Walking the Dog

by Linda Benson

  “I just think those guys need to keep their big mouths shut,” is what I tell her.

  All three of us get a one-day suspension.

  My dad is going to kill me.

  Chapter 11—Grounded

  THE THING THAT BUGS ME about parents is they always expect you to grow up to be just like them. As if everybody’s going to judge them on how you turn out. Maybe that’s why my dad gets so hot under the collar when he finds out about the fight.

  Not only do I get a one-day school suspension—I also get grounded for the next two weeks. That means I can’t ride my bike or go anywhere at all for fun. Except for school, I have to stay home every day and do chores.

  On Sunday, my parents take us to church. We haven’t been there since Easter. Pete and me have to wear our good dress shirts, and Mom even makes me wear a tie. It feels ridiculous. “Stand up tall,” she says to us, as we walk down the aisle and take a seat toward the front. I feel like a little wind-up toy, all dressed-up to make my parents feel proud.

  I don’t get all this religious stuff anyway. Once I asked Jesus to come into my heart, the way they tell you to do. I guess He came in. I don’t know. Maybe He’s still there. It just seems to me like church is a place where everyone goes to stand around and act nicey-nice.

  We sing a few hymns and then sit down, and after the pastor mumbles more words and everyone says amen, he starts to drone on and on, but I’m not really listening. Petey kicks me in the shins, and I shove him with my shoulder. Dad gives us both a mean look and after a while my mind drifts and I start thinking about something else entirely.

  I’m thinking I might want to be a volunteer at the animal shelter this summer.

  It’s about the only way I’m going to get to see Sophie. Besides, walking dogs with her again sounds like fun.

  There’s no sense asking my parents. If they find out Sophie is there, they’ll automatically say no way. So I’m trying to figure out what I can tell them about my whereabouts on Mondays and Thursdays. I think about it all during church, and on the drive home, and even when I’m pulling weeds for my mom that afternoon.

  Maybe I’ll tell them that I got a job somewhere. But then they’ll want to know how much money I make. Maybe I could say I joined a summer soccer league and we have practice. But that might cost money, and they’d want to come watch us play.

  I guess I could just go for a long bike ride two days a week. Or say I was going to a friend’s house. Except they might want me to take Petey along. And Petey talks a lot.

  Which is how I learn that Sophie’s riding her bike up and down our street on Wednesday afternoon, the last week of school. I’ve got the garage door open, wrestling the old lawn mower out onto the grass.

  “Hey, Jared. Guess what?” Pete sidles up alongside of me, wiggling his front tooth.

  “What?”

  Pete takes his grubby fingers out of his mouth and opens his eyes wide, like he has an important announcement. “I saw that girl from school, riding Aunt Sally’s old bike.”

  “You did not. When?”

  “S’afternoon. Out there.” He waves his hand toward the road in front of our house. “She went up and down the street a couple of times.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “You must be imagining things.”

  “No, I saw her,” he says.

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.”

  “Boys, stop arguing,” yells Mom from the kitchen. “Pete Westin, come in here and get your toys picked up. And, Jared, you better get the lawn mowed before your dad gets home.”

  “I’m going to,” I shoot back. “I’m trying to get this stupid thing started.” I kick the old mower once for luck and pull the rope. Nothing.

  I pull again, then three times, maybe fourteen or sixteen times, until my arm feels like it’s going to fall off. I feel like cussing, but somebody would probably hear me, and I’d get in more trouble.

  I unscrew the little knob and check the gas, and then I pull the dipper stick out and check the oil. Finally, on about the millionth try, the mower starts. I start cutting around the edges of the lawn. I slow down when I get close to the street. This is the first time in my life that I don’t mind mowing the stinkin’ lawn.

  Each time I come around the corner, I look down toward Brewster, not really expecting to see Sophie. Maybe Petey made up that story. He probably doesn’t even remember what Sophie looks like.

  As I come around the corner on the far side of the house, I see her pedaling that goofy old three-speed right toward me. She’s wearing shorts and a pink tank top. Her skin is creamy white, and her hair is so blonde, it almost matches her skin.

  I stop the mower. I look back toward the kitchen to see if Mom is watching, but I can’t see the window from this angle.

  “Hi there,” says Sophie.

  My heart flops over in my chest. “Hi yourself.”

  “Want to go for a bike ride?” she asks me.

  “I can’t.”

  “How come?”

  “I’m grounded until the end of school,” I say.

  “Because of the fight?”

  “Yeah. It’s only for two more days though.”

  “So, do you want to go with me on Monday?” says Sophie, flipping the hair back out of her eyes. “That’s when I’m starting at the animal shelter. I’m supposed to be up there by ten a.m.”

  “Maybe.” My brain is racing now, thinking what I can tell my parents.

  “We could ride over there together,” she says. “It’s only a couple of miles.”

  “Okay. If I can get away from my little brother.”

  “You could bring him too,” she offers. “He’d probably like to see all the animals.”

  “That wouldn’t be such a good idea,” I say. “He can be a pest.”

  “You want me to ride over here and meet you?” Sophie asks.

  This is definitely not a good idea. If my parents don’t want me spending time with Sophie on the playground, they are never going to let me ride up to the animal shelter with her.

  “How ‘bout if I meet you over on Brewster Street,” I say. “Right in front of your apartments? Like about nine-thirty on Monday morning?”

  I’m old enough to start making my own decisions. I’ve just got to figure out what to tell my parents so I don’t get in any more trouble.

  Chapter 12—Close to Honest

  THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL drags on and on. Ms. Cordilini takes each one of us aside to talk about our grades. I’m kind of sweating this part. She tells me I just barely pass math. It was close, she says.

  I’m not sure what they do to you if you totally flunk math. Maybe they hold you back or make you go to summer school. But Ms. C. says I just made the cut and will go on to sixth grade next year. Math will be a lot harder, she tells me, and I’m really going to have to dig in and study.

  After lunch we are done with classes for the day. We all file out of our classrooms and into the stuffy gym for the last awards ceremony. Kids are pretty excited. They don’t want to quiet down, until the principal says she might not dismiss school for the summer at all until everyone is quiet. We don’t really believe her, but we settle down pretty quick.

  Mr. Gannon brings out Fuzzy and Lester. The old golden retriever and the young black Lab are both dressed for the occasion with scarves around their necks in the school colors: red and white. They walk across the stage for a “Special Tribute” to the two dogs. The principal even has an award to give out to the best dog walker.

  “Sophie?” Mr. Gannon calls out. “Sophie Best?”

  Everybody claps politely. As she walks up to accept the award, Sophie turns toward me and flashes a huge grin. Sophie has a great smile.

  Afterwards, I wait for Pete by the bicycle rack. There’s a ton of extra cars on the street, parents picking up kids so I watch him close as he balances his bike in front of me on the sidewalk.

  I wonder where Sophie is. I spot her at the end of the sidewalk, her blonde hair glowing in the sunlig
ht. The brown Oldsmobile pulls up to the curb, and Sophie waves to me as she gets in it.

  “See you Monday,” she mouths.

  I nod once.

  It would be a long summer if I couldn’t see Sophie at all. But now it’s just three more days. I still have to figure out a good way to get out of the house on Monday without anyone being suspicious about where I’m going.

  Over the weekend, I decide that honesty is the best policy. So I ask, innocent as pie, if Mom and Dad would object if I did some volunteer work this summer. I tell them that Mr. Gannon has us all fired-up about giving something back to the community and that kind of stuff. That’s close to honest anyway. But the look of surprise and amazement on their faces almost makes me feel guilty.

  “That’s a great idea,” says my dad. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, one of the assignments is at the animal shelter,” I say. “There’s a lot of dogs and cats that need to get out of their cages and be petted and get used to people. They need more volunteers.” I’m hoping this is true, even as I say it. “I could even ride my bike over there. It’s only about a mile or so.”

  My mother has another idea. “How about the Senior Assisted Living Center on the corner of Fourth Street?” she says. “That’s even closer. I’ve heard that they’re looking for volunteers. They need people to read to elderly citizens with poor eyesight.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I pretend to think about it, but this doesn’t sound like the way I want to spend my summer. “A lot of kids from school chose that option,” I say. “I think the animals need me more.”

  “When are you planning to start?” asks Dad.

  “I thought I’d ride my bike over there on Monday,” I say. “Jump in right away.”

  “Good for you,” says Dad.

  “Looks like you’ve had a lot of time to think about things. About how to set a good example for your brother,” says Mom. “We’re proud of you.”

  I duck my head without answering. I don’t look either one of them in the eye. I hope they don’t make me go to church this Sunday. Because God probably knows the real reason that I want to volunteer at the animal shelter.

  But I get lucky. On Sunday, instead of church, Mom decides to have a big barbecue to celebrate the beginning of summer vacation. Dad grills chicken and corn-on-the-cob outside on the patio. Mom makes a big salad, and she fixes twice-baked potatoes because she knows I like them so much.

  Monday morning, instead of sleeping in, I get up bright and early. I dress quietly, tiptoe into the kitchen, and pour a big bowl of corn flakes before Petey wakes up. He could be a problem.

  I start to sneak into the garage to get my bike, but my mom comes into the kitchen before I can get through the door. “Bye, Mom,” I whisper. “I’m riding over to the animal shelter this morning, remember?”

  “Wait a minute, young man.”

  Uh oh. Does she know something?

  “Is your bed made?” She taps her foot on the floor. “We’ve talked about this. We’re going to get summer started out on the right foot.”

  “Uh, okay,” I say, glancing at the clock. It’s almost nine thirty a.m., and Sophie will be waiting. I hustle back to my bedroom and do a fast job, pulling the spread up over the blankets. I look around and shove my dirty clothes under the bed in case Mom decides to give the room one last look.

  I hurry through the house, and I’m turning the knob of the door into the garage just as Petey straggles into the kitchen. His face is creased from his pillow, and his hair sticks out every which way.

  “Where you going?” he croaks. “Can I go?”

  Chapter 13—The Animal Shelter

  PETEY ISN’T EVEN LOOKING at me when he asks the question. Instead, he looks up at Mom with those big mopey eyes.

  “Well, I think it’s a little far for you to ride up there, Pete,” says Mom. “Why don’t you have some breakfast, and then I can drive you both.”

  No! This is going to mess everything up. “He can’t go,” I say. “This volunteer thing is just for older kids—sixth grade and up.” I don’t know if this is true or not, but it sounds believable. “This is actually the first year that I could participate because I’m technically a sixth grader now.”

  “Really?” says Mom. “Maybe you’re right. Since you’re already dressed, why don’t you ride over there this morning and see what’s going on? See if they could use somebody as young as Pete to help with the animals. It would be a good experience for him too, you know.”

  Geez, I can never get rid of my little brother. You’d think just once I could do something on my own. I glance at the time on the stove. 9:27. I hope our clock is right.

  I jump on my bike and start pedaling down the driveway.

  Mom sticks her head out the front door. “Be careful riding up that steep hill, Jared,” she calls.

  I nod and wave to her. Then I stand on the pedals and race hard down Third Street. I’m supposed to meet Sophie on Brewster Street, only she’s not there.

  Nobody seems to be awake in this neighborhood. A few little kids on tricycles race around the lawn in front of the buildings. But where’s Sophie? I don’t even know what apartment she lives in.

  I don’t have a watch, and don’t have a clue what time it is now. Maybe I’m late, and Sophie already took off toward the animal shelter without me. That makes sense—she wouldn’t be late on her first day.

  What if she’s already up there, wondering what happened to me? I don’t know whether to keep waiting or not. I pull my bike around and point it toward the shelter. Just as I start to pedal, I hear her.

  “Jared, wait up.” She’s wearing blue jeans that are cut off right below the knees and a ragged T-shirt that looks like it came from a garage sale. “I had a hard time finding something clean to wear.”

  “I was late too. Thought maybe I missed you.”

  We ride side-by-side, across the bypass over Cedar Creek and up the narrow street leading to the shelter. The road goes almost straight up the hill in one spot, and it’s hard to pedal. It’s a good thing Pete didn’t try to ride up here with me. This road would be too dangerous for him.

  Near the top, we bail off our bikes and push them the rest of the way up the hill. We hear frantic barking. High squeaky barks and low gruff barks. There’s a chain-link fence running around the whole place. It looks like a prison. A dog prison.

  There’s no bike rack so Sophie and I push our bikes around the side of the building and hide them behind some bushes. I pull open the heavy front door. It smells strong in here, like dogs and disinfectant.

  “May I help you?” A woman leans over the desk and smiles at us. Her rough hands grip a faded coffee cup that reads Gloria. She reminds me a little of Ms. Cordilini—all business but nice in her own way.

  Sophie is all business too. “I signed up to volunteer here,” she says. “On Mondays and Thursdays.”

  Gloria looks at a clipboard on the counter. “You must be Sophie Best,” she says. “We’ve been needing someone so badly. Hear those dogs barking? They’d like to get out of their pens and have some exercise.” She pulls some papers out of the drawer. “And who’s this? Another helper?”

  “My name’s Jared Westin,” I say. “I came to sign up.”

  “Great. Glad to have you.” She reaches across the counter and grips my hand in her strong palm. “You need to fill out some forms and get your parent’s signature on them,” she says. “But I can take you on a tour of the place this morning. Do you have any experience with animals?”

  “A little.” I want to tell her about walking Lester on the playground. But before I get the words out of my mouth, Gloria opens the door to the dog kennel. The noise is deafening. The dogs stand on their back feet with their front paws pushing against the chain-link enclosures. They all bark madly as we come in. I cover my ears with my hands and glance over at Sophie. But she’s already crouched down with her hands inside the wire of the first kennel, petting a sad-looking beagle.

  In the next room
, Gloria shows us the cat holding area, where it’s much quieter. Cats rub against the cage doors. They purr and stick their paws out through the wire, trying to get our attention. Some of the cats are curled up tight in the back of their cages, ignoring us. Maybe they’ve just given up.

  I look at the blue identification card on one of the cages. A pitiful orange cat sits huddled far back in the corner. #0905, the card reads. Picked up on April 20.

  “This cat has been in this cage for almost two months?” I ask.

  Gloria shakes her head sadly. “Yes, he has. There’s just not enough homes for all of them. We try hard to find them new owners, but it’s difficult.”

  “Do they ever get out of their cages?” Sophie asks.

  “Well, not often.” Gloria glances at each of us. “If you keep this doorway shut, you can get the cats down very carefully and pet them, one at a time. You can even let them walk around on the floor if you want to. Just make sure that you keep the door closed.”

  I look over at Sophie. She’s already petting a soft calico that’s purring loud as a freight train.

  “The dogs are a little more energetic,” Gloria says. “You need to get a leash on them and take them out into the recreation area at the back of the building. Make sure you don’t lose one going out there. Keep a tight hold. Give them about ten to fifteen minutes of time and then come get another one. Got it?”

  This part sounds easy enough. I can hardly wait to get started. Sophie heads toward the dogs. She takes a leash off the wall and starts into the kennel.

  “Why don’t you come up front and fill out your permission slip, Jared?”

  I follow Gloria to the front desk. I’m eager to get a dog out. Must be awful to stay in those cages all day long.

  “Well,” she says. “Let’s see when we can schedule you. If Sophie comes up to walk the dogs on Mondays and Thursday, we’d like to have you come on Wednesdays and Fridays. Fair enough?”

  Chapter 14—Little White Lies