The door swings shut behind Addie.
She pops her head back out. “You coming?”
I grimace.
Addie laughs. “It’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll protect you.” She grabs me by the arm and yanks me inside.
There are no other customers in the pet store. It’s just me, Addie, and Butter.
Addie nudges me with her elbow. “See, all good. No vicious attack dogs.”
She’s right, and the store is awesome. There’s so much fun stuff for pet owners, and I almost missed it by not even walking through the door. Another thing I hate about having anxiety is all the stuff it stops me from trying. It’s like a Pac-Man gobbling up the fun before it even starts.
Butter squirms.
I hold her tighter.
She rebels by turning into a flurry of hooves, legs, and bleats.
“Okay.” I put her down, and it’s as if I’ve released a tornado. Butter’s legs splay out in four different directions as she scrambles to get her footing on the slick, polished floor. She’s a bouncy ball, going up and down as she tries to stand on her own feet.
Addie cracks up. “Could she be more adorable?”
I smile. “Silly girl.” I grab her around the middle to help steady her.
She looks back at me with her light blue eyes, and I swear she wants to say thank you.
“Better?” I ask her, laughing. I slowly let go.
The store clerk comes out from the back. She’s a college kid dressed in all black with multiple face piercings. She takes five giant combat-booted steps toward us. “OH! MY! GOSH! THE CUTEST … !”
The volume of her voice is so loud it reverberates around the empty shop. Before she can finish her sentence, Butter freezes and tumbles over. She lies on her side, legs rigid. It’s the first time she’s fainted since the storm, and I feel terrible that I’ve exposed her to a stressful situation.
I drop to my knees and stroke Butter’s side.
Addie kneels down next to her too. “Poor Butter.”
“IS THAT A FAINTING GOAT?” Apparently Goth Girl has only one volume setting. Extra loud.
I nod, and my heart flutters. I know I need to say something about how loudly she talks. Explain that loud noises frighten Butter. Only, it’s not easy for me. I’m not used to asserting myself, but I need to speak up for Butter. Without me, she doesn’t have a voice.
I hear the words I want to say taking shape in my head as my heart’s fluttering turns into rapid flapping. Despite my building nerves, I take a deep breath and force myself to say, “Loud noises scare her, so maybe … if you don’t mind … speaking a little softer?”
And Goth Girl is really nice about it. “Did I do that?” She points to Butter, who hasn’t revived yet.
“Maybe …” I pause. Feeling buoyed by her kind response, I decide to be more honest. “Yes, the sudden loudness frightened her.” I untie the rope from her collar and glance at Goth Girl nervously, waiting for her response.
“Yikes. Sorry. Only whispers from me while you’re in the store. I love goats,” Goth Girl says quietly.
I’m pleasantly surprised. Being up front about what happened and what Butter needs went over better than I expected. Goth Girl didn’t get mad or sad or do anything except agree to speak softer for Butter’s sake. More confident people probably get this type of response all the time. But it’s a big deal to me. I’m not used to speaking up about things to strangers, especially ones older than me. “I’ll introduce you. She’ll be up in a second.”
As if on cue, Butter moves. I help her get her footing, and she takes off, checking out everything—the dog food, leashes, bowls, and toys.
I shake my head and laugh. I admire Butter. She doesn’t let fear stop her from enjoying life. She might fall over, but she pops up eager to get right back out there. I’m the exact opposite. One bad experience, and I hunker down.
The three of us watch Butter explore for a few minutes.
Finally, Goth Girl sighs dreamily. “I could watch her all day, but can I help you find something?”
“She needs a leash.” I hold up the rope as evidence.
Goth Girl shows Addie and me a selection of leashes while Butter explores.
Addie helps me pick out a blue one with a matching collar. “It will go with her eyes.”
I hold the leash next to Butter’s face. “It’s perfect.”
“Where did you get your goat?” Goth Girl asks.
“I found her.” I look at the price tags on the collar and leash. I have just enough for both.
“What have you done to find her owner?” Goth Girl organizes leashes on the display.
“Nothing yet. I’m going to put up some signs, but I doubt I’ll get contacted. Butter’s old owner doesn’t care about her.”
Goth Girl considers me. “How do you know?”
I feel defensive. She sounds like Mom. “It was obvious when I found her. Her fur was matted and dirty. She was eating garbage and being teased by a group of kids. I mean, who leaves a baby goat to fend for themselves?”
Goth Girl nods empathetically. “Poor thing. There’s no explaining some people. But you never know. It might be a misunderstanding. One Fourth of July, I lost my dog. He got frightened by the fireworks and took off. I finally found him a few days later, and he looked like he’d had a pretty rough go of it. I know I did. It was the worst few days of my life.”
Clearly, Butter’s situation is completely different. “Well, sure, but you’re a pet person. I mean look at where you work. I don’t think Butter’s owner is anything like you.”
“Maybe,” Goth Girl says.
Addie taps me on the shoulder. “Look.” She points to Butter.
Butter approaches a pen with kittens for adoption. She watches them, transfixed.
Goth Girl, Addie, and I wait to see what Butter will do.
At first she stares at the cage. Then Butter’s curiosity finally gets the best of her, and she sticks her nose right next to it. A black kitten arches his back and hisses. Butter butts the cage, and we crack up.
She trots over to me. “Had enough of kittens?” I ask, laughing.
She bleats in answer.
I pull her to me so I can replace her old collar with her new one, and clip the leash to it.
As soon as I’m done, the store door opens. A woman with a huge dog starts to enter the store. It’s some sort of shaggy beast that weighs at least one hundred pounds.
“Oh, my gosh.” I squeeze Addie’s forearm. “Is that a woolly mammoth?”
“Wow.” Even Addie seems intimidated by the dog’s size.
I pick Butter up and watch beast-dog approach. My instincts scream Run, but beast-dog blocks the exit.
Despite his size, he’s really slow.
When he gets closer, I brace for attack. I curl myself around Butter to shield her from harm and squeeze my eyes shut.
“Um … Marvel.” Addie taps my shoulder.
“Yeah?” I ask without opening my eyes.
“I think you’re all good.” I hear a hint of laughter in her voice.
Warily, I open one eye and then the other.
Beast-dog is lying on the ground with his head between his paws.
“Vicious,” Addie whispers. Then she loses it, laughing so hard she can barely breathe.
“I matched my fear to his size.” I try to be mad, but I can’t. It’s funny.
“That’s an interesting pet.” Beast-dog’s owner points to Butter.
“I could say the same to you. Mine’s a goat. What’s yours?” I put Butter on the ground.
Beast-dog’s owner is a petite woman with dark brown hair. She smiles at us. “This is Sonny. He’s a Newfoundland.”
Butter wags her tail as she meets Sonny. She hops around, trying to entice him into playing.
Sonny completely ignores her. He doesn’t even lift his head.
Addie pets Sonny. “He’s really gentle.”
“Most Newfies are, but he’s also a therapy dog, so he’s ex
tra mellow,” Beast-dog’s owner says.
“What does a therapy dog do exactly?” I mean, sure, I know the general concept, but I wonder if they have to perform tricks or special tasks.
“Sonny goes places where people might be in anxiety-provoking situations. Sometimes, just having Sonny around can make someone feel better.”
Huh. Butter eases my anxiety. “He just needs to hang out and be himself?”
She nods. “But he also has to be well behaved and pass some tests. We mostly go to hospitals, but we’ve been invited to schools before. Sonny needs to know how to behave in those environments.”
This is an interesting revelation. “I didn’t know animals were allowed at schools.”
“I don’t know about all animals. Sonny is a trained therapy dog, which is fairly common. I do have a friend who owns a therapy pig.”
“That’s cool,” Addie says.
Very cool and very interesting. The wheels in my brain start spinning, and I want to ask Sonny’s owner a million more questions, but she seems like she needs to get going. As they leave, Sonny moves so slowly, it’s like watching paint dry.
When the door closes, I tell Addie, “Well, that huge beast was nothing to worry about.”
“I told you so.” She doesn’t sound smug, just encouraging. “Ready for the Cheerio trail home?”
“Ready!”
Addie drops Cheerios on the ground, and Butter snags them one at a time, making progress toward the door.
When we get close to the exit, Goth Girl whispers, “Come back soon,” and waves. I’ll definitely be back. The pet store is awesome.
Addie reaches for the door and opens it.
A tiny, silky terrier runs through, barking her head off.
Butter promptly freezes up and collapses.
The terrier plants herself in front of Butter and barks nonstop.
“Get away from her.” I jump between the terrier and Butter’s still form on the ground.
The terrier lunges at me, trying to nip my ankles.
“Shoo! Get away!” I block the terrier’s attempts to get to Butter. I’m afraid the little dog is going to scare her to death.
“Where’s that dog’s owner?” Addie asks, panicked.
“No idea!” Goth Girl runs to the door and sticks her head out. “WHOSE DOG IS THIS?” She steps back as someone comes to the door.
To my complete horror, Jamie, aka meanest kid in school, walks through the door like he owns the place. “Mine.”
“Leash your dog,” Goth Girl demands.
“Hold your horses. I’m working on it.” Jamie saunters across the store swinging a leash around, taking his sweet time on purpose.
“Hurry up, Jamie! Your dog is trying to bite me.” I jump in place as his terrier nips at my ankles in her attempts to get to Butter.
“Calm down. She’s too small to hurt you.” He snaps the leash on her collar and drags her away from me.
I immediately pick up Butter. “Your dog made her faint,” I accuse.
Jamie smirks. “So what? That’s what the stupid goat does. She’s a fainting goat, remember?” He picks up his growling and snapping dog.
Butter hides her head under my chin.
I cover Butter’s eyes to shield her. “Get her out of here, Jamie.”
“Yeah, she’s freaking out Butter.” Addie stands beside me and crosses her arms.
Jamie rolls his eyes. “Ooh, watch out. Attack dog’s going to eat Frosty and her stupid goat.”
My face flames with embarrassment and anger.
“Don’t call her that,” Addie says.
“Lighten up, Addie. It’s just a nickname. Since when do you care about Frosty anyway?” Jamie tucks his dog under his arm.
Addie glares at him. “Don’t be mean.”
“All right, that’s enough.” Goth Girl holds the door open. “OUT!” I’m grateful her volume control is stuck on loud because it seems to intimidate Jamie.
“Relax. I’m leaving. We hate this store anyway.” As soon as the door shuts behind him, it gets quiet.
My whole body is shaking. I put Butter down to check her out. She seems perfectly fine. Better than me, actually.
Addie touches my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I’m not sure. My heart beats so hard it feels like it’s going to burst through my chest. “I think so. You?”
She nods. “Jamie’s a jerkface. Ignore him. He doesn’t know anything.”
“Yeah, I know.” I turn to Goth Girl. “Thanks for kicking him out.”
“I got your back.” She fist-bumps me and then Addie. “Just remember, there are no bad dogs, only bad owners.” I like her. Too bad I’ll never see her again. I can’t come back here. Too dangerous.
“Home?” Addie asks.
“Definitely.” I’ve had enough adventure for one day.
I say goodbye to Addie at my gate and watch her skateboard off into the afternoon sunshine. Just before she turns the corner at the end of my street, she gives me one last look and waves like we hang out every day.
I’m not going to lie—the run-in with Jamie rattled me, but being with Addie and Butter made it not so awful somehow. I bend down and drape my arm over Butter’s neck. “That turned out okay, huh?”
She bleats at me and pushes her nose into mine. I giggle and take her inside.
When I get into the house, Mom asks, “So … how did it go with Addie?”
“Fine,” I say, giving her nothing. I can tell she’s a little too invested in my answer, and I don’t want her to get her hopes up. Mine are high enough for both of us.
She sighs, disappointed. “Anything else on your agenda today?”
It’s obvious she means the Nextdoor posting and the flyers. “I’m going to work on the posters.”
“Good answer. I need you to keep in mind that Butter is only with us until we locate her owner or someplace suitable for her to live.” Mom’s tone is all no-nonsense and come-back-to-reality.
“Sure.” I nod agreeably. Mom might feel that way now, but she’s going to change her mind. Butter’s leash-walking skills improved a lot on the way home. With a little more practice, she’ll be perfect, and I can show Mom. Once Mom sees how well-behaved Butter is, she’ll let me keep her forever.
“Why do I feel like you’re not hearing me?”
I shrug. “Can I borrow your cell phone to take pictures of Butter for the signs?”
“Sure.” She hands her phone over.
I take photos of Butter in the garage. The lighting is dim, but that works perfectly for my purposes. I open the photo editor and make a few adjustments. Then I email the pictures to myself and press delete. I can’t risk Mom seeing my handiwork.
Butter crawls onto her bed and falls asleep, exhausted from our outing. I leave her in the garage to rest since Dad hasn’t finished her enclosure yet.
I return Mom’s phone and go to my room.
Once I’m there, I open my computer and make a flyer. I upload the digital version to Nextdoor and press print for three hard copies (hey, I’m conserving our natural resources) to hang up around our neighborhood.
I knock on Reef’s door. There’s no answer, so I walk in. He’s lying on his bed with noise-canceling headphones on and his eyes closed. I poke him in the shoulder.
It’s a gentle prod, just to get his attention, but he practically falls off the bed. “What the heck, Marvel!”
I show him the flyers. “Mom said you were supposed to help me hang the posters up.”
Reef snatches them out of my hands. “She’s going to kill you when she sees these.”
In the photo, it’s hard to tell exactly what Butter is—cat, dog, cow, fuzzy blob. Anything but a goat, and the text reads:
LOST CREATURE
Color: Black and White
Call Marvel: 455-555-7555
Reef gapes at me. “There’s no identifying information on these at all. You can’t even tell she’s a goat. The photo is too dark and blurry.”
“I did
my best.” Butter needs to be protected from her old owner, not handed back over.
Reef sighs. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with. As soon as I’m done helping you, I get to meet up with Suzanna, so the faster the better.”
“Works for me.”
I leave Butter at home while Reef and I stick flyers in a few key locations. I put one behind the grocery store, slap another on the underside of a bench, and tack the last notice on the bulletin board in the pizza shop, making double sure it’s covered by several other flyers.
Reef flips through the stack covering it. “How’s anyone supposed to find that?”
“Think of it as a test. If Butter’s old owner truly cares about her, they’ll do whatever it takes to find her.” If not, Butter is all mine.
“Ridiculous,” Reef says, but I know he doesn’t really care. He just wants to dump me and go hang out with his girlfriend. “Are we done here?”
“Yep.”
Reef walks me home. When we get to the garden gate, he says, “See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya.”
I punch him in the arm.
He mockingly rubs his bicep. “Ouch. So painful. How will I ever recover?”
Brothers. I roll my eyes and go through the gate.
Dad’s in the garden, standing in front of the enclosure he’s built for Butter, grinning. As soon as I get close, he steps aside to give me a complete view of it.
Dad’s crafted a pint-sized stable made out of dark, richly colored wood and surrounded by a sturdy fence. On the front is an adorable Dutch door that allows the lower and upper halves to open and close independently.
Stunned at the detail, I walk toward it and peer through the door. Inside is a trough stuffed with sweet-smelling hay and a hook with a water bucket hanging from it. Dad’s thought of everything.
“What do you think?” His voice resonates with satisfaction and delight, as if he’s given me the perfect gift … and he has.
“It’s amazing!” I fling my arms around him, overjoyed to have an ideal home for Butter—one that makes my dream of keeping her feel a bit closer.
Dad hugs me back, and I realize he’s given me something else too—a special memory of my very own. One that will never fade, no matter how far he travels or how long he’s gone.
Better With Butter Page 8