When the Going Gets Ruff

by Daphne Maple

  It took four more tries but finally Sierra dropped her paws back to the ground and sat at Kim’s feet looking up at her. I wasn’t sure if Sierra had finally listened or just gotten tired of having her paws up and was ready to play something else. But hopefully she was learning to listen.

  Kim picked up the ball and threw it, and Sierra took off. Boxer came over a moment later with his Frisbee, Coco and Lily trotting after him.

  “Should we try to get everyone playing together?” I asked Kim.

  She shook her head. “Let’s give Sierra some one-on-one time. I’ll go to the other side of the yard and play with her there.”

  So that was what we did. I tossed the Frisbee for the three dogs, always careful to keep it away from wherever Sierra was running. And Kim played fetch with Sierra. Sierra made her work for it, dropping the ball, then snatching it up when Kim got close so that Kim would chase her. Whenever the game slowed too much, Sierra bounded back to her hole.

  “Found it,” Tim called, finally walking back into the yard with the shovel. “Sorry to take so long. It was hidden behind a bunch of stuff.”

  The sun was sinking toward the horizon, the first hint of a pinky-orange sunset staining the sky. I checked my cell phone and saw that it was almost six o’clock. The Dog Club owners would be here for their dogs any minute.

  “Pack that dirt in tight,” Kim said, running a hand over her forehead, which was shiny with sweat. “Sierra’s very determined to keep working on it.”

  “Not on my watch,” Tim told Sierra, who was edging toward the hole. Then he looked at Kim and grinned. “You got a workout today.”

  Kim laughed. “I’ll say. Next time I’m wearing my gym clothes to Dog Club.”

  “We’ll have to take turns running out this girl’s energy,” Tim said, pausing in his shoveling to give Sierra a pat on the scruff of her neck. She wagged her tail, then took off after a squirrel that had made the mistake of coming down off the oak tree. It beat a hasty retreat as Sierra galloped over.

  The back door opened and Mr. Finnegan came out on the porch. He’d managed to wash the dirty paw prints off his clothes but there were wet patches where the suit material was still drying. I hoped he hadn’t gotten in trouble at work for coming back so messy.

  “How was she?” he asked. The club dog owners always asked this question, though usually with excitement in their voices. Mr. Finnegan asked with dread.

  “She had some wild moments, but we handled them,” Kim said. She sounded tired, not in a way that Mr. Finnegan or Tim would notice, but I knew Kim like I knew myself and I could hear an extra softness in her voice. Tim was right—we would definitely have to take turns with Sierra, at least until she settled in.

  Sierra had caught sight of her owner and bounded up the porch steps, jumping up with her paws right in his stomach.

  Mr. Finnegan grunted and almost fell over. Sierra sat down and looked at him happily, tongue hanging out of her mouth. Two fresh, muddy paw prints decorated the front pockets of Mr. Finnegan’s suit.

  “Sorry about that,” Kim said as she and I headed up the porch stairs.

  Mr. Finnegan shook his head ruefully. “This suit was headed to the dry cleaner anyway. These days they’re making a mint off of us.”

  Tim stayed out back with Boxer, Coco, and Lily, so I was hoping that Sierra’s exit from the shelter would be a little less dramatic than her entrance had been.

  No such luck. Sierra grabbed the ball that Taylor had been using to play fetch with Gus and Hattie, and began her wild romp around the room, a gleam in her eye as though she dared any of the other dogs to try and catch her. None of them did. Hattie took off for her cage; Daisy hid behind Kim; Popsicle, Gus, and Humphrey skidded into a far corner; and Mr. Smashmouth ran right over to me, whimpering. I picked him up and covered his head with kisses to soothe him.

  “Sierra, come,” Mr. Finnegan said, holding up a dog treat. Sierra’s leash was in his other hand. He’d clearly done this before.

  Sierra ran over for her treat but as soon as she’d gotten it, she ducked her head away from the leash and took off across the room.

  “Do you have another one of those?” Kim asked, going over to Mr. Finnegan.

  “Yes,” he said. “I come prepared. Sometimes we go through half a box just getting her to come back inside after her morning walk.”

  “We won’t need half a box this time,” Kim said determinedly. “You give her the treat and I’ll put on her leash.”

  Mr. Finnegan handed over the thick red leash and called Sierra over again, treat held high. It took two tries but finally Sierra had on her leash and the two of them headed out.

  “See you next time,” Mr. Finnegan called.

  As soon as he’d left Caley drew an arm across her brow in exaggerated relief. “Phew,” she said. “That dog is really something.”

  Taylor, who I hadn’t even seen because she’d been half hiding in Alice’s office, came out shaking her head. “We have a lot to write in the Dog Club notebook tonight,” she said. The club notebook was where we made notes on the dogs we took care of, so we would remember the little things, like their favorite toys, things that scared them, and anything they had trouble with. For Sierra that was going to be a lot!

  “Maybe we should hold off doing an entry on her till we see how she settles in,” Kim said. She was leaning against a wall and slid down so that she was sitting. “And I think for the Dog Club Diary I’ll just talk about how it can take some time for a new dog to adjust.”

  “But be sure to mention that all the dogs got playtime and attention,” I added, ever mindful of wanting to please all our clients. We needed our customers to know that all of the dogs had been cared for. We wanted them to feel confident that their dogs were always in good hands and having fun when they were at Dog Club.

  “I didn’t get any pictures of Sierra for the post,” Taylor said. “I was too busy running for cover.”

  Caley snorted. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she said. “We don’t want photographic evidence of her running wild around the place.”

  That was a good point.

  “I think I’m ready to go to bed,” Kim said with a sigh. Hattie came over and snuggled onto her lap and Kim began petting her.

  Caley laughed. “Next time you can stay in with the little dogs,” she said. “I’ll get my daily workout with Sierra. I need to get in shape for play tryouts anyway.” Caley was big into drama and always starred in the high school plays and musicals.

  “What play are you guys doing this year?” Taylor asked. She was a lot more relaxed now that Sierra was gone, tossing a tennis ball for Humphrey, Popsicle, and Gus, who had all come out of hiding.

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Caley said. “I want to be Puck.”

  “Isn’t that a boy’s part?” Taylor asked. Her dad loved the theater, so she’d seen a lot of shows.

  Caley shrugged. “Girls play him too,” she said. “And it’s the funnest role in the play.”

  “You’ll be awesome then,” I said. Mr. Smashmouth was still in my arms, warm and cuddly. I hated that soon I would have to set him down and go home.

  But sure enough, a moment later the doorbell rang and the other club dog owners came in.

  And after a flurry of furry good-byes, our day at the shelter was over.

  “That was quite an afternoon,” Taylor said as we headed out into the brisk fall evening. “Alice wasn’t kidding about Sierra being a handful.”

  “You should have seen her digging a hole in the backyard,” Kim said, with a chuckle. “We’re lucky she didn’t make a run for it.”

  “Yikes,” Taylor said. “She really kept you on your toes back there.”

  “She was sweet too though,” I said, thinking of her racing happily after her red ball.

  “She was,” Kim agreed with a smile. “And I’m sure she’ll calm down once she settles into the routine of the club.”

  “Definitely,” I said. Sure, there had been some rough moments. Bu
t I knew we’d be okay. Once Sierra got used to the excitement of the shelter and it became part of her regular routine, she would be just fine.

  I was sure of it.

  4

  Do you want your pet to greet you at the door when you come home?

  “I’d say yes to that one,” Kim said, leaning over my shoulder as the three of us read the quiz I’d bookmarked last night called “Find the Perfect Pet for You.” We were in social studies, waiting for the bell to ring, and this was the last question to go before I’d find out what pet was just right for me. The one I would finally be able to convince my mom we had to get.

  “What animals greet you at the door though?” Taylor asked, absently twisting a braid around one finger. “Besides dogs obviously.”

  “Maybe some cats do,” Kim said uncertainly.

  I frowned. “My mom already said no to dogs and cats, so maybe I should say no.”

  “I think maybe it’s more asking if you want a pet that’s friendly,” Kim said. “Or the kind that just does its own thing and ignores you.”

  “Definitely friendly,” I said, checking yes, then glancing up to make sure our teacher, Mr. Martin, hadn’t noticed my cell phone. He was way nicer than Mrs. Benson but all the teachers gave you a hard time if they saw you with a cell phone. But I just couldn’t wait to find out the right pet for me.

  The result page came and I read it eagerly. “A rabbit,” I announced. Somehow that wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined. I was kind of picturing something more active, a pet you could really play with.

  “Rabbits are sweet,” Taylor said. “Our neighbors in North Carolina had a hutch in the yard and the rabbits were really cute hopping all over the place. Plus they liked to be held and they were really soft.”

  That sounded nice.

  “They’re quiet too,” Kim said. “I bet your mom would like that.”

  “I just need to find out the cleanest way to keep them,” I said, starting to get a bit more excited. “So I can really convince my mom.” I’d also find out about their care so I could come up with a good argument for how I’d do everything myself, and never forget anything.

  The bell rang and I hurriedly hid my cell phone in my pocket as Mr. Martin began passing out our tests on our last unit, the Byzantine Empire. I smiled when I saw mine: an A-minus. It had been a hard test and social studies wasn’t my best subject so I knew my mom would be pleased with the grade.

  When Mr. Martin set Kim’s paper down he stopped to say something to her and I watched her cheeks flush as she sank down in her seat. As soon as he left she stuffed the test into the back of her notebook. Uh-oh. That wasn’t good. I knew she’d really studied for the test, but it was tough and it looked like maybe she hadn’t done so well. I hoped Mr. Martin would let her do extra credit to make up for it or something. I’d make sure to remind her to ask; sometimes Kim got shy with teachers.

  “All right, folks, I know you’ve been waiting with bated breath to learn what we’ll be studying next,” Mr. Martin said, rubbing his hands together as though he could barely contain his excitement. Sofia and Jade, who sat next to me, rolled their eyes at each other. It was true Mr. Martin could be pretty over-the-top. I mean, really, who cared about empires from a thousand years ago? But at least he wasn’t all crabby about everything like Mrs. Benson.

  “The Ottoman Empire!” Mr. Martin exclaimed gleefully. He paused like he was waiting for cheers but needless to say, that didn’t happen. Sofia and Jade just rolled their eyes again; Kwan at the desk in front of me was secretly checking something on his phone; and even Carmen, the smartest girl in the class, was just waiting for Mr. Martin to get on with it. “We will not just study this fascinating time in history,” he said finally. “We are going to see it, to breathe it, to taste it.”

  “Did you invent a time machine?” Alec asked from the back row. He always asked questions like that. “Because I’d rather use it to go back to get in with Al Capone and his gang.”

  His friend Danny reached over to give him a high five.

  “A noble goal,” Mr. Martin said. “And I suppose you could say that there will be a time machine involved in this unit, but one that you will create. You’ll break into small groups and choose a cultural element of the empire, like dance or art or food. Then you’ll work to re-create it, and two weeks from today we will have a festival where we will indeed go back in time to experience the life of the Ottomans for ourselves.”

  Alec was scowling but I thought it sounded pretty good. Not the work part but the small group part, because that meant working with Kim and Taylor. Taylor was glancing back at me with a grin and we both looked at Kim, who gave us the thumbs-up.

  This was going to be fun!

  “One more time, my ballerinas,” our teacher, Madame Florence, said. “With feeling.”

  The ten of us in intermediate ballet were dripping sweat after the grueling workout that started with deep stretching, then moved on to barre work and finally ended with the routine we would be doing for our next recital. We’d run through it five times and my calves were burning, my arms ached, and I was panting like I’d just run a race. Which was kind of how I felt. But we all dragged ourselves into our starting positions.

  As soon as the music started and I began a series of jetés across the satiny wood floor of the studio, the pain slipped away, replaced by the glorious sensation of flying. I was lost in the music, my body leaping and spinning, light and swift as I glided effortlessly. When I reached my final pose my heart was beating with joy the way it always did when I danced. Sure, my muscles were on fire, but it was so worth it. Nothing felt as good as dance. Except maybe time with the dogs and my friends.

  Madame Florence led us through our cooldown and then class was dismissed. I headed for the dressing area, a big room with pale pink walls, posters of Degas’s dancers, and rows of lockers against the back wall. I got my stuff out of my locker and then settled on a back bench to take off my ballet slippers.

  “That was a hard class,” my friend Dana said, sitting down next to me and tugging at the pins holding her black hair up in a tight bun. She went to Roxbury Park Middle School too and our moms often carpooled to dance classes, at least when I didn’t forget to tell my mom.

  “Tell me about it,” our friend Asha groaned. She went to school in the next town over, Millerton, but we’d all been taking dance together for years so we knew each other well. And this year the three of us had been selected for the dance school company, which meant we took three dance classes a week and had solos in the end-of-term performances. Being in the company was fun but a lot of work.

  “My feet are going to be sore tonight,” I said, shimmying out of my leotard. My mom would be here soon and I didn’t want to keep her waiting, not when I was ready to unleash my rabbit plan.

  “You should soak them in warm water and Epsom salts,” Dana said. “That’s what real ballerinas do.” Her hair was cascading down her back in shimmering waves. Dana had the best hair, all thick and shiny. I didn’t bother taking mine out of my bun because after being tightly coiled for class it would stick out like I’d poked my finger into an electrical socket. I’d just wash it tonight so it was normal for school in the morning.

  “I think I’m going to have to soak my whole body,” Asha said. Her face was shiny with sweat.

  “Sasha, what are you and Kim and Taylor going to do for our social studies project?” Dana asked. She knew who I’d be working with just like I knew she’d be with Emily, Naomi, and Rachel.

  “We haven’t decided yet,” I said. I put my dirty clothes in my bag and pulled on my jeans. “What about you guys?”

  “We’re probably doing a dance,” she said. “So if you guys do too, we should make sure we don’t do the same kind.”

  “Good thinking,” I said, taking a quick look at myself in the mirror along one wall of the dressing room and smoothing down a few pieces of hair that had sprung loose from my bun. “I bet they had a lot of dances, so we can just pick different one
s.” I was definitely going to try and talk Kim and Taylor into a dance—that seemed a lot easier than any of the other options. Though that was probably just because I liked to dance.

  “See you guys later,” I said, hoisting my dance bag over my shoulder and walking out to the parking lot.

  The sun was setting, the sky streaked with orange and gold, as I headed to my mom’s little white Honda, which was, of course, spotless.

  “Hi, honey,” she said as I slid into the front seat. Not surprisingly it was only this year, when I’d turned twelve, that she let me sit in the front seat. I felt grown-up next to her as she turned the car down Olive Avenue, toward the big grocery store, Old Farm Market, just outside of town. It was in a strip mall, tucked between a dollar store and the place that I was focused on: Paula’s Pet Emporium.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  “It was good,” I said. “I got an A-minus on my social studies test.” I knew this would make my mom happy and I wanted her to be in a good mood.

  “Nice job,” she said, clearly pleased. “You studied a lot and it paid off.”

  “I did work hard,” I said. My mom was really into hard work, so I wanted to emphasize that.

  We pulled into the lot at Old Farm Market and my mom grabbed a cart out front. “Want to get eggs and butter while I start in the meat section?” she asked.

  “Sounds good,” I said. We were always efficient at shopping but I made sure to be extra fast today so that we’d have a little time at the end.

  Ten minutes later our cart was filled with everything we needed and my mom headed for the checkout line.

  “Can I go to the Pet Emporium while you pay?” I asked, after I’d helped her put everything up on the conveyer belt.

  My mom was distracted as she gave our reusable shopping bags to the cashier. “Okay, but be quick.”

  “Actually I was hoping you could meet me there,” I said, looking at her with pleading eyes. “There’s something I really want to show you.”

  My mom sighed but nodded. “Okay, but just for a second. And we aren’t buying anything else today.”