by Ellen Miles
Special thanks to Kristin Earhart
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PUPPY TIPS
TEASER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER STORIES BY ELLEN MILES
COPYRIGHT
Charles gazed out the car window down a long valley filled with trees in shades of rosy red, bright yellow, and burnt orange. The grass was still a fresh green, like spring. The colors were beautiful, but Charles couldn’t wait for the road to start climbing up into the hills. He couldn’t wait to breathe the crisp, mountain air. His puppy, Buddy, was super excited, too. The Petersons were off to the mountains for the weekend!
Was Lizzie excited? Charles wasn’t so sure about his older sister. The trip was all because of her, but she was very quiet. She sat on the other side of the backseat, counting on her fingers. Every once in a while, she pulled a carefully folded sheet of paper from the pocket of her purple fleece jacket. Charles knew it was a checklist. Lizzie had been carrying it around for a week, ever since her last Greenies meeting.
Greenies was the name of Lizzie’s nature club. Lizzie was in it with her best friend, Maria, and a bunch of older kids from their school. Even though Charles was not a member of the Greenies, he had been invited on the club’s big annual camping trip to Misty Valley. Mom and Dad were invited, too!
So was the Bean, Charles’s younger brother, but he was staying with Aunt Amanda for the weekend. Charles was sure the Bean was very happy, since Aunt Amanda had a house full of animals. Charles wrapped his arm around Buddy and looked back out the window. He was pretty happy, too. But Lizzie was still looking very serious.
“Why are you so worried?” Charles asked.
“What?” Lizzie said. “Who me? Why do you think I’m worried?”
Charles shrugged. “Because you keep staring at that paper and mumbling to yourself.”
“This paper happens to be my checklist,” Lizzie explained.
“Yeah, but you already checked everything off, like fifteen times,” Charles pointed out.
“I’m just making sure,” said Lizzie. “And besides, all the knots I need to know are on the other side. Plus the words to a new camp song.”
“I thought camping was supposed to be fun,” Charles said.
“It is,” Lizzie said. “But remember, the Greenies don’t get to stay in cabins like you do. We won’t have running water or electricity or beds. We’ll get our water from a nearby stream and cook our own food, and put our tents up all by ourselves. The Greenies are doing real camping.”
Lizzie sometimes acted like a know-it-all, but Charles knew she had never done camping like this before. He could tell she was nervous.
Charles was glad he was staying in a cabin with Mom and Dad and Buddy. Leave the real camping to Lizzie. Let her tie knots and put up tents and swat bugs. Charles and Buddy were going to have fun!
Buddy had been Charles’s best friend ever since he’d come to live with the Petersons. Buddy had started out as a foster puppy — the Petersons had taken care of dozens of puppies who needed homes — but unlike all their other fosters, he had stayed forever and become part of the family. Charles gave the little brown mixed-breed puppy another hug. He was so glad Buddy could come with them on this adventure.
“I think you’re really going to enjoy this challenge, Lizzie,” Mom said now, from the front seat.
“I think so, too,” Dad agreed. “And if you don’t fill up on the canned beans you heat over the fire, we’ll steal some real food for you from the mess hall in the lodge.”
Dad grinned into the rearview mirror, and Charles laughed. But Lizzie scowled. “Beans are real food,” she said. “But that’s not what we’re eating, anyway.”
“You can’t exist on s’mores all weekend,” Dad said. Charles could tell he was still trying to get a smile out of Lizzie.
She crossed her arms. “What’s that mean? Do you guys think I can’t do this?” Lizzie asked.
“We’re not saying that at all,” Mom said. She turned around to look into the backseat. She smiled at Lizzie. “It’s great that you’re taking this on. We’re proud of you.”
Charles nodded at his older sister. “And it’s cool that we can come along.”
“Even if you do have to sleep in a cabin,” Lizzie said, sounding more like herself. “Maria and I are sharing a two-person tent. We’ve practiced putting it up. We’re a great team.”
“I’ve slept in tents before,” said Charles, “with David and Sammy.” He could handle real camping as well as Lizzie could, even if she didn’t think so.
“Sure,” said Lizzie. “In David’s backyard, maybe. Not exactly the same thing.”
Charles started to reply, but Dad interrupted.
“Look, we’re here!” Dad pointed to a sign that said MISTY VALLEY, then turned the car down a long gravel driveway.
“Misty Valley, our home away from home for the weekend,” Mom said.
As they got closer, Charles saw small log houses scattered around an open meadow that nestled in among the hills. Charles guessed that those were the sleeping cabins. In the middle of them all were some larger buildings. Dad turned the car toward the one with a sign that read WELCOME CENTER. The building next to it, the largest of all, was made out of stone. It looked like an old castle, with extra tall windows that looked out on a mountain stream. That building had a sign that read MESS HALL. Charles knew that a mess hall was like a cafeteria for campers. He felt his stomach grumble as he wondered what there would be for dinner. Beans ’n’ weenies, maybe? Or chili? Maybe there would even be ice cream for dessert.
“There’s Maria!” Lizzie said. Her friend sat on a bench in front of the mess hall. Maria looked as calm as always, her long, dark hair straight and shiny. She was surrounded by a mound of sleeping bags, food coolers, and other camping gear. Lizzie leapt out of the car and ran over to Maria.
“Charles, how about if you come with me?” Dad suggested. “You can help me sign in.”
Charles climbed out of the car. His legs were stiff as he took the first few steps after that long ride.
A bell jingled when Dad opened the welcome center door. There wasn’t anyone at the sign-in counter. “Hello!” Dad called.
There wasn’t a person in sight — but the place was not empty. Charles could hear snuffling and scratching. He was almost positive that he recognized those sounds.
Dad started looking through the flyers and papers on the counter, but Charles was feeling curious. He peeked around the tall counter. Sure enough, he saw a metal dog crate — and inside the crate was a sleek gray puppy with long silky ears and slate-blue eyes. The dog tilted his head to look at Charles, staring right back at him. “Dad, look!” said Charles. “It’s a puppy!”
“Hey there. Welcome to Misty Valley.” A man with a short gray beard came into the room. His blue plaid shirt, tucked into his corduroy pants, was a little tight over his broad belly. “I’m Melvin Merrick. Sorry to keep you waiting.” He smiled as he stuck out his hand to shake Dad’s.
“No problem — we just got here,” said Dad. “I’m Paul Peterson, and my son, Charles, is —”
“Aha!” the man said as he spotted Charles. “You found Bentley, did you?”
Charles looked up and smiled at Mr. Merrick. “Hi,” he said. Then he went back to staring at the pup’s silky gray fur.
At home, Lizzie had a “Dog Breeds of the World” poster. If Charles remembered right, this puppy was probably at least part Weimaraner.
His size and color were the main clues. He was tall for a puppy, and he was a beautiful shade of blue gray. Plus, his eyes were blue, with a lot of gray in them.
The only other thing Charles could remember about Weimaraners was that they were intelligent. Charles was sure this dog was smart. He’d seen how the puppy had looked up alertly when the man said his name.
“Hi, Bentley,” Charles said, to see if the puppy would react to his name again. Bentley pawed at the crate door. He whined and stared up at Charles with his intense eyes.
Hi, hi, hi! Can we play?
The blankets at the bottom of Bentley’s crate were ripped to shreds. Charles felt bad for him. He knew Bentley must be bored to do that. Puppies needed to be able to roam around and explore their brand-new world.
“How old is Bentley?” Charles asked. He thought the puppy looked like he might be about six months old, but Charles was never as good at telling ages as Lizzie was.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Melvin shrugged as he pushed the sign-in book toward Dad. “Fill in all your information, then sign down at the bottom.” He handed Dad a pen. Then he frowned down at Bentley. “He isn’t exactly my pup.”
“What do you mean?” Charles asked.
“Well, he showed up a couple of weeks ago,” Melvin said. “It was a big weekend for camping. We were full, every last cabin and tent site.” Melvin gestured at the sign-in book. “I know Bentley must have come then, but no one registered a dog. No one at all. Then everyone packed up and left on Sunday, and the pup was still here.”
Charles couldn’t believe it. Who would leave such a beautiful dog behind? And why?
“He had a collar on, but no tag. I called all the campers we had that weekend, and no one called back.” Melvin clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “Good thing I had this crate left from my son Holling’s dog, Bones.” He shook his head. “Holling never quite got over losing that old basset hound. He said he’d never get another dog, but somehow I never did get rid of the crate.”
Charles smiled. He already liked Melvin — and he really liked Bentley.
But Bentley didn’t like the crate. The puppy’s eyes darted from Charles to Melvin, and back to Charles.
Who’s going to let me out? Please let me out. I need to run! I need to play!
Charles scooted on his knees so he could get a closer look at Bentley. The puppy barked with excitement, then pawed at the latch to the crate door.
“Can I let him smell my hand?” Charles asked.
“Sure, he’s friendly,” Melvin said. “I guess that’ll help when we start trying to find him a new home.”
Ding, ding, ding! A bell went off in Charles’s head. “You’re looking for a new home for Bentley?” he asked.
Melvin nodded. “I hate to say it, since I’ve gotten attached to the little guy, but I think we’ll probably need to. We’re way too busy here to take care of a puppy.”
Charles got it. His family knew all about matching puppies to new families. They had been helping dogs find their forever homes for a while, and they knew each puppy had special needs. Maybe we can help find Bentley’s new family, Charles thought. The Petersons were only at Misty Valley for the weekend. He’d have to be quick about it.
“You know,” Charles began as Bentley sniffed his hand, “my family brought our puppy to Misty Valley. His name’s Buddy. He’s very good with other dogs. Maybe we could take Bentley out for you, and they could play together.” If Charles could see the dogs together, he’d learn more about Bentley’s personality. That was so important when you were finding a new home for a puppy.
“That’s nice, but I don’t want to trouble you folks. You’re here to have fun,” Melvin said. He glanced over and smiled as Bentley licked the tips of Charles’s fingers.
Watching two puppies play would be fun, but Charles didn’t want to seem pushy.
“Bentley’s a good name,” Dad said, his eyes still on the registration he was filling out.
“Yeah, I named him after those fancy British cars,” Melvin explained. “The pup has a real sophisticated look about him, all sleek and silver. My son loved those silver Bentleys when he was little, so the name just popped into my head. I think it suits the pup. I bet Holling will agree. He’s coming to help out this weekend.”
Charles agreed that the puppy was elegant. His coat was so shiny and his legs were so long. Even stuck in the crate, he seemed graceful. Charles wondered about Melvin’s son, Holling. What was he like? Charles knew he didn’t want another dog and he loved fancy cars. He pictured a guy in a suit who lived in the city and worked at a bank or some other important business place.
Charles tried to push his fingers through the bars on the crate so he could scratch behind Bentley’s floppy ears.
Dad pushed the registration book back across the counter. Melvin opened a drawer and pulled out a set of keys. The key chain was a short stick with some rainbow-colored yarn wrapped around it. “You all are in the Wolf Ridge cabin.” He handed Dad the keys and pointed toward one of the log houses across the meadow.
“Thanks,” Dad replied. “Come on, Charles.”
Charles held his hand out to Bentley for one last sniff, and then he got up. “Thanks, Bentley,” he said with a wave. “I’ll see you soon!” He waved to Melvin, too.
Charles couldn’t wait to tell Lizzie all about Bentley. He knew she would have all kinds of advice for him. He rushed out into the brisk air and blinked as his eyes got used to the light.
“Lizzie!” he yelled as he jogged to the car. “Lizzie, there’s a Weimaraner puppy in the welcome center. His name is Bentley. He’s so cute!” Charles expected Lizzie to race straight into the center, but she was busy rummaging around in the backseat of the car.
“Not now, Charles, I’m running really late,” Lizzie said.
“Did you hear me?” Charles asked, poking her.
“I heard you. But I can’t find my canteen, and we’re supposed to be meeting up with the group. Where is that thing? I had it out for the drive.”
“There’s a Weimaraner puppy, or at least part-Weimaraner puppy, and he needs a new home,” Charles said again. He couldn’t even see Lizzie’s head. It was almost totally under the seat.
“Lizzie!” Maria called from where all the Greenies were gathered. “Come on. If we don’t line up now, they’re going to leave without us!”
“Be right there!” Lizzie emerged with a sigh and her canteen. “Weimaraners are awesome,” she said as she tucked her canteen into a backpack pouch. “I wish I could meet him, but it’s just going to have to wait.”
Then Lizzie couldn’t seem to resist showing off how much she knew about dogs. She held up a finger to Maria to signal she’d be there in a second, and let loose with a whole bunch of information, talking double time. “Did you know that Weimaraners’ eyes are bright blue until about six months, and then they change to gray or blue gray or amber? Cool, huh?” She ran her hands over her pockets, checking for everything. “And they’re super athletic. But they can be tricky. They say that some Weimaraners are smarter than their owners,” she added.
“Oh, yes, you’re very smart, too,” she said, leaning down to pet Buddy, who was pawing at her leg. She gave him a kiss and scratched him behind both ears. Next she gave quick hugs to Mom and Dad before she hurried over to join the Greenies group. She turned around for a second and yelled, “Charles, have fun with Buddy and Bentley!” Then she headed for the hills and her great camping adventure.
Charles had about a hundred questions for Lizzie, and now she was gone. Lizzie probably knew lots more about Weimaraners, and Charles was eager for more information. He wanted to know more so he could help find Bentley the perfect forever home. He could do it on his own, without Lizzie’s help — he knew he could, and he wanted to prove it to her. But it wasn’t going to be easy.
As he walked to the cabin with Mom, Dad, and Buddy, Charles went over what he knew. Lizzie had said Weimaraners were smart — sometimes smarter than their owners. Charles
wasn’t sure what Lizzie meant by that. She also said they were athletic. If they were athletic, he knew that must mean they were also full of energy.
“Do you know anything about Weimaraners?” Charles asked his parents as they headed to their cabin. “Mr. Merrick needs our help finding a new home for Bentley.”
“Well, he didn’t exactly ask for our help,” Dad said.
“But you saw Bentley, Dad,” Charles insisted. “That puppy did not want to be in that crate.”
“Some dogs don’t mind crates,” Mom said. “Especially not at night.”
“Well, Bentley isn’t one of them,” said Charles. “He needs a home where he can run around.”
“Well, we can talk about this later,” Mom said. “For now, let’s get settled and look at the schedule of activities for the afternoon.”
The cabin was small and cozy, with a bunk bed in the main room for Charles and a small bedroom for Mom and Dad. Charles tossed his backpack on top of the red wool blanket covering the bottom bunk.
“This is nice,” said Mom, looking around. “I like the red plaid curtains. Very quaint.” She sat down next to Charles and showed him the brochure Dad had taken at the welcome center. “There’s a birdwatching hike on Sunday.” She ran a finger down the schedule. “This afternoon, you have two choices,” she said. “Flying Squirrel or the Raptor Shack. Flying Squirrel sounds exciting — you fly high above the trees. And at the Raptor Shack you can see the injured birds the rangers are taking care of — big birds! Hawks and owls.”
Charles wasn’t so sure about Flying Squirrel, but the Raptor Shack sounded cool.
“It’d be neat to see some of the big birds that live around here,” Dad said. “But we probably couldn’t take Buddy. He might bark. He could scare them.”
“Or they might want to eat him,” Mom added.
Charles stared at Mom, horrified.
Mom laughed. “Just kidding. But a raptor is a bird of prey by definition,” Mom said. “And Buddy is still pretty small.”
“I’ll do Flying Squirrel,” Charles said quickly. “So Buddy can come.”
