Lucky Dog

by Elizabeth Cody Kimmel

  Contents

  Title Page

  Like an Old Sweater by Kirby Larson

  The Incredibly Important True Story of Me! by Tui T. Sutherland

  Who Wants a Dog? by Ellen Miles

  Bird Dog and Jack by Leslie Margolis

  Buddy’s Forever Home by Teddy Slater

  Lab Partner: An Adoption in Six Scenes by Michael Northrop

  Chihuahua Rescue! by Randi Barrow

  Foster’s Home by Jane B. Mason & Sarah Hines Stephens

  Big Dogs by C. Alexander London

  Package Deal by Marlane Kennedy

  The Heart Dog by Elizabeth Cody Kimmel

  Farfel by Allan Woodrow

  Copyright

  Troy couldn’t believe it. He’d only just arrived and now his aunt wanted to send him off with her two neighbor kids, Sophia and Milo.

  “I should finish unpacking,” he said. Not that he had that much to unpack. All their moves had taught Dad and him to travel light.

  Dad. Troy glanced at the clock in Tottie’s kitchen. He would be in the air still, on his way to Germany for his latest deployment. This time, Troy couldn’t go along. He had to do the whole “new kid in town, new kid in school” thing all by himself. At least school didn’t start for another week.

  “The best way to get settled in is to get involved.” Tottie shooed him outside. “Have fun!” She closed the front door before Troy could say anything else.

  “It’s nice of you to volunteer,” Sophia said. “We can always use extra help at the rescue center.”

  There wasn’t anything voluntary about it. Tottie had practically shoved Troy out the door. It wasn’t like she was mean. After all, she’d given up her home office so Troy could have a bedroom. But he could tell that the last thing she wanted was to keep her eleven-year-old nephew while her brother was deployed for eighteen months. Why else would she have tried to get rid of him when he’d just arrived? Troy felt like one of those ugly sweaters his grandma used to knit for him and Dad. Like something for the giveaway box.

  Sophia and Milo chattered away at him the entire walk to the Pawley Rescue Center. Inside, Sophia introduced Troy to their dad, Mr. Cole. “He started the Center,” she said proudly.

  “Glad to meet you, Troy,” said Mr. Cole. “What are you kids planning today? We got a big donation of dog crates that need scrubbing.”

  “Not again!” Milo groaned. “We did that last weekend.”

  “Yeah,” added Sophia. “And we still have dishpan hands!”

  Mr. Cole laughed. “Okay. Okay. How about some dog playtime?”

  “Come on!” Milo tugged on Troy’s sleeve and led him through some kind of workroom, filled with the dog crates Mr. Cole had mentioned, out a set of double doors to a big, fenced-in grassy area.

  Sophia unlatched the gate and she and Milo went right in. A black Lab ran up to them, chomping on a slobbery tennis ball. “Drop, Barkly,” said Milo. The dog obeyed. Milo picked up the slobbery ball and, without even wiping his hands on his jeans, threw it for him. Gross.

  Sophia grabbed a rope toy and whistled for a pony-sized dog. “How are you today, Moose?” She played tug-of-war with Moose while Milo threw the ball over and over for Barkly.

  Troy hung around by the gate as some other volunteers arrived and began playing with the dogs, too. No one seemed to notice him standing there. He felt more and more like one of those unwanted sweaters.

  He found his way back to the room with the crates. The other volunteers were probably as excited about scrubbing them out as Sophia and Milo had been. But Troy didn’t mind this kind of work. And he better get used to working alone. He found a pair of rubber gloves and some cleaner.

  He began to fill a bucket with water. Then he thought he heard something. He turned off the faucet to listen. It was knocking. Like someone was rapping at that door over there. Troy hesitated. Should he open it? Maybe one of the volunteers had gotten locked out.

  Troy peeled off the rubber gloves and pushed the door open. No one was there.

  He stuck his head out and looked around. “Hello?” he called. “Did you want in?” No one answered. He shrugged and began to close the door.

  Then he noticed a crate. Probably another donation. Troy stepped out and picked it up by the handle on top.

  It whined.

  “What?” He bobbled the crate, nearly dropping it. He peeked in through the wire mesh on the side. Two sad brown eyes peered back. “I guess I better bring you inside,” Troy said.

  When he set the crate down, he saw a letter taped to it. Troy peeled it off and opened it. “This is Oscar,” the letter began. “He’s been my best friend for six years. But I’m getting old. And where I’m going doesn’t allow dogs. I know you will find him a good home.”

  Troy scanned the letter again. It wasn’t signed. He peeked into the crate. “Oscar?” he said.

  The dog stayed put but those sad brown eyes followed Troy’s every move. Troy pressed his fingers against the mesh. Oscar snuffled at them with his cold wet nose.

  “It’s okay,” Troy said, even though he knew it wasn’t okay for poor Oscar. How could it be? Separated from his friend. Having to go to a new place. “It will be okay,” he promised Oscar. “They’re crazy about dogs here.”

  Oscar made a little chuffing sound.

  “Do you want out?” Troy asked. What were the rules about getting dogs out of crates? He had no idea. But he knew someone who would.

  “Wait here,” Troy said. “I’ll be back.” He ran back to the play area. Sophia was picking up a handful of yellow tennis balls. Troy tapped her on the arm. “Um, can you come with me?” he asked.

  “In a sec.” She stuffed the balls in a mesh sack and hung it on a peg. “Someone brought in some pug puppies and I want to go see them.”

  “It’s important.” He tugged on Sophia’s arm.

  “More important than puppies?” she asked.

  “Just come,” he said. Finally she followed him into the back room.

  “Who’s this?” She knelt down and peered into the crate. “Poor baby,” she cooed, unlatching the crate door. “Come on out.”

  The dog did not come out.

  “His name is Oscar.” Troy was pretty sure Oscar didn’t like being called a baby. He showed her the letter.

  “He’s a Cavalier King Charles spaniel,” Sophia said. “Very loyal to their people.” Sophia patted her knees to get Oscar to come to her. “His little heart is probably broken.” She kept patting her knees but Oscar stayed in the crate.

  Troy peered over Sophia’s shoulder. “That doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “Let’s try a treat.” Sophia hopped up, ran to a cupboard, and pulled out a handful of doggy cookies. “Want one of these, buddy?”

  Oscar didn’t move.

  “Wow.” Sophia rocked back on her heels. “He’s really upset. I better go find Dad.” She hopped up and hurried away.

  Troy ducked his head to look inside the crate. Oscar was kind of small but his ears nearly touched the ground. He was a patchwork of black and white and brown fur. “Hey, Oscar,” Troy said softly. “Why don’t you come out?”

  Oscar shivered but stayed where he was.

  Troy eased onto his stomach in front of the crate’s door. Now Troy could see the reddish-brown eyebrows that topped Oscar’s dark eyes. “It’s no fun leaving your home, is it?” Troy rested his chin on the tile floor. “Believe me, I know.” Troy thought about Dad and something damp and cold leaked out of his eyes. Oscar scooted forward. He licked Troy’s face. Troy patted the dog’s fur. It was so soft. Like that angora yarn Grandma used to knit with.

  “Wanna come the rest of the way out?” Troy said. He inched away from the crate. Oscar kept following, kept licking. When the tip of his feathery tai
l was out, Troy sat up, cross-legged. Oscar stepped over Troy’s legs and curled up in his lap. He rubbed his muzzle against Troy’s jeans a few times, then settled with a loud sigh. Troy scratched behind Oscar’s floppy ears.

  Sophia came rushing back, her dad in tow. “You got him out of the crate!” she exclaimed. “That’s amazing.”

  Mr. Cole knelt down, rubbing Oscar’s ears, too. “Hey there, buddy,” he said. His tone was calm and warm. Oscar’s tail waggled a little. But he stayed close to Troy. “Looks like you’ve made a friend,” Mr. Cole said.

  Troy stayed very still so he wouldn’t scare Oscar away. “He’s even got one freckle on his nose,” he said. “Like me.”

  Mr. Cole nodded. “That’s called the queen’s thumbprint,” he said. “This breed was a favorite of English royalty.”

  “He came with a letter.” Sophia showed it to her father.

  Mr. Cole sighed. “I wish more retirement homes would take dogs. It would save a lot of heartaches. For people and dogs alike.”

  Oscar wiggled around in Troy’s lap. “I think he’s nervous,” Troy said. “I mean, about all the new faces.”

  “I think you’re right.” Sophia backed away. “Maybe you’re part dog whisperer!”

  Mr. Cole ran his hands through his wiry hair. “Dr. Mehta’s gone home for the day. We’ll have to leave Oscar here tonight. She can check him out in the morning.” He patted Troy on the back. “Do you want to take him over to the overnight boarding area?”

  Troy held on to Oscar and stood up, careful not to drop him. He followed Mr. Cole. Oscar seemed okay to go back into another crate, but when Troy stepped away, he whimpered.

  Troy looked into the crate. He recognized that look in Oscar’s eyes. He didn’t say anything but he promised himself to come back as soon as he could in the morning. So Oscar wouldn’t have time to get too lonely.

  Troy, Sophia, and Milo helped Mr. Cole close up for the night. Then the Coles drove Troy home. Tottie ordered in pizza but Troy could only eat one piece. The olives reminded him of Oscar’s dark eyes.

  Troy finished unpacking after dinner, putting things in the same drawers he did at home. He put Dad’s picture — the one of him in his fatigues — on top of the dresser, like always, and hung his Ichiro poster on the wall opposite his bed, where he could see it first thing every morning.

  At home, Troy fell asleep to the sound of that old Douglas fir brushing against his window, and the furnace sighing as it shut off for the night. Tottie’s house was so new and quiet, he could hear her keyboard click-click-clicking even through the bedroom walls. It was hard to sleep.

  Troy thought about Oscar. It must be hard for him to sleep too, in a strange place. At least Troy knew he had a home with Tottie while Dad was away. Poor Oscar didn’t know where his home would be.

  The next morning, Troy gobbled up some pancakes. “Would it be okay if I went over to the rescue center?” he asked. “I mean, I didn’t finish scrubbing out those crates yesterday.”

  Tottie’s right eyebrow arched up. “Well, sure.” She poured herself another cup of coffee. “But they have other volunteers, you know.”

  Troy took his plate to the sink. “I know,” he said, rinsing it off. “But I feel like I should finish what I started.”

  “You got that from your dad. Not from me.” Tottie chuckled. “Be home by four?” she suggested.

  Troy nodded. “Four.”

  He brushed his teeth quickly and was jogging into the Center’s parking lot about fifteen minutes later. Sophia answered his knock.

  “He’s doing great,” she said.

  “Who?” Troy asked.

  She nudged him. “Oscar, of course.”

  “Okay.” Troy shrugged. “I’m just here to finish cleaning crates.”

  Sophia looked at him. “You want to help me today?” she asked.

  “Doing what?”

  She pointed toward the dog run. “Playing with all those guys, you big goof.”

  Troy wiped his hands on his jeans. “Is there another option?”

  “Sure. You can go help get Oscar ready to go.”

  “Go?” The pancakes in Troy’s stomach turned to cement. “Go where?”

  “His new home.” Sophia clapped her hands. “He got adopted. Already! Isn’t that great?”

  “Great.” Troy chewed on his lip. “Uh. Where’s he going?”

  “I don’t know.” Sophia grabbed a bag of balls. “That’s Dad’s department.”

  Troy followed her to the play area. There was Oscar, flat on his tummy, his muzzle resting on his front paws. Alone, in the corner. His sad brown eyes followed Troy every step of the way. His feathery tail wagged when Troy plopped down in front of him.

  “So, you’ve got a new home already.” Troy leaned in, lifting up one of those heavy ears. “I hope it’s forever,” he whispered. “And that you never have to leave your family. Ever again.”

  Oscar turned his head to lick Troy’s cheek. Then he cocked his head and looked straight at Troy, as if he understood what Troy was saying.

  So, Troy began to tell him. Everything. About all the big spaces in his heart. About missing Dad. About feeling like the odd sock out at Tottie’s. About wondering if he’d make any friends at his new school. “And Sophia doesn’t count,” he whispered. “She has to be nice to me. We’re neighbors.”

  Oscar crawled onto his lap, nestling his head on Troy’s arm.

  “But we’re lucky, right?” Troy said. “I’ve got Tottie, and you’ve got your —” He cleared his throat. “Your new family.”

  Troy ruffled the soft fur on top of Oscar’s head. “Maybe I can dog-sit you if your new family goes on vacation or something.”

  Troy started to ease Oscar out of his lap but the dog pushed himself tighter against him. Some dogs dug holes in gardens; Oscar had dug a hole in Troy’s heart. He should be happy that Oscar had a new family. He took one last sniff of Oscar’s fur. It was a good smell. Like the smell of home.

  Sophia and Milo came over to him.

  “Is his family here?” Troy asked, proud that his voice was strong.

  Sophia nodded. “Can you bring him to the reception room?” she asked.

  Troy blinked. “Maybe you should take him,” he said. “I’m new here.”

  “I think he’d rather you carried him,” Sophia said. “Come on.”

  Troy stood up, carefully holding Oscar, and followed Sophia. Milo walked next to him.

  “It’s a good family,” Milo said. Troy nodded, knowing Milo wanted to make him feel better.

  They passed through the doors to the reception room.

  “Tottie?” What was she doing here? “I said I’d be home by four.” Troy shifted Oscar in his arms.

  She tugged on her baseball cap. “Well, I thought you’d need some help getting home.”

  “Help?” Troy was confused. “I know the way.”

  “But look at all the stuff you’d have to carry.” She pointed to a stack of dog supplies on the counter.

  Troy stared at her.

  Then Sophia burst out laughing. “You’re Oscar’s new family, you ninny.” She ruffled the fur on Oscar’s head.

  “Oscar’s mine?” He couldn’t believe it. Yesterday morning, he didn’t even like dogs, and now he was going to be owned by one. He glanced over at Tottie. “I mean, ours.”

  “Well, I’m hoping you’ll let me take him for a walk now and again.” Tottie smiled. “But it’s pretty clear that Oscar is all yours.”

  “I should ask Dad,” Troy said.

  Tottie wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “I called him this morning. He gave the whole thing one big thumbs-up.”

  Oscar licked Troy’s face. Troy looked at his aunt. At his new friends. Their smiles warmed him up like a wool sweater.

  And not the kind that Grandma made.

  Kirby Larson shares her home in Washington with Winston the Wonder Dog, a Cavalier King Charles spaniel. Kirby has won many awards for her books, including a Newbery Honor for Hattie Big
Sky. Winston is peeved that her latest book, Duke, is about a German shepherd and not about him.

  I knew there was going to be trouble the minute I saw him, which was the minute that tall man carried me over to the kennel and said, “I bet you two will get along.” Immediately I said at the top of my lungs, “WHAT? WHAT? DO YOU SEE THE SIZE OF THAT DOG? DO YOU SEE THE SIZE OF ME? How can you expect me to share space with a HIPPOPOTAMUS DISGUISED AS A CANINE? All that fur isn’t fooling ME. I am going to get SQUASHED BY GIANT PAWS and THEN where will the world be? ME-LESS, I tell you! I DEMAND A PRIVATE KENNEL! DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?”

  But he just patted me on the head and said, “Yes, yes, we hear you, cutie,” which is so human. They’re always hearing but not listening, as if one bark is the same as another. I have VERY IMPORTANT things to say! As a matter of fact, EVERYTHING I have to say is very important! But I might as well woof it all at the moon, I tell you.

  So he sticks me in this kennel with this GREAT BIG GALUMPHER who has to be the biggest dog I’ve ever seen, all shaggy gray-and-white fur so I can’t even see his eyes. And I’m no puppy born yesterday. I’m a whole ten months old. I know you can’t trust anyone whose eyes you can’t see. Anything could be going on under that mop! Is he looking at me? Or worse, is he NOT LOOKING AT ME?

  I gave him my Extra-Fierce Face. It is the Face I used to strike terror into the hearts of those two cats I lived with before our owner, the Frightfully Old Lady What Smelled Like Sneezing and Oranges, took them off with her to live someplace warm where she said I couldn’t go because of all my woofing.

  So it was the Pawley Rescue Center for me, but I wasn’t worried, because have you seen my adorable face? Have you seen my splendid ears? Have you seen my glorious puff of golden fur? I am Pomeranian Perfection Personified and I knew someone would want to take me home before you could say CUTEST DOG EVER WOOF.

  That is, I wasn’t worried until I saw the woolly mammoth I had to share a kennel with.

  He didn’t look very alarmed by my Extra-Fierce Face, I must say.

  But it was hard to tell under all that fur. I think he was just staring at me, but he could also have been asleep sitting up.

  “This is how it is!” I barked at him. “I’m taking this half of the kennel!” I strutted from one wall to the other, making sure the food and water bowls were in my half. If I were a boy dog, I’d have peed all over the place to let him know it was all mine, but I am a girl dog and much more genteel and refined and sensible than that.