I just shrugged and told him I liked dogs. Which is the understatement of the year, and left out the sob story about my border collie, Frankie, getting sick and dying in July and my mom refusing to get another dog because she’s already stretched too thin and can’t take on one more thing. Not to mention the part where I needed something to do after school since I’d always hung out with Cole before, and if I spent one more afternoon alone in my room avoiding Mitchell and looking at my dad’s old Nikon and feeling wrecked, I was going to lose my noodle for good.
Chewbarka makes a feeble coughing sound. Tina leans down and touches her forehead to the dog’s. “You’re okay, little one.” She kneads the back of Chewbarka’s neck, which must feel good because Chewbarka nestles into Tina’s palm even though her eyes are still mostly closed.
“What are you going to do with her? Just take her home after your shift?” I ask.
“Yep. My house has been dog-free for too long. It’s getting lonely.”
“I know that feel.” My house has been dog-free since Frankie died, and it makes everything seem empty. But I can’t imagine what Mom or Mitchell would say if I tried to rescue a dog like Tina’s doing. They already think I’m the world’s biggest softie, and they constantly tell me in big and small ways to stop being so sensitive. Last week Mom said that everyone has feelings and I need to get better at managing mine. Which, thanks, I know. “Tina . . . would it be weird if I said you’re my hero?”
She smiles as she braces her hands on her thighs and stands up, both knees cracking. “I gotta go upstairs to help with that dog that got attacked. You gonna be here awhile?”
“Till six.” That’s when the office closes and I’m supposed to leave, since I’m not on the payroll and don’t have a key to lock up behind me.
“You mind checking her every ten minutes or so?”
A fizzy bubble of joy fills me. I couldn’t save Frankie, but I can help Tina save this dog. And Mom doesn’t even need to know. “Of course.”
“Give her as much water as she’ll drink. And keep the room C door shut in case anybody else comes down.” Tina heads for the door that leads to the outside stairs she came down with Chewbarka in the bag. The building’s old and it’s the only way to get between the office upstairs and the kennel down here. “I’ll get her soon as Doc leaves at six.”
I nod to show I’ve got it, just like a real employee instead of a thirteen-year-old volunteer.
I’m usually focused on the dogs while they’re outside in the gravel yard, offering different toys till I find one they like and playing until they get bored, but today, all I can think about is that little Pomeranian waking up confused and thirsty in a strange place, abandoned by someone she probably loves. Every time I check on her, she seems a little more awake, but she won’t drink water, just lays on the towel blinking and turning her head like she’s looking for something.
After I finish with the last of the boarders, I sit in room C, pull Chewbarka into my lap, and curl up with her, rubbing her soft ears as she blinks and works her tongue around in her mouth. Her heartbeat is a warm flutter against my stomach. “Good girl,” I murmur in her ear. I touch my forehead to hers like Tina did, telling her with my thoughts that she’s wanted, she’s loved, even if it’s not by the man who brought her in. “Tina will be a good mom for you,” I say. “Yes, she will. You’re a lucky pup to get to live with Tina.”
Chewbarka relaxes in my arms. After a while, I stand her in front of the water dish. She takes a big drink, wobbling on her feet. I keep my hands at her sides in case she starts to fall. She pees while she’s drinking like she’s not aware she’s doing it. When she’s finished, I settle her back on the towel and clean up the pee. I try to brush her orange hairs off my black T-shirt, but they’re stuck good. In my photography class the other day, the new kid, Ash, was doing the same thing with the three colors of fur on her shirt. I asked how many pets she has. She said just one, a beagle, but that his epic farts counted for at least three dogs. Then she blushed and pretended to be interested in her phone.
I don’t know why I keep thinking about her hazel eyes and pale skin and sandy hair with purple streaks. She was wearing a Pink Floyd shirt today. I used to listen to Pink Floyd with Dad.
I finish picking the hair off my shirt and stand up. I’ve walked all the dogs, but I should keep an eye on Chewbarka till Tina’s shift is over in half an hour. I take Roxy the husky back outside and we play with a tennis ball. Then I walk a couple other dogs again, then I cuddle with a tired black Lab with a gray muzzle for a while, and then it’s 6:02.
I hang out in the kennel office and read the logbook while I wait. It’s full of feeding notes for the boarders, which I don’t have to worry about since I don’t feed the dogs. I check my phone: 6:07.
I tap my fingers on the logbook. I flip its pages and set it neatly in the center of the desk. At 6:15, it occurs to me that maybe it’s
