’t exactly the whole entire truth,” I say.

  “That’s for sure.” Sophie picks up a dog toy and squeaks it with her fingers.

  “How’d you get to be so good with animals?” I ask.

  “I used to stay with my Grandma a lot before she died. She had a ton of animals. Her house was practically a zoo. You know what she told me?”

  “What?”

  “That if you look right straight into an animal’s eyes, you can see its soul.”

  “Do you think animals have souls?” I ask.

  “Of course,” says Sophie. “Everything does. Well, maybe not rocks. But everything living.”

  I shrug my shoulders. I never really thought about this before.

  Sophie squeezes the toy again, and the black Lab turns his head toward the sound. “This dog kind of reminds me of Lester,” she says.

  “Yeah, but he sure doesn’t act like Lester.” I reach for the toy from Sophie. I stand up and throw it across the yard. Instead of chasing it, the Lab cringes and ducks away from me. “He’s scared of everything. He acts like I’m going to hit him. Do you think somebody was mean to him?”

  Sophie doesn’t answer right away. She has that faraway look in her eyes, like when she first arrived at school.

  “Probably.” Sophie’s voice catches in her throat, and she turns her head away from me.

  “Come here, boy.” I tap my hand against my knee, but the dog puts his tail between his legs and runs to the far corner of the pen. “Do you think dogs can get over things like that? Learn to trust people again?”

  Sophie doesn’t answer.

  I can only see the side of her face and I can’t read her expression. But from this angle, with the light glancing off it, I can barely see the scar on her forehead. It looks almost smooth.

  “You know when I told you ‘bout how I got this scar?” she asks.

  It’s spooky, how we think of the same thing at once. “Yeah,” I say. “You fell against the wood stove.”

  “Well, that wasn’t exactly the whole truth either.” The timid black dog slinks in sideways and creeps up alongside of Sophie. She strokes the fur between his ears until he relaxes and lays his head on her lap. Sophie’s talking so quiet now, I can barely hear her. “You know that guy down in Sacramento I told you about—my mother’s boyfriend?”

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah. Him. He got mad at me ‘cause I told him to stop shouting at my mother, and he pushed me into the stove.” Sophie is blinking back tears now, telling it. “It hurt so bad. My head cracked wide open, and I bled all over the rug. You should have seen how much blood…”

  “That freaking dude. If I ever see that guy—” My hands clench into a fist. “—I’d punch his damn lights out.”

  Sophie swallows dry sobs. Her chest heaves in and out. “My mom called an ambulance. She told me to say that I just…fell.”

  “What? Why’d she say that?”

  Sophie just shrugs her shoulders.

  I don’t know what to do. I feel like I should say something to make her feel better, but I don’t know what. So I don’t say anything. I just sit on the bench with Sophie, waiting. The Lab goes back to nosing the ground. His tail moves back and forth in an even rhythm.

  After a long time, maybe five minutes or so, Sophie gets her voice back. “You can’t see the scar very much anymore, can you? Does it look really bad?”

  “No.” I look her straight in the face when I say it. “I think it looks fine. Sometimes you barely notice it.”

  Sophie flashes me her crooked smile. “Is that a little white lie, Jared Westin?”

  “No. It’s the truth,” I say. “God’s honest truth.”

  For once.

  Chapter 15—The Orange Cat

  EACH TIME SOPHIE and I go up to the shelter, some dogs are gone, but there are new ones in the kennels. When I ask Gloria what happened to the ones that we walked and petted, she says some got adopted because of the time we spent with them. It helps them get socialized, she says. That’s just what we were working on with Mr. Gannon’s new dog, Lester.

  I like thinking about those dogs going to new homes. And I have to admit, it’s pretty nice to finally go somewhere without my brother. He usually wants to sleep in anyway. I don’t have any trouble meeting up with Sophie on Mondays and Thursdays. She’s usually there first, riding circles in the apartment parking lot.

  But now Mom’s on this kick that I should spend more time with Pete. “Why don’t you throw a ball for him, teach him how to play baseball?” she suggests.

  I would, but Petey can’t catch. Sometimes we shoot hoops out in the driveway, but I spend more time chasing the basketball down the street than I do playing. Petey doesn’t pay attention and forgets to watch the ball.

  That’s how he broke his arm last year—not paying attention. He should have looked both ways for cars coming before he raced his bike across the street following me. It’s been drummed into us, practically since we were born. Look both ways.

  But no, Petey didn’t look. He didn’t even see the car. He pedaled like crazy right into the street, trying to catch up with me, and he didn’t even look.

  Mom was hysterical afterwards. She kept saying, “Why didn’t you watch him? He’s your only brother. You were in charge.” Over and over, like it was my fault or something.

  I felt sorry for the little kid. I really did. He had to have a big cast on his arm, and it took twenty-two stitches to close the huge gash in his leg. He couldn’t play tetherball for a while or ride his bike. And his arm is still pretty weak.

  I’m actually surprised Mom lets Pete ride his bike at all anymore. When she does, she always drills it into me—again. “You’re the older brother, Jared,” she says. “You need to be aware of where he is at all t
imes.” Like I can keep track of him.

  Now Pete’s becoming a problem in another way. He wants to ride up to the animal shelter with me. I don’t think this is such a hot idea.

  “Have you seen the road up to that place?” I ask my mom. “I have to get off my bike and push it up the hill. And it’s super narrow, with a canyon dropping off one side. If somebody fell down into that canyon, they could be lost for days.”

  “Please, Jared, you don’t need to exaggerate. I think the road is too steep, myself.” Mom wanders around the kitchen, unloading groceries. “I know I’ve been busy lately, but your brother would like to see the dogs and cats. Maybe I could take you up there on Thursday, and he could look around while you do your work.”

  Not on Thursday. Sophie will be there. I have a better plan. “What about today?” Today’s Wednesday. “Why don’t we go up there right now? I could show him all around. There’s a lot of really neat dogs up there.”

  “Right now?” My mom looks doubtful. “I have a planning committee meeting tonight, and I was going to get your dinner started.”

  “Please, Mom.” Pete is so good at whining, it’s disgusting. “Pretty, pretty please, with cherries and cream and rose petals on top.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Oh, all right, let’s go.” Mom grabs her purse off the counter, jingling the keys to the car. “But we can’t stay very long because I have things to do tonight.”

  “Yippee,” says Petey, clapping his hands.

  All the way to the shelter, Petey bounces up and down on the seat of the car. “When we get there, I want to walk the dogs too,” he says.

  “You can’t. You’re too young,” I tell him. “It’s a lot of responsibility. Who knows what would happen if one of them got loose?”

  Besides, I have another worry. I’m hoping Sophie won’t be there. She wouldn’t be up there on Wednesday, would she, just to give the dogs an extra day of walking? I don’t think my mother even knows what Sophie looks like. But Petey does.

  As we approach the front desk, I glance at the sign-in sheet. No Sophie. Whew.

  Petey tugs at my shirt sleeve. “Can we see the dogs? Pleeeasse.”

  “I’d be happy to take you on a tour.” Gloria motions toward the kennel area.

  As she opens the doors leading to the main aisle of the dog runs, my mother holds her nose. A huge grey dog that looks like an Irish wolfhound lunges against a chain-link panel. Mom startles and jumps back.

  Pete begins to run up and down the aisles, whipping the excitable dogs into a frenzy of noise. “Wow, look at ‘em all,” he says. “Cool.”

  Gloria wags a finger at him. “Now, young man, there is no running inside the kennel area.”

  I look over at my mom. See? I want to tell her. Petey’s too young. Not responsible, like me. But she is moving toward the door, anxious to leave.

  “What’s in this room?” Pete sneaks away down the hall toward the cat and kitten room.

  “Go ahead, Jared. You can show them around in there,” says Gloria. “I have to answer the phone.”

  My mom follows me into the room, filled with the soft purring and sad meows of the feline population. “Oh, look at all the poor things.”

  “There’s a lot of them, huh?” I say.

  “Look at these kittens,” she says. “Aren’t they adorable?”

  “Do they ever get out of their cages?” asks Pete. “Go for walks?”

  “Well, you can’t really take a cat for a walk.” I say. “But we’re allowed to get them out and pet them as long as we keep this main door shut.”

  Pete goes from cage to cage. He plays with the kittens, who stick their paws out of the bars, reaching for him. He uses his fingers to stroke the sleek fur of the older cats, who mostly sleep.

  “Soft,” he says. “They feel good. Could I come up with you sometime and get the cats out, Jared?”

  That’s all I need. “No, Pete. You’re not old enough, remember?”

  Pete stops in front of cage #0905, the one containing the raggedy, orange cat who’s been here since April. Huddled in the back, the cat sits on top of his box of kitty litter, staring at us with huge yellow eyes.

  “Can I pet that one?” asks Petey. “He looks sad.”

  My mother looks over at me to see if I approve. “Could he hold just one of them?”

  I look around to see if Gloria is coming back. “Oh, I guess.” I feel sorry for this cat anyway. He looks like he needs some attention.

  I reach to the back of the cage and lift the cat gently toward me, the way Gloria showed us. The old cat seems unsure. His body feels rigid in my arms. “Do you think you can hang on to him, Pete?”

  “Yeah.” Petey nods his head. He cradles the old cat against him, closing his eyes and breathing softly into its fur. The cat relaxes, and Pete sits on the bench stroking him gently under his chin. “Could we take this cat home with us?” he says. “He likes me.”

  “Oh, Pete, you know Dad’s not a cat person.” Mom seems in a hurry to go. “I’ve still got to get dinner ready before my meeting tonight. Why don’t you and Jared put the cat back now?” She goes on out in the hallway. The door behind doesn’t latch properly and shows a tiny gap.

  “Come on Pete. Let me have the cat.”

  “No, he doesn’t want to go back in the cage.” Pete holds the cat defensively against his body. “He’s sick of it. He wants to go walk around. He told me so.”

  I reach for the cat, but Petey is quicker and sets him on the floor. The cat takes an unsteady step or two, as if not believing his freedom. Then he darts like a flash toward the door, pushes through the opening, and races into the hallway.

  “Now look what you did,” I yell at Pete.

  We run down the hall after the frightened cat. Mom is talking to Gloria at the front desk. They startle when they see the cat loose on the floor. Gloria jumps up from her chair to intercept the animal, just as a visitor opens the big glass doors coming in from the outside.

  The orange cat, who usually sits like a stone statue in the back of his cage, darts with unbelievable speed between the legs of my mother, Gloria, and the visitor. All I can see is a speeding orange flash as the cat dashes out the front door, pushes his way under the chain-link fence, and disappears over the steep bank of the parking lot.

  Chapter 16—Missing

  I GLARE AT PETE. “I told you to hold on to him!” I hope this doesn’t mess up my volunteer job. Maybe because Pete let go of the cat, Gloria will be mad and I won’t be able to come up here anymore. And spend time with Sophie.

  “I d-didn’t know he was going to run like that.” Pete stifles a sob as he walks to the edge of the parking lot and looks down into the underbrush. “Maybe I can find him.” He starts to climb over the chain-link fence.

  “No!” My mom runs to Pete, jerking him back to her side. “It’s too steep down there. And you still have to be careful of your arm, remember?”

  “That old cat won’t come back up for a while anyway,” says Gloria, who left her desk to peer over the bank. “He’s in a totally strange environment, and he’ll be frightened. I’ll leave some food out here, and maybe he’ll come back tonight and eat it.”

  “Why would he want to come back?” I ask. “Just to go back in a cage…”

  “Well, at least he’s being fed here,” says Gloria. “Out there on his own, who knows what he’ll eat. He’s liable to get pretty hungry.”

  I suddenly wish that Sophie was here. She would know what to do. Sophie has a way with animals.

  “I’m very sorry for what my son did,” says my mom. “I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Let me go get the cat,” wails Pete. “I can find him. He’ll come to me. He likes me.”

  “No,” Gloria says. “There’s not a thing we can do right now. We’ll just wait and put some food out later. Maybe he’ll come back. And maybe not.”

  Now Pete begins to cry in earnest, and I almost feel sorry for him. I think he really liked the old orange cat.r />
  “You might as well go on home,” says Gloria. “All these people standing around is just going to upset the cat even more.”

  Pete stands on the edge of the ravine. “Here, cat,” he calls out, between sobs. “Here, kitty.”

  My mom puts her arm around him and hustles him toward the car. I climb in the back seat and look out the window. All the way down the hill, I stare out the window. My eyes search the shadows of the deep ravine below the road—looking for some spot of orange.

  Thursday morning, I get up early. I’m anxious to meet up with Sophie so I can relay all the excitement from last night. I almost bump into Pete standing right in our hallway, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and with both shoes on.

  “I wanta go with you,” he says, sounding serious. “I want to get my orange cat.”

  “Pete, it’s not your orange cat. It’s a lost cat. A stray.” I start toward the garage to get my bike. “And you can’t ride up to the animal shelter anyway. It’s too steep. Now, go get some breakfast. I’m outta here.”

  Even though I’m right, it makes me feel like the mean big brother as he stands there sad-eyed watching me leave.

  Sophie is waiting for me when I reach Brewster Street, and on our way to the shelter, I tell her the story of the disappearing cat. We glance along the edges of the road and peer down the canyon as we pedal up the hill, but we don’t see anything remotely orange. Old, gnarly oaks and tall maples twist upwards out of the sharp stony headland, and the dense brush growing underneath forms an almost impenetrable thicket. There are a lot of places that a cat could hide.

  “Let’s go on up to the shelter and check,” says Sophie. “Maybe he came back.”

  Gloria shakes her head when we step to the counter to sign in. “We left food in a dish out there, but it hasn’t been touched. I don’t know what happened to the poor old fellow. I hope he wasn’t some coyote’s dinner last night.”

  I shudder thinking about the old cat. But I’m glad Gloria’s not mad at me because he got loose.

  Sophie and I take two leashes down from the pegs on the wall of the kennel and push the doors open to frenzied barking. We work well together as a team, just like I told Gloria.