Staying Together (11 page)

“Okay, let's see what we have so far,” said Harriet.

The dogs were still being settled into their new quarters, and Nikki heard whining and whimpering and also a few angry barks.

“I don't blame you,” she said to a skinny dog who had retreated to the farthest corner of his pen. She could see all his ribs, could actually count them from where she was standing. His eyes were runny and red and he was keeping one of his front feet off the ground.

“His foot looks swollen,” Nikki said to Harriet in a low voice.

“One of the vets will look at him later this afternoon,” Harriet replied.

“He's terrified,” Nikki added.

“But you know how quickly some of the dogs come around.”

Nikki nodded. She did.

At one end of the room, separated from the other dogs by two empty pens, was a nursing mom dog. Nikki crept toward the cage and peered inside. The dog was lying on her side, five tiny puppies wiggling against her body, snuffling as they drank. The mom watched Nikki and tipped her tail hesitantly.

“Hey!” Nikki cried softly. “This dog looks okay. So do her puppies. They just need a little cleaning up.”

She walked from pen to pen, glancing in at frightened dogs, dirty dogs, and dogs with matted fur. Most of them had slunk to the backs of their cages and watched her warily.

“Do you want to help me feed them?” asked Harriet.

“Definitely!” Nikki said, and began filling bowls with chow and water. When she reached the pen nearest the door, she stopped. A fuzzy brown dog was sitting at the very front of the pen.

“He's smiling at me!” Nikki exclaimed. “Look, Harriet. Really. He's smiling.”

Harriet laughed. “He seems sweet.”

Nikki stood near the dog but kept her hands at her sides. “Hi, dog,” she said.

The dog flicked his tail up and down and then set it sweeping back and forth across the floor.

“You're awfully friendly,” said Nikki.

The dog put his paws on the pen and stood on his hind legs. His ears perked forward, his tail now wagged with great enthusiasm, and his grin widened. He looked hopefully at Nikki.

“How old do you think he is?” Nikki asked Harriet.

“The vet will have to take a look at his teeth, but I don't think he's a puppy. He might even be six or seven.”

“Huh,” said Nikki. “Just the right age for a dog for Mr. Pennington.”

“Now, don't go getting your hopes up,” Harriet cautioned her. “We don't know a thing about him. The vet hasn't seen him yet. He could be two years old and have heartworm.”

“We know he's friendly,” said Nikki.

“He
was
very gentle when I gave him his food.”

“I'm going to call Mr. Pennington tonight.”

“
After
he's been seen by a vet. Truly, Nikki. He has a ways to go before he's adoptable.”

“I know. It's just that he's sweet and friendly like Jacques was, and he's not a puppy, and also he's the right size — not too big.”

Nikki couldn't wait until Harriet dropped her off at her house that evening. By the time she had left Sheltering Arms, the friendly just-right-for-Mr.-Pennington dog had been examined by a vet and found to be healthy except for a bad case of fleas, a mild infection in his left eye, and some suspicious wounds on his back. Everything was treatable, the dog continued to seem amiable, he was cooperative when being examined by the vet, and to top things off, his age was estimated at five.

“Mr. Pennington!” Nikki cried the moment he answered his phone. “Guess what!” She tried to slow down and tell him about the rescue in a calm and organized manner. She wound up by saying, “The vet thinks he's about five years old.”

“Could —” Mr. Pennington started to ask.

But Nikki had thought of something else. “He needs to be neutered before you can adopt him. And they want to work with him to make absolutely sure he isn't aggressive and that he gets along with kids and other dogs, so you won't be able to adopt him right away, but —”

“Could I go to the shelter and meet him?”

“Definitely. I'll give you Ms. Hewitt's number.”

“Thank you, Nikki.”

Rudy Pennington didn't wait long to meet the friendly dog at the shelter. In fact, the moment he ended his phone conversation with Nikki, he clicked his phone back on and called Ms. Hewitt. But he got a recording saying that Sheltering Arms was closed for the evening and would reopen the next morning.

“Darn,” said Mr. Pennington aloud, but he was feeling quite cheerful. He opened a cupboard in his kitchen and checked the shelf where he had kept Jacques's food. Four cans were left, as well as half a bag of dry food. “Excellent!” he said. Whistling, he opened the closet in the front hall and peered into the bag in which he had stowed Jacques's leash, collar, toys, brush, and dishes. He examined them one by one. The collar was fraying, but the leash looked fine, as did the brush, the dishes, and most of the toys.

A trip to the Cheshire Cat was probably in order. He would need another collar, and … maybe his new dog would like a bed. Jacques had preferred the couch, but maybe Mr. Pennington should buy a nice fleecy bed for … He paused. He was getting ahead of himself. He didn't even know whether the dog was available, or whether he would be chosen as the person to adopt him. First things first. Talk to Ms. Hewitt.

The recording at Sheltering Arms had said to call back after 8:30 a.m. So the next morning, Mr. Pennington waited until his kitchen clock said 8:31 and then he picked up his phone. Half an hour later he was driving through the countryside to Sheltering Arms, on his way to meet the dog with the fleas and the eye infection and the wounds that Nikki thought would be perfect for him.

He was greeted at the front desk by Harriet, and after he had answered several questions, Harriet took him to an outdoor pen. She left him there and returned a few minutes later leading a fuzzy brown dog who was biting at his leash in a playful manner.

“It's probably his first time on a leash,” Harriet remarked.

She released the dog and he approached Mr. Pennington at once.

“May I pat him?” he asked.

Harriet nodded, and Mr. Pennington extended his hand. The dog sniffed it, then stepped forward and sat down on Mr. Pennington's feet.

“I think he likes you,” said Harriet, smiling.

“The feeling is mutual.” Mr. Pennington studied the dog. “What on earth are you?” he asked, running his hands along the dog's back. “You look a little like a terrier and also a little like a poodle.”

“Really?” said Harriet. “I was thinking he looks sort of like a greyhound. And maybe a basset hound. Look how long his ears are.”

Harriet brought Mr. Pennington a chair then, and he sat in the sunshine while the dog wandered around, chasing insects and sniffing the grass, and finally sat on Mr. Pennington's feet again.

After a while, Mr. Pennington said, “So … where do we go from here?”

“Why don't you come inside and fill out an application. I'm sure it will be approved. We'll work with the dog until he's healthy and ready for adoption, and then he'll be all yours,” Harriet replied.

Two days later, Mr. Pennington returned to Sheltering Arms for another visit with the dog and to meet with Ms. Hewitt, who told him his application had been approved.

“He's a great dog,” said Ms. Hewitt. “He's lucky he wasn't in worse shape. And it's a miracle that he has such a sweet disposition. Heaven only knows how he's been treated.”

“I wonder what he's a mix of,” said Mr. Pennington.

“He looks like a beagle,” replied Ms. Hewitt. “And I can see some Lab, too.”

Over the weekend, Mr. Pennington returned again, this time bringing Min, Flora, and Ruby along.

“Oh, he's so cute!” cried Ruby when she saw him. “What is he? A boxer?”

“A boxer!” exclaimed Flora, although Mr. Pennington noted that Flora carefully avoided her sister's eyes. “No way. He's one of those dogs in the taco commercials.”

“You think?” said Min. “I see golden retriever in him, definitely. Just like Daisy.”

The following week, Mr. Pennington drove Nikki to Sheltering Arms for her afternoon of volunteering, and he stayed to visit his dog.

“I think you should name him Marmaduke,” announced Nikki.

“Marmaduke? Why?”

“He has a head like a Great Dane. He looks like that cartoon dog.”

“Huh,” replied Mr. Pennington. “A Great Dane. Well, I don't know.”

“Anyway, he's making wonderful progress. Ms. Hewitt said so. He doesn't show any food aggression and he's calm around other dogs. And he's learning to walk on a leash. Oh, and he's pretty much housebroken, too.”

“Well, that's good news,” remarked Mr. Pennington.

“I'll have to check with Ms. Hewitt,” Nikki went on, “but I think you can take him home after he's been neutered. We can find out today if that's been scheduled. I know the volunteers are still working on his social skills, even though he seems to be doing well.”

The next day, Mr. Pennington returned for another visit. He sat on a lawn chair in the outdoor pen, the dog at his feet. A butterfly swooped by and the dog leaped for it. Then he smiled at Mr. Pennington and jumped into his lap.

“Well, what do you know. This is the first time you've climbed in my lap.”

The dog grinned again, turned around, and settled down, his feet hanging over Mr. Pennington's knees.

“I think,” said Mr. Pennington, “that if you were a cat you'd be purring now.”

The dog glanced at him and then fell asleep.

“I have to decide on a name for you, boy, and it has to be just the right name. Jacques was the right name for my other dog, but I haven't thought of the right name for you. It can't be a cute name like Lucky or Sunny or Winky. Pardon me, but as wonderful as you are, a cute name doesn't suit you. I'll have to keep thinking.”

After that, Mr. Pennington fell asleep briefly himself, so he and the dog napped in the sunshine. They awoke when Harriet turned up to bring the dog back to his pen.

“Good news,” she said. “His surgery has been scheduled for tomorrow. You can take him home on Saturday.”

“Adoption Day,” said Mr. Pennington happily. “Thank you, Harriet. I might bring a few people along for the special event.”

On Saturday morning, Rudy Pennington arrived at Sheltering Arms with Min, Flora, and Ruby. Nikki met them at the door.

“Surprise!” she said. “I wanted to be here for Adoption Day, too.”

“How's the dog?” asked Flora.

Ms. Hewitt stepped out of her office. “Nicely recovered from his surgery,” she replied. “He is one wonderful dog. And one lucky dog.”

“I think I'm one lucky human,” said Mr. Pennington.

“Everyone, wait here,” said Nikki suddenly. “I'll be right back.”

A few minutes later, Nikki returned with the dog, who was wearing a large red bow around his neck. “Ta-dah!” she said.

Mr. Pennington laughed. “Very fetching.”

Nikki dropped the leash, the dog looked around at the group of people in the lobby, and then he trotted directly to Mr. Pennington.

“Hi, buddy!” Mr. Pennington stooped down and gave the dog a hug.

“Is that his name?” asked Ruby. “Buddy?”

“Absolutely not. I haven't thought of his name yet.”

“How about Cotton?” suggested Ruby.

“Jacques the Second,” suggested Flora.

“Beau,” suggested Nikki.

Mr. Pennington kept shaking his head. “The right name will come to me in good time.”

“Well,” spoke up Ms. Hewitt, “all that remains is for you to sign the official adoption form and then you can take your new companion home.”

Mr. Pennington stood at the desk and signed several papers.

“He's all yours,” Ms. Hewitt said then.

Mr. Pennington, Min, Flora, Ruby, and the nameless dog piled into Mr. Pennington's car and were soon on their way back to Aiken Avenue.

“I think he likes riding in the car,” remarked Ruby.

The dog was sitting in the backseat, a serious expression on his face, watching the scenery fly by.

They drove down Main Street.

“This is Camden Falls,” Mr. Pennington called over his shoulder. “We'll be taking walks on this street very soon.” Mr. Pennington turned onto Aiken Avenue and pulled up in front of the Row Houses. “And here,” he went on, “is your new home.”

Mr. Pennington parked the car and snapped Jacques's old leash onto the dog's collar. He let him sniff the front lawn. “Welcome home,” he said.

Min, Flora, and Ruby stood back and watched the dog's first few moments of his new life.

“What kind of dog
is
he?” asked Flora.

“He's about a million different things,” said Ruby.

Mr. Pennington smiled. “That's it! You've just given me the idea for his name.”