Fight for Life

by Laurie Halse Anderson

  “I autopsied Dinky,” she says in a quieter voice. “I examined his body to figure out why he died. He was dehydrated and sick with a respiratory infection, but that didn’t kill him. Dinky had a congenital heart defect. His heart wasn’t formed properly, and it wasn’t pumping his blood the right way. Combined with malnourishment and dehydration, he didn’t have much of a chance.” She tosses the towel at me. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

  Except for the guy who mistreated Dinky. The poor pup was so weak, he couldn’t hang on any longer. And he had just found a good home. I’ve got to find a way to get to the farmer’s market.

  Gran puts more bread in the toaster and bangs down the lever. “I’m sorry there isn’t more to choose from,” she says to Zoe. “I guess we’ve been a little busy.”

  “You need to hire a cook,” Zoe says. “Or a housekeeper who will make dinner, at the very least.”

  “A cook?” Gran asks.

  “You should think about it. Everyone I know has one,” Zoe says as she plucks her lightly browned toast out of the toaster.

  Gran opens the milk carton to pour some milk into her coffee. Three drops come out. “No cooks around here,” she says. “And nobody to do the shopping, either.”

  Now’s my chance. I swallow my cereal quickly. “Can we go to the farmer’s market?” I ask. “I bet Zoe’s never seen anything like it.”

  “Good idea,” Gran answers. “Gabe has clinic duty, so I can take a few hours off.”

  Yes!

  While Gran shows Zoe how to load the dishwasher—she’s never done that before—I sneak off to the clinic. I want to check in on the pups.

  They’re all sleeping.

  “Morning, everybody,” I whisper. One of the collies pricks up its ears and rustles a bit. Is there anything cuter than sleeping puppies?

  “I’m off to find the creep who treated you so badly. Then we can rescue the other pups—maybe even your brothers and sisters.”

  The market is crowded. There are hundreds of stalls selling a little bit of everything. Gran, Zoe, and I start down one long aisle, past a baker’s counter with fresh cinnamon rolls and blueberry muffins, past an Amish farmer and his family selling giant jars of pickled beets, relish, and apple butter. My stomach rumbles.

  “How about some hot chocolate?” Gran suggests. “It’s not good to shop on an empty stomach.”

  “That sounds great,” Zoe says.

  “Maggie?”

  “No, thanks. You guys go ahead. I want to look around awhile.”

  “Are you sure?” Gran asks. “You’ve never turned down hot chocolate before.”

  “I’m sure. Go ahead. I’ll meet you at the van later.”

  The two of them walk away without me. Zoe starts chattering a mile a minute, and Gran has a strange smile on her face. It almost seems as if she likes Zoe.

  I shake my head. Get a grip. I have more important things to worry about—I’m on a mission.

  I start moving down the aisles, asking the farmers if they know of a man who sold puppies at the market last week. It takes a few tries, but Mrs. Nestor, the lady who sells hand-crocheted doll clothes, remembers him.

  “Can’t recall his name, Maggie.” She scratches her head with her crochet hook. “I seen him a few times, here and out in Sayerville. Bent over, scrawny man. Tried to sell me a puppy. I told him, ‘What do I need with another dog?’” She laughs and shakes her head. “Cute pups, but they were just as skinny as he was.”

  This has to be the same guy. “Can you remember anything about him? What kind of car he drove, if he had anybody working with him, stuff like that?”

  “Nope, nothing.” She pulls a ball of purple yarn out of the bag at her feet. “He lives on Lafayette Road. Did tell me that. Does that help you any?”

  “That’s great! Oh my gosh, Mrs. Nestor, you’ve helped a lot! Thank you, thank you so much.” I’d like to give her a hug, but that is a very large crochet hook she’s holding.

  “Think nothing of it. Glad I could help, Maggie. Give my best to your grandmother.”

  “Thanks again,” I call as I jog down the aisle. I am going to get this guy. We’ll close him down. Just wait until I find Gran. She’ll be pumped, too. This puppy mill is history.

  I find Gran and Zoe standing by the popcorn stand. As Gran pays for a bag of popcorn, Zoe says something and the popcorn vendor laughs. Gran puts her arm around Zoe’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Zoe tosses some popcorn at Gran.

  That was dumb. No way Gran is going to stand for that.

  But Gran laughs and shakes her head as she picks the popcorn out of her hair. If I had done that, I bet she’d lecture me. But she doesn’t lecture Zoe. Instead she steals a handful of popcorn out of Zoe’s bag and tries to shove it in her mouth. Zoe squeals and everybody laughs again. This is sickening.

  They leave the popcorn vendor and walk straight toward me.

  “Oh, there you are, Maggie,” Gran says.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  She doesn’t want to hear about the puppy mill owner. She’s having too much fun with Zoe. And I don’t really want to tell her, not in front of Zoe.

  Gran studies my face. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, everything’s fine,” I say, trying to smile. “I’m ready to go.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gran planned out the rest of the weekend for me. I had to do “everything in my power” to help Zoe settle in. That meant clearing some of my stuff from the guest room. I have a lot of stuff. Old soccer uniforms, a dozen pairs of sneakers that don’t fit me but are too important to throw away, tests I never got around to showing Gran ... and that was just one layer of junk in the closet.

  Once the guest room was sort of clean, Gran made me sit down to finish correcting my social studies test. I even had to fix my spelling mistakes. That took forever.

  Now it’s Monday morning—back to school. Before Zoe and I leave for the bus stop, I say good-bye to Mitzy. Her owners are coming to pick her up today.

  “Make sure Gran tells them that ‘Lie down!’ means ‘Come,’” I tell Mitzy. She licks my face, a very polite doggy good-bye. I’ll miss her mixed-up ways. Strange but true.

  When I get on the bus, I find an empty seat so Zoe and I can sit together. But she takes a seat next to Caitlin Samboro. And by the time we get to Elizabeth Blackwell Elementary, Zoe and Caitlin are acting like best friends. And Gran told me to watch out for her today, this being her first day at a new school and all. Go figure.

  My class has library on Monday. I usually hate it, but today I’m grateful for the quiet. It gives me a chance to think and plan. I find a table by the window and make a list of what I know about the puppy mill so far.

  litter of sick collies sold at the

  farmer’s market

  black labs, too

  and the mutt

  the guy lives on Lafayet Road

  I chew on my eraser. I don’t know much. What should I do next? I doubt they have a book that lists people who don’t take good care of their pets. I suppose I could ask a librarian, but I hate asking for help—it makes me feel stupid.

  I look around. Everyone is actually doing homework. I see Sunita sitting on the floor, her feet tucked neatly under her legs. Gran told me to think about asking the kids for help. Sunita is the smartest of them, no question. And she’s the sweetest. I bet she won’t make me feel stupid. Here goes.

  I walk over and explain my problem.

  “Wait, I’m confused,” Sunita says. “What are you going to do when you find this man?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  She closes her book and stands up. “There have been some laws about animal abuse passed recently. That’s where we should start. Come on.” She heads for the reference desk.

  “Do we have to ask a librarian?”

  “Yes. We’ll find what we need faster if Mr. Margate helps us.” She smile
s at Mr. Margate and explains what she’s looking for. He pulls out a giant book from the shelf by his desk. “You want information about the puppy mill law,” he says. “It’ll be in here. This book contains all the laws of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.”

  We carry the book to my table, and I open to the table of contents. The words look like millions of ants marching down the page. All I can do is stare.

  “What’s wrong?” Sunita asks.

  I look at her. I have to ask her to help me read. If I don’t, I’ll never be able to help shut down that puppy mill.

  “Um, I, it’s just that, well... I don’t read so good. It takes me forever and then I forget what I just read.” I can feel sweat on my forehead, and my stomach is ready to bolt for the door. If she laughs at me I think I’ll die.

  “Oh, that’s not a problem. I’ll help.”

  That’s it? That’s all she’s going to say? I wish Gran would take that attitude.

  Sunita scans the table of contents, flips to the index, then dives in. It’s like watching a great author or something the way she reads so fast and scribbles notes.

  “Voilà! The Dog Purchaser Protection Act, Section 9.3. OK. Here’s the deal. People who raise puppies for sale are required to provide them with a healthy environment.”

  “Well, he didn’t do that.”

  “They also have to be honest about any diseases the puppies might have.”

  “He lied. Strike two.”

  “They have to make sure the pups are given the proper vaccinations, and they aren’t allowed to treat them badly.”

  “We’ve got him! This guy really is breaking the law. Excellent! What can we do to him?”

  “A couple of years ago, it was totally legal to mistreat puppies. Now anyone who breaks this new law has to pay big fines. He could even be sent to jail.”

  “That’s so great!”

  “Shhh!” Mr. Margate hisses from across the room.

  “That’s so great,” I whisper. “We can shut him down.”

  “What do we do next?” Sunita asks. She’s just as excited as I am.

  “Hang on. I better write this down so I don’t forget it. This is important.”

  “You spelled some words wrong,” Sunita says.

  “I don’t care. What mattters is that we can put this guy in jail!”

  “Or at the very least, put him out of the dog breeding business,” says Sunita. “But we have to find him first. Guess where we have to look.”

  “I know,” I say. “Back to the librarian’s desk.” Twice in one day. I wonder if I’m going to have an allergic reaction.

  Mr. Margate takes back the law book and shows us where we can find a special phone directory that lists people by address. After Sunita corrects my spelling of the street name, we find the listings for Lafayette Road. They take up three pages. If I have to call everyone on this road, it will take forever.

  I need help.

  “What are you doing after school?” I ask Sunita.

  The bus ride home is loud and bumpy as usual. What’s different is that Sunita is sitting next to me instead of her usual seat behind the driver. She has to shout so I can hear her.

  “Even with both of us it could take days!” she hollers.

  “What do you mean?”

  She opens her binder to a page of calculations. “I did the math. Fifty names per column, three columns per page, three pages of columns equals four hundred and fifty names. Even if each phone call takes three minutes, it will take the two of us more than eleven hours!”

  “You’re joking.”

  She shakes her head.

  “What if Brenna helps us?”

  She slides her calculator out of a special pocket in her binder. How does she keep a notebook that neat?

  “Seven point five hours.”

  “And if we add Zoe?”

  “About five and a half.”

  That would still take two afternoons of calling. Gran wouldn’t let four of us stay on the phone from 3:30 until 9:00 P.M. I look at the back of the bus. David is making faces with his buddies, turning up his nose and crossing his eyes. I can’t believe I’m going to do this.

  “And David?”

  “If there are five of us, taking ninety names each, three minutes a name, it comes down to four and a half hours. That’s less than half of what it would take if there were two of us. Oh, and if you do it alone”—she pauses for a quick calculation—“it will take twenty-two point five hours.”

  I have to take back what I said to my teacher about math being useless.

  Each time the bus stops, I scoot down the aisle to talk to one of the others. Brenna is drawing a peace symbol on the back of her left hand with a green marker. She agrees instantly. Zoe is two rows back sitting with the Conover twins, who are the coolest kids in fifth grade. When I ask her if she’ll help, she smiles and says, “Sure. Mom always said I was good at talking on the phone.”

  As I step to the back row, the boys freeze. I still can’t believe I’m doing this.

  “David, do you want to come to the clinic? We need your help.”

  His friends erupt into screams, hoots, and hollers. He blushes, which makes matters worse. I turn to walk away. This was a stupid idea.

  David yells loud enough to be heard over the noise.

  “I’ll be there!”

  I stumble back to my seat and sit back down next to Sunita. “Remind me again why we’re doing this,” I mutter.

  The bus lets us off at the corner. We troop into the clinic, me at the head of the pack and Zoe bringing up the rear. Dr. Gabe is searching through the piles of paper on the receptionist’s desk.

  “Hi, Gabe. Where’s Gran?”

  “She’s out on a call to Mr. Barber’s,” he explains. “Hoof rot. Again.”

  “Mr. Barber will talk forever,” I say. “We have all the time we need.”

  Sunita hands out the photocopied phone lists, and I assign people to the telephones. David gets the house line in the kitchen, Zoe takes the phone in Gran’s bedroom, and Sunita calls from the phone in the lab. Before she starts, she disconnects the modem and attaches it to an old phone, so Brenna and I each have a phone to use at the receptionist’s desk. And there is still one phone line open for incoming calls. Having six telephone lines is another advantage of living next to the clinic.

  “OK, guys, listen up,” I say as we gather around the kitchen table. “This is really important. If we can find the puppy mill, then we can rescue the rest of the dogs and shut this guy down for good. But first we have to find out where they are. Don’t rush, and make sure you call every number.”

  “What do we say?” Sunita asks. “I’m not a very good liar.”

  “You don’t have to lie. Just ask if they have puppies for sale. Say you got the number from a friend.”

  “Which is the truth,” Brenna points out.

  “Those puppies are counting on us. Start dialing!”

  We get to work. Dial, ask, and hang up. Dial, ask, and hang up. Brenna is great at this. Her voice sounds so confident. I’m having trouble. I keep getting wrong numbers. I always get wrong numbers.

  Brenna hangs up her phone and watches me dial. After a minute she says, “You’re not dialing the numbers on your sheet. You’re switching them. Instead of 463-9257, you just dialed 436- 2597.”

  “Darn. That happens a lot ... Wait. That means—oh, my gosh! I know what happened to Mitzy!”

  “What are you talking about?” Brenna asks.

  “Where’s that piece of paper I gave you, the one with the feeding instructions?”

  “Taped to the cupboard back in the kennel. Why?”

  No time to explain. I sprint to the kennel and find the chart. I take a deep breath and carefully read what I wrote.

  Yep, I was right. I switched the numbers. Brenna fed Mitzy exactly what I wrote down, but I wrote down 5.2 scoops of dry food a day instead of 2.5 scoops a day. We’re lucky it wasn’t more serious.

  I lean against the wall. Mitzy
got hurt because of my mistake. I put a patient in danger—

  “Maggie, Maggie!” Sunita shouts. “David found the puppy seller!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It only took a few minutes to explain what we found to Gran, but it took a couple of days for her to pull together “the necessary arrangements.” At first, I didn’t want to wait, but then I could sort of see her point. She wanted to do things properly so the animals would be taken care of and the authorities would go along with us.

  But Brenna grumbled about it all week. She thought we should just swoop in and rescue the pups. Sneak in at night and steal them if we had to. Even I could see that was a bad idea. David and Zoe cooked up a scheme to notify the television stations so we could be on the news, but Gran put an end to that one.

  Finally the big day is here. As we drive through the pouring rain out to Lafayette Road, Gran goes over what we might see one more time.

  “Good breeders raise animals properly. They provide them with clean cages and plenty of food and water. They vaccinate them, and they are careful to breed only animals who are strong and healthy, and have good personalities.

  “You won’t see any of that where we’re going. Chances are it’s going to be filthy. The dogs will be underfed and sick. The people who run these places don’t care about the health or happiness of the animals. They just want to make money fast.”

  “Sounds scary,” says Zoe.

  “You can stay in the van if you want,” Gran offers. “There’s nothing wrong with making that choice.”

  I look back at the others. David is anxious, Brenna outraged, Sunita worried, Zoe concerned. No one is backing out. We’re going to see this through to the end.

  We pull in a gravel driveway and drive past a hand-painted sign that says PUPPIES 4 SALE. The animal shelter van and a sheriff’s car pull in behind us. They are here to help us. Captain Thompson heads up the local shelter. He retired from the army a few years ago. His full name is Zebulon P. Thompson. Whenever I ask him what the P stands for, he always has a different answer. I mostly call him “sir.”