They heard the barking before they saw Elizabeth’s mom.
“My mom is here?” Elizabeth said out loud. She could see three little wet noses, Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod, trying to suck in as much air as they could from the small crack in the car window.
Freida jumped up again. “Ooo, so cute. Are they yours?”
Elizabeth looked at Freida. “You like dogs?”
“I love animals,” Freida said. “You are so lucky. Can I pet them? Oh, wait, here comes my mom, right behind you.”
Then, just before she dashed off to her car, Freida turned, smiled, and waved her arm. “Bye, Elizabeth. See you in school.”
“Bye.”
Elizabeth got into her car, pushing the dogs back as each one tried to jump on her and lick her face.
Her mother looked up into the rearview mirror. “Looks like you had a good time,” she said.
“Well, not entirely,“ Elizabeth answered. “But as long as you don’t mess with the animal kingdom, right, Mom?”
“That’s right, sweetie.”
Elizabeth snapped her seatbelt and let all three dogs press in against her like a warm, breathing blanket, all the way home.
AFTERWORD
* * *
The first domesticated dog was born of the wild, the one lupine smart enough to follow behind the band of human nomads who threw their leftovers—scraps of bone and fat and meat—out of their cave. The humans tolerated this wolf, because over time they learned that this wolf had a much keener sense of smell, of hearing, and sight, and, if they paid attention to his movements, he could warn them of approaching predators, changes in the weather, and other potential dangers.
Over time, the wolves got more and more curious, braver, or maybe just more hungry, and the humans got more and more comfortable with their presence. A few thousand years more, and that wolf’s children’s children’s children’s children were sleeping at the feet of the humans and eating food meant especially for them.
So wild humans learned to live with dogs and wild dogs learned to live with humans and both got less wild over time. Only people believed they could understand these domesticated animals, train them, teach them, and force them to live as they wanted, in their new dwellings, not caves but houses, and cars and hotels and boats. They trained the dogs where to sit, where to eat, where—even when—to pee and poop. People believed they understood exactly what these dogs were thinking and feeling, when in reality, the dogs had learned the language of humans far better than the other way around. It was just that the humans had the upper hand—smarter brains and that all-important opposable thumb.
Humans had more power. Most of the time.
But when you get to be an old dog like me, you stop worrying about power so much. I’ve had a lifetime of watching the humans. I can tell when they are getting up, going to the kitchen, or going to the bathroom. I know when they are angry and when they are happy. I know when they are about to reach for my leash or press a button on that remote control and sit for hours in front of that horrible light and sound box.
I know when the person at the door makes my humans nervous or confused. I know when they are sick and not behaving the way they usually do. I can’t read their minds. I just pay attention. I even know what they think they know about me.
Like I said, I’m an old dog and it’s easier this way.
We don’t live as long as humans. We don’t have the luxury of making as many mistakes, but I think my purpose on this earth is an honorable one. I am of a noble breed, the Saint Bernard, known for our bravery. My ancestors were famous as watchdogs and as alpine rescuers. But me, I mostly sleep these days. I’m tired. My bones are creaky, my eyes are crusty. My hips ache. Humans like us to look a certain way, or rather, many different ways; Saint Bernards, huskies, terriers, dachshunds, Great Danes, beagles, and poodles, but we’ve had to pay a very high price for that.
Still, I’m not complaining. I’ve had it better than some.
I can’t say I like it very much here, though, with all these other dogs. We are not all of the same intelligence, you know. The one they call Denali is decent enough, but those two little white puffballs are driving me crazy.
But I do like this human girl. She’s interesting and she’s thoughtful, so she, more than most humans, tries to understand. She knows we are not pack animals, we are not wolves. We do not have an “alpha” male or female, nor do we need one of you to pretend to be one, in order for there to be order.
I am like you. I want to figure out how to fit in and where I belong.
This girl listens—and not just to words, which I’ve come to learn in my old age mean much less than you humans would like to believe—but she listens to sounds. And she sees the light change.
I hear the sound of the wind, rustling the leaves, as it changes direction outside the glass. Spring is nearing. Fall is ending. The temperature drops. Winter lasts. I watch shadows casting across the room, rising, then lowering, and then disappearing as the day goes on. The girl will come back from the place she goes and comes, the place she calls “school,” and most of the time she will be sad. Or agitated. Or nervous.
I know it is the other humans who cause her these feelings.
I don’t know how long I will be here with this girl and the older female she is connected to. I can’t say for certain how long I’ve been here already. The shadows have risen and fallen more times than I can hold in my head. But I know I’ve been here before.
So while I am here I will try to figure it out as best I can. I want to be fed. I want to have a place to sleep. I don’t want to be feared, but I don’t want to be hurt.
I want to know where I belong.
Just like you.
© LISA BEVIS
NORA RALEIGH BASKIN was chosen as a Publishers Weekly Flying Start for her novel What Every Girl (Except Me) Knows. She is the author of novels for middle- graders and teens, including The Summer Before Boys, The Truth About My Bat Mitzvah, and Anything But Typical, which won the ALA Schneider Family Book Award. Nora lives in Weston, Connecticut. Visit her online at norabaskin.com.
SIMON & SCHUSTER
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Also by Nora Raleigh Baskin
Anything But Typical,
Winner of the ALA Schneider Family Book Award
The Summer Before Boys
The Truth About My Bat Mitzvah
SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Nora Raleigh Baskin and Ben Baskin
The excerpt from A Candle in Her Room on page 128 reproduced with permission of Curtis Brown Group Ltd, London on behalf of the Estate of Ruth M. Arthur
Copyright © Ruth M. Arthur 1966
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The text for this book is set in Minister.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Baskin, No
ra Raleigh.
Runt / Nora Raleigh Baskin.—First edition.
pages cm
Summary: From different perspectives, explores middle school bullying as Maggie, tired of Elizabeth Moon’s superior attitude, creates a fake profile on a popular social networking site to teach Elizabeth a lesson.
ISBN 978-1-4424-5807-9 (hardback)
ISBN 978-1-4424-5809-3 (eBook)
[1. Bullying—Fiction. 2. Middle schools—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction. 4. Popularity—Fiction. 5. Dogs—Fiction. 6. Online social networks—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.B29233Run 2013
[Fic]—dc23
2012049461
Runt Page 11
