Immortal Max

by Lutricia Clifton

  After they’ve finished their drinks, Yee and Anise get up to leave.

  “See you at camp tomorrow,” Yee says to Bailey.

  “Yeah, and on Thursday to practice,” Anise says. “At your house.”

  “Cool,” Bailey says.

  I walk Yee and Anise to the road. “That was cool, guys.” I grin. “Real cool.”

  I watch until they reach the corner that leads to CountryWood, and then I head back to the house, where Rosie and Bailey are cleaning up the lemonade stuff.

  “What are you doing?” When I get there, I find the lemonade and glasses still on the picnic table and Max standing in the middle of Rosie’s wading pool. Lapping soapsuds.

  “Giving Max a bath.” Bailey holds a bottle of oatmeal soap. “And then we’re going to brush him.”

  “Yeah. And now that he’s a real dog, he needs to smell better,” Rosie says. “Just like Sid said.”

  Real dog? Max looks like a wet, overgrown rat and smells as bad. No matter what Bailey and Rosie do to him, he’ll never be a real dog.

  Like a pedigreed German shepherd …

  Decision time. I’ve been checking the want ads regularly. The puppies are still being advertised. Now that I have a job, I need to act. Fast.

  “But Max needs some chlorophyll dog biscuits.” Bailey wrinkles her nose. “His breath definitely is not splendid.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  Hurrying to the house, I find the phone number in the want ads and dial.

  The phone rings. And rings.

  My stomach ties up in knots.

  What if no one’s there? What if the puppies are gone?

  Chapter 14

  “Kendall’s Kennels. This is Alice Kendall. Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, hi. This is Sammy Smith. Sam Smith. Do you still have the German shepherd puppies for sale?”

  Mrs. Kendall tells me they have three males and a female puppy available.

  “That’s great! I’ll take one of the males. I can pay you ninety dollars now and the rest when I get it.”

  “You want to give me part payment and take a puppy home… .” A long pause on the line. “Sorry, we don’t do business that way.”

  What? But I bragged to Justin that I’m getting a puppy—in front of Yee and Anise.

  “Well …” My mind races. “How ’bout this? I’ll give you a ninety-dollar nonrefundable deposit and pay you some each week. I’ll take the puppy when we’re all paid up.”

  Mrs. Kendall laughs. “We don’t do layaway, either. When you get the money, give me a call back.”

  My tongue feels like Jell-O that’s set in the refrigerator a week. Rubber jerky. This isn’t going the way it was supposed to.

  “How old are you, Sam? I’ve never sold a dog … sight unseen.”

  I tell her I just turned twelve. She suggests I bring my parents out to her kennel. That there are things a dog buyer needs to do to protect himself.

  “Like what?”

  “Like making sure a dog is what the breeder says it is. Don’t get me wrong, our dogs have great pedigrees. We keep a clean kennel, keep our dogs healthy. Make sure they’re bred right. But not all breeders do that. Have you heard of puppy mills?”

  When I don’t answer right away, she goes on talking.

  “You understand, of course, that I will have other potential buyers calling me.”

  My heart pounds. “Are … are you saying you’ll sell the puppies to them if they have all the money?”

  “That’s what we’re in the business to do, Sam. Sorry.”

  The click almost punctures my eardrum. I return to the kitchen, feeling like I’ve been run through the garbage disposal.

  “What’s to eat?” Rosie slams through the screen door, oozing puddles.

  “Take off your shoes. You smell like a wet rat. And change clothes before Mom comes in.”

  “You’re being bossy, Sammy. I’m gonna tell.”

  “Go ahead, I don’t care.”

  Rosie turns her back, ignoring me.

  “And you need to be taking care of cats.” I start talking more loudly as Rosie heads for the stairs. “Not some dumb old dog.”

  “Already fed them. Max is hungry and Birdie needs water. Her birdbath is dry.”

  Great. Now a six-year-old is telling me what to do.

  “Where’s Bailey? She had time to haul water for Max’s bath. She can water him and Birdie.”

  “Gone home to work on my costumes. I’m going over for a fitting soon as I change.” Rosie stomps upstairs, her footsteps echoing through the house.

  The kitchen grows quiet, so quiet I can’t stand it. I slam through the screen door to do chores.

  Beth’s Subaru clatters into the driveway as I’m filling a water bucket. I wave her over.

  “S’up, Sammy? I’m beat.” Beth smells of disinfectant. A smear of something dark stains her jeans. Medicine. Puke. Maybe manure. Strands of wavy blond hair string down her neck like wet noodles. “Max all right? He still taking care of Birdie?”

  “Max is fine. Walk with me around back. I need to ask you a couple things.”

  I pick up the pail of water. Beth picks up Max’s food dish and falls into step beside me.

  “What’s so important it can’t wait till supper?”

  “First, tell me about puppy mills.”

  “Puppy mills?” She frowns, looking bewildered. “Why do you need to know about puppy mills?”

  I hunch my shoulders. “Someone was talking about them today.”

  “Oh. Well, here’s the CliffsNotes version. They’re also called puppy farms and puppy factories. They’re dog breeding facilities operated under inhumane conditions. The female dogs are caged all the time, not allowed to exercise or play. Sometimes they even have to go to the bathroom in their cages.”

  “Even purebred dogs?”

  “That’s what puppy mills specialize in, although they’re not careful about the breeding process. They don’t vet their animals properly, either. As a result, the puppies that are born may have health or behavior problems. When a dog is caged up all the time, it doesn’t learn to socialize with other dogs. Or people.”

  I think about this as we walk. “Is that what was wrong with Max? ’Cause he was caged?”

  “Possibly.” She thinks a bit, too. “Other dogs just don’t do well in cages and go bonkers when they get out. Max being a herding breed could account for it, too.”

  Herding breed. Beth had already figured out what kind of dog Max was. “How can someone be sure they aren’t buying a dog from a puppy mill?”

  “Well, those kinds of breeders typically sell through newspaper ads or pet stores, even the Internet. That way buyers can’t see how the dogs are treated. A buyer needs to buy a dog from a good place.”

  “How do you know you’re buying from a good place?”

  “The best way is to visit the breeding facility, check out the conditions and the breeder.”

  Just what Mrs. Kendall said. How am I going to check out their kennel? I don’t even know where it is.

  “Um, what do you know about Kendall’s Kennels? I think it’s somewhere around here.”

  “Other side of the county. Solid reputation. Went out there once with one of the vets to check a dog.”

  If Beth says Kendall’s is okay, that’s good enough for me. I’ve found a good kennel, now all I need is money.

  Beth looks at me, eyes curious. “Everything all right, Sammy?”

  “Splendid. Everything’s just splendid.”

  “Splendid?” She grins. “Rosie’s been using that word a lot lately, too.”

  “Yeah, well. We’ve been hanging with Sid Patel.”

  “That’s cool. Your vocabulary could use some sprucing up.”

  “Whatever.” I take a breath, go for it. “Um, I know you bought your own car …”

  “Yeah …”

  “And you’ve been working to save money for college …”

  “Yeah” again, but slower.

 
“Well, I’ve found a great deal on a puppy, but I’m a little short. So I was wondering if you could loan me a few dollars.”

  “What’s a few dollars?”

  “Two hundred fifty.”

  “Geez, Sammy. That’s more than a few. Why can’t you wait until the end of summer when you’ve earned enough?”

  “ ’Cause Kendall’s doesn’t do layaway.”

  Beth stands still. “Mom was worried you wouldn’t make enough working at CountryWood to buy a puppy. What if you couldn’t pay me back?”

  “I will—I promise. I’ve got customers already. I mean, what could go wrong?”

  Beth starts walking again, blinking.

  She’s gonna do it, she’s gonna loan me the money… .

  Beth’s head starts to shake. The kind of headshake that spells trouble.

  “Sorry, Sammy. I just put a deposit on a dorm room in Colorado and need to budget for books and supplies. Could go ten or twenty bucks, but not that much. I’m maxed out, little bro.” She looks at me again. “Have you asked Mom?”

  “She’s paying for Rosie’s pageant, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah—” Beth pulls up short as we round the barn. “Is that Max? Wow, he looks great. About time he had a bath—past time. He hasn’t been groomed since I took him in for his shots and a bath at the vet’s months ago.”

  The dirty pile of sticks and brush has morphed into a silky-coated dog.

  “Bailey and Rosie did it. It was Sid’s idea.”

  “Well, keep it up. It’s good for his coat.” She walks over, rubs Max’s head. “He feels good, too. You can tell by the way he’s acting.”

  Max’s eyes and ears are alert. His mouth is wide in a doggy grin. And he twists and turns like a puppy.

  “Yeah, but his breath would stop a freight train. I think his teeth are rotted ’cause he’s old. Real old.”

  Beth squeezes Max’s jaws open, examines his teeth. “Teeth still look pretty good, not too worn down. Some plaque buildup, but dog biscuits would help that. I’ll bring some home.”

  “With chlorophyll?”

  “No, charcoal. That’s what we use for treats at the clinic. Works better than chlorophyll.” She looks at Max again. “I swear, this dog’s a miracle. First he doesn’t die like he’s supposed to, and now he’s acting like a puppy.”

  Miracle. That’s what Sid said the last day of school.

  “Good job, Sam.” Beth smiles at me.

  “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Get serious. You’re the one who turned him around, and he knows it. That’s why you’re his alpha person.”

  “Alpha person?”

  “Alpha is the first letter of the Greek alphabet. Alpha person means you’re number one with him, the person he respects the most.”

  Huh. All I was trying to do was stop him from eating my socks.

  “Meet you inside.” Beth walks back toward the house. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a cow. And that’s saying a lot, since I’m a vegetarian.”

  My heart is a boat motor in my chest. A heavy throbbing lump of metal. Nothing is working out for me. Beth was my last hope …

  Unless I can convince Mrs. Kendall to hold a puppy for me.

  Chapter 15

  Wednesday. 10:24 AM. Four dogs on leashes, each with internal compasses aligned to different magnetic fields. Siegfried’s points north. Apollo’s, south. Buddy’s, sort of east. Baby’s, sort of west. Hairy yo-yos, I reel them out and pull them back in. Continuously. Finally, we reach a truce.

  Well trained, Professor Muller’s pinscher, Siegfried, shadows my left heel. Having the shortest legs, Apollo, Mr. P’s yorkie, shadows Siegfried. Mrs. Callahan’s peekapoos, Baby and Buddy, take turns in the lead. My eyes are bouncing balls, ricocheting from one dog to the next. My ears are finely tuned hearing aids listening for sounds coming from behind. Cars. Trucks. Bikes. Battery-powered golf carts are the real menace. Gliding as silent as Luke Skywalker’s landspeeder, they’re on top of us without warning.

  One of my back pockets is stuffed with plastic bags. The other holds a lid from a mayonnaise jar. A water bottle is clipped to my left belt loop. So far, I’ve only picked up after Siegfried. That bag is tied to a belt loop on my right hip. A green plastic bag sporting a Piggly Wiggly logo is filled with Min Pin peanuts. Three more to go, but there’s plenty of time. We’re only halfway around the loop Chief Beaumont mapped out.

  The dogs aren’t yapping at all, so I stop worrying about citations for creating a disturbance. It’s because of the heat. The dogs can’t breathe and bark at the same time. Even though it’s midmorning, they pant nonstop. Dogs sweat through their footpads, but when it’s really hot, the footpads can’t keep up. So they pant. Tongues drooling elastic bands.

  I’m not panting, just oozing through all my pores. The dry spell and hot temperatures are cooking everything. Flowers in gardens we walk past have dried to yellow stalks. The asphalt smells like hot tar. The sun’s glare is blinding. My face and neck are sunburned. I feel lucky to have worked out a morning schedule, not afternoon.

  Buddy and Baby decide to do their business at the same time. I tell Siegfried to sit, reel in Apollo, remove two bags from my pocket. And wait. This part of the job can’t be rushed. Serious business for dogs. Nose to ground, sniffing along an invisible line that leads to treasure, no stopping until they find the X that marks the spot. Siegfried took five minutes locating his X. While I wait, I unclip my water bottle and take a long drink. Siegfried looks up at me.

  Is he asking for a drink?

  “Wait until Buddy and Baby are done.” I rub his head. “If I give you a drink now, they’ll forget what they’re supposed to do.” He sits down at my feet, staring at Baby and Buddy.

  Is he telegraphing them a message? “Dogs aren’t that smart … are they?”

  Great. I’m talking to myself—about stupid things. Bored with waiting, I decide to test the theory.

  “Siegfried, tell Apollo to do his business now because it would save time.”

  Siegfried looks at Apollo and pants harder. Apollo lies down on the ground.

  I laugh.

  After Buddy and Baby find their treasure spots, I pull out the jar lid I brought for a water dish. As the dogs are taking their turns, I hear a noise. A loud roaring sound on the next street over.

  Justin is on the prowl.

  Siegfried stands alert, looking toward the noise. Apollo starts to whine. Just then, Baby and Buddy finish drinking. I look around, searching for cover. Some thick bushes or a clump of trees to hide behind. Barren yards and black asphalt stare back at me.

  Maybe he doesn’t know I’m here. Maybe he won’t find us… .

  Hurriedly, I pick up the two peanut-size piles that Buddy and Baby deposited. Just as I finish tying twin Walmart bags to a belt loop, the roaring noise grows louder. I look up and see a golf cart spinning around the corner, a pilot-guided missile. Stuffing the jar lid in my pocket, I yell to the dogs, “Run!”

  But it’s no use. A dog’s ability to cover ground is determined by how long its legs are. I’m walking four very little dogs with very short legs. Being the biggest, Siegfried is the fastest. He manages to keep up with me. Buddy and Baby tangle their leashes and trip over each other. The smallest of them all, Apollo, is stretched at the end of his leash—behind me. I’m dragging him like a hairy little red wagon.

  When the noise behind us reaches the pitch of a jet engine, I pick up Buddy, Baby, and Apollo. “Hurry, Siegfried!” I yell. “Hurry!”

  We run.

  Justin swerves off the road in front of us, forcing us into the ditch. I stumble over Siegfried’s leash and land in the middle of a dog pile. A yelping dog pile.

  Justin yells, “I warned you, Spammy!” He disappears, followed by laughter. A-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh.

  Doors start slamming. People come outside to investigate. They stare at me, faces stone masks. Those looks are asking questions.

  Who is that strange boy?

  Is he an outsider?
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  Why’s he making all that noise?

  Should we call Chief Beaumont?

  I wave at the lookers. “It’s okay. I’m walking dogs for Mr. P, Mrs. Callahan, and Professor Muller. Chief Beaumont gave me permission.”

  Hearing familiar names seems to work. The people go back to their air-conditioned houses and big-screen TVs. I untangle leashes and check dogs. All four are covered in dried grass and dirt. Baby’s ear ribbons have come loose. I retie them in a double knot. Siegfried whines, holding a front paw in the air.

  “Good dog, Siegfried.” My voice calm, the way Beth does when she treats our animals, I examine his foot. A sliver of wood is stuck in the pad. Gently, I ease it out. He whines but lets me wash his foot with water. I give him a drink and refill the jar lid for the other three. While they’re drinking, I dry off Siegfried’s hurt paw with the tail of my T-shirt and examine it more closely.

  “It’s not too bad, Siegfried. A little antiseptic soap and warm water, and it will be just fine.”

  Which means I have to tell Professor Muller what happened.

  As I’m working with Siegfried, Apollo finishes his business. I tie a fourth bag to a belt loop. A Farm-&-Fleet logo, more bouncing peanuts. My job done for the day, I use my hands to brush off the dogs and finish the route.

  Dropping off Apollo first, I pocket a five-dollar bill.

  “Wait, I make Greek sugar cookies for us.” Mr. P’s house smells like a bakery. “You come in. We eat.”

  “Um, better not. I have to take the other dogs home.”

  “Oh, sure, sure.” He glances at Buddy, Baby, and Siegfried, picks up Apollo. “Why they all so dirty?” he says, looking at me.

  “The, uh, the grass is really dry. Passing cars stirred up dust, too.”

  A half-lie?

  “Oh, sure, sure. I am watering my plants every day.” He sets Apollo down and tells me to wait. He returns with a sandwich bag stuffed full of sugar cookies. “For the way home.”

  “Thanks. That’ll be great.” We exchange cookies and a bag of peanut-size dog poop.

  Mrs. Callahan’s house is next. I tie up Apollo on the porch, then take the two peekapoos inside. I’ll drop off her house key at the office on my way out.