Dog Days

The Mystery Mutt

Larry stared for another moment, but quickly convinced himself that the spot on the wall couldn't be blood. "Relax, Paul. That's just paint or something. Come on. I'll show you." 

"No," Paul said, shaking his head. He moved behind Larry.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Larry told him. He stepped into the alley, then froze as the dog bared it's teeth, hunched down, and growled.

That's strange, Larry thought as he slowly backed away. Dogs like me. "Hi, boy," he said. "Nice dog."

The dog kept growling. "I guess we're not getting any closer," Larry said. "But you can see from here---it's just paint." He searched the alley for evidence, an empty paint can or a brush or something. But nothing like that was in sight. The bookstore wall was blank except for the red splotch. The building didn't even have a window. A door at the side of the diner was closed. Three garbage cans stood next to the door. Two were round. The third one was the big, blue, square kind the town had started giving people for recycling. Paul looked up at his brother and said, "It isn't paint. Paint would say something." "Say something?" Larry asked. "You know, like a name or a picture," Paul said. "Oh, you mean graffiti. Okay, maybe it isn't paint. But even if someone got hurt, there's nobody around now who needs help. Come on, I'll walk you home." Larry wanted to go back to the game, but before that, he needed to check on his own dogs. As Larry headed down the street, he kept glancing back. Even though the dog in the alley had growled, he halfway expected it to follow him. Dogs really did like him, no doubt about it. That was good, but it was also the cause of his biggest problem—just about every stray he met followed him home. The first time it happened, four years ago, he'd begged his parents to let him keep the dog. They'd said the dog could stay in the backyard until he found out where it belonged. Larry had cared for the dog for two weeks before the owner answered one of the "lost dog" posters he'd put up all over town. Since then, Larry had helped out dozens of dogs. He almost always had at least one. He'd taken care of as many as four at a time. As hard as it was for him to give them away, he knew thateach time he got a lost dog back where it belonged or found a new home for a stray, it meant he'd have room to help another dog. Right now, he had three dogs in the backyard. His parents didn't mind, as long as he took good care of the dogs and bought all their food. His dad worked real hard every day, and his mom had a part-time job on the weekends, but there wasn't enough extra money to feed three dogs. Larry had already spent most of his savings on dog food. There was no way he could afford to feed another stray right now. Even if he had all the food in the world, the dog in the alley definitely didn't want to make friends with him. When he was half a block away from his house, Larry could already see the dogs leaping and barking. They knew he was coming. "Hi, boys," Larry said when he stepped through the gate in the backyard fence. The dogs leaped all over him, licking his face, nipping at his shirt, and competing for his attention. "Good boys," Larry said. They were nice dogs that had somehow ended up on the street. One of the strays—he'd named it Duke—was mostly shepherd. The others, Buck and Hobo, were mostly mixed, although Hobo was definitely part collie. Larry was careful about strays. His dad had a friend who worked for a vet, and the friend got each dog checked out. These dogs weren't sick or dangerous—just homeless. But Larry would make sure they were never homeless again."Want to help me feed them?" he asked Paul, who was still standing outside the fence. "Yeah, but don't let them jump on me. Okay?" "I'll try." Larry climbed the back porch steps and went into the kitchen. "I'm home," he said to his mom. "Paul's with me." His mom sighed and shook her head. "Thanks. I told him to come straight back." As Larry lifted the dog food from the closet, he noticed how light the bag felt. Time to buy another one, he thought. Duke and Buck were adults, but Hobo was still growing, and he seemed to eat more each day. The dogs went wild again when Larry brought the bag into the yard. "You can check the water," he told Paul as he filled the food bowls. Paul dashed through the gate and grabbed the water bowl. He hurried over to the faucet at the back of the house while the dogs were busy chomping at the food. "Thanks," Larry said when Paul set the bowl down. Paul slowly reached out to pet Duke. But when Duke lifted his head to sniff his fingers, Paul yanked his hand back. "Go ahead," Larry said. "You know he won't hurt you." Paul shook his head and stepped away from the dogs. "I think I'll go inside."

Larry had a hard time understanding how anyone could be afraid of the dogs. But he realized that to Paul, who had just finished kindergarten, the animals must seem pretty big. Larry put the dog food away and went to his room. He took his bank down from the shelf next to his bed. He had twelve dollars—most of it from odd jobs he'd done around the neighborhood. He also collected aluminum cans and old newspapers and took them to the scrap yard every week. It was hard work, but there weren't many other ways a kid could earn money. Carlos, who had a paper route, was moving in September, and he'd promised Larry that he could take it over. Larry knew he could make good money with a paper route. But fall was a long way off. For now, he'd just have to scrape by. He took money from his bank, walked three blocks to the market, then went inside and headed down the pet-food aisle. As Larry reached out to grab the bag, he saw something that froze him where he stood. "That can't be right," he said. It had to be some kind of mistake.