Dog Days

Seeing Spots

Larry was so startled that he forgot to swing. The only sound he heard came from the smack of the ball sinking into the catcher's mitt. "Steeeeeeeeeerike three!" the kid behind the plate called. "You're out." Larry dropped the bat and spun toward his brother. "Paul!" he yelled. "There is absolutely nothing I want to hear about right now—no monsters, no Martians, no dinosaurs, nothing. Do you understand?" "It happened again," Paul told him. "There's more blood on the wall. I saw it. Honest. I wanted to get closer—" He stopped next to home plate, his chest rising and falling as he took deep breaths, looking up at Larry like his brother had the power to solve all the problems in the world. Paul caught his breath and continued, "But I couldn't. The mean dog was there again." "The dog isn't there," Larry said.

 "Is, too," Paul said. Larry stepped away from the batter's box. "And you aren't supposed to be wandering around town." "I wasn't wandering. Mom sent me back to the store because I forgot to get the thread." "So, go get the thread." Even as he spoke, Larry imagined Paul wandering past the sewing shop and past the end of town and maybe not stopping until he reached the ocean. "Please," Paul said, aiming those puppy eyes up at his brother. "I give up." Larry followed Paul to the alley. When they got there, he was surprised to find that Paul was right—the dog was back. "See? I told you," Paul said. Larry took a long look at the stray. The dog stared back. Larry felt it wasn't right for dogs to wander around town and hide in alleys. Every dog needed a home. Every dog needed someone to take care of it. "See?" Paul said, pointing to the wall. Larry's stomach tightened again when he noticed another spot on the wall. This one was lower than the first spot, and a couple of feet to the left. The dog growled when Larry tried to move closer. "Easy there, boy," Larry said, backing away. He realized he'd missed a chance to examine the first spot earlier when the dog wasn't in the alley. Now there was another spot.

"What are we going to do?" Paul asked. "We're going to stop worrying," Larry said. "Whoever put the paint there came back. That's all there is to it. It's just paint." But the more he listened to himself, the less he believed his own words. "It isn't paint," Paul insisted. Larry didn't feel like arguing. "Come on. Let's go." "Are you playing more ball?" Paul asked. Larry was about to say "yes," but he realized his brother wanted to hang out with him. "Would you like to do something?" "Yeah!" Paul said, his face lighting up. Larry grinned. He knew his brother enjoyed doing stuff with him. It would take Paul's mind off the spots in the alley. Larry realized it might even take his own mind off his problems. "But let's get Mom's thread first," he said. "She's probably wondering why you aren't back yet." After they finished the errand, they went to the pond and skipped stones. Then they went to the school and played on the seesaw. Larry had to sit real close to the center to balance Paul, but he enjoyed seeing his brother having fun. "We'd better get home," Larry said after Paul had gone on the swings, the slide, and the jungle gym. "I have to collect cans and newspapers tonight." "I'll help," Paul offered.

"Great. You can help me stomp on the cans to flatten them." Larry enjoyed having company when he hauled his wagon around the neighborhood. After dinner, Larry headed out with Paul close behind. "I'm looking for work if you've got anything that needs to be done," he told Mrs. Sherman when he reached his first stop. "Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I don't have any chores for you right now." He went to the next house. And the next. At each house, Larry asked for work. At each house, the person at the door said one version or another of the same bad news: "Sorry. I don't need anything done right now. But I'll keep you in mind." At each house, Larry said, "Thanks, anyhow," then collected the newspapers and cans and moved on. He didn't bother asking if anyone wanted a dog. He'd already asked his neighbors that question a dozen times before. This would definitely be the perfect time to find one of his three dogs a home. As much as he'd miss any of them, it would help the food last longer. "Nothing, nowhere, no how," Larry said to Paul as they left the last house. "Can you believe that? All these people, and nobody has a job for me." "At least you have the cans and papers," Paul said. "Yeah, at least I have those." Larry looked at the stack in his wagon. The papers were piled so high they were almost ready totopple. The cans, crushed flat, nearly filled a shopping bag. He headed for the small scrap yard that was just a couple of blocks from his house. The place closed at five, but the owner usually stayed late, and he always left the entrance unlocked on Mondays for Larry. There was a chain wrapped around the gate, but no lock on the chain. "I can always count on Mr. Penwood," Larry told Paul. He unwrapped the chain, swung the gate aside, and pulled the wagon carefully through the opening. That's when he saw the sign. "Oh, no!" Larry groaned. Just when he was sure that things couldn't get any worse, Larry found out that they could. They sure could.