How to Look for a Lost Dog (9 page)

Maybe it's someone who has found Rain! But then I remember that she wasn't wearing her collar because of my father, so how would anyone know where she lives?

There is one other logical answer to the question, which is that our visitor is Uncle Weldon.

I run into the living room and peer onto the porch.

My uncle is standing there with a bag, which is probably full of groceries.

I fling open the door.

“Rose!” Uncle Weldon cries. He sets down the bag and swoops me into his arms, which I don't mind (mined) as much as I thought I might (mite).

“Hi, Uncle Weldon,” I say when I'm on my feet again.

“How did you get here?”

“I had to park at the bottom of the road, cross the stream where it's narrower, and walk up the hill to your house.”

“Thank you for coming. I have a plan.”

“You do? What kind of plan?”

“A plan for finding Rain. I'm going to get to work on it right now.”

“Don't you want to see what I brought?”

“Yes.” I peek into the bag. Fruit. Milk. Butter. Lettuce. Carrots.

“Did you go to the grocery store in Newmark?” I ask. Then I remember to say thank you again.

“You're welcome.” Uncle Weldon smiles at me. “Yes, I went to Newmark yesterday. It was quite a drive. You wouldn't believe all the homes that were destroyed. Completely destroyed.”

My mind is mostly on dog-finding plans, but something occurs to me. “Where are the people?”

“The people whose homes were destroyed?”

“Yes. Are they dead?”

“Heavens, no,” says Uncle Weldon. “They're living in shelters. Hatford High has been turned into a shelter. You might be going back to school on Monday, but the high- school kids won't be going back any time soon.”

“I'm glad the people aren't dead,” I say. “Do you want me to wake up my father?”

Uncle Weldon shakes his head. “Let him sleep. I'll put the groceries away, you and I can have breakfast, and then I'll go get the truck. Your father can help me unload the building supplies from it. We're going to start work on the temporary bridge today.”

Uncle Weldon and I eat breakfast together at the kitchen table. When we're finished, we cross our fingers and touch our hearts with them. Then I go to my room and spread a map out on my bed. It's the map of New England from our garage. I feel happy because it was folded properly and all the creases were going in the right directions. Next I open a phone book. It's our county phone book. Last night I looked through the business pages and found the section listing animal shelters. There were more than I had expected.

I have everything I need: the map, the phone book, the phone, a little pad of paper and a pen.

It's time to put my plan into action.

1. Circle your home town on a map.

2. Circle the towns where dog shelters are located. (Consult the phone book.)

3. Next to each town, write down the names of the shelters located there.

4. Find a compass, place the point on your home town, and draw a circle all around your town. This circle should be about 15 miles from your town.

5. Draw a bigger circle that's about 30 miles from your town.

6. Draw a bigger circle that's about 45 miles from your town.

7. Draw a bigger circle that's about 60 miles from your town.

8. Make a list of the shelters in each circle, one list per circle.

9. Phone the shelters, starting with the list of shelters that are closest to your town.

10. Keep phoning until you find your dog.

I take the map and my lists into the kitchen. My father is awake now, finishing his breakfast and talking to Uncle Weldon. I hold up the map.

“What's that?” asks my father.

“It's my plan for finding Rain.” I show him and Uncle Weldon the circles and my lists. “I'll start calling the shelters in the smallest circle and work my way out,” I say.

“Very organized,” says Uncle Weldon. “A very smart plan.”

“Plus it will keep you busy,” says my father.

There's a chance that my father wants me busy so that I won't ask him any more questions about letting Rain outside without her collar.

“I have a new homonym,” I announce. “‘Guise' and ‘guys'.”

Then I take the map and the lists into my room and close the door.

The first shelter on my list is called Creatures of Comfort. I'm not sure what that means, but it doesn't matter. Creatures of Comfort is located just seven miles away, outside the village of Effingham. I dial the number.

“Hello,” says a voice.

“Hello,” I say. “My name—”

But the voice continues talking. It sounds like it belongs to a robot. “Due to flooding, all services at Creatures of Comfort have been suspended. Sheltered animals are temporarily being housed at the Holiday Inn in Bellville. Please call back at a later time, or visit the Holiday Inn. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

The voice stops talking.

I look down at my list. I had planned to cross out each shelter after I called it, but now I can't cross out Creatures of Comfort because I haven't actually spoken to anyone there. I'll have to call back another day. I realize I'm going to need a code in order to keep track of my calls. I think for a moment. Then I write today's date by Creatures of Comfort, and next to that: CB. CB means Call Back.

I dial the number of the second shelter on the list, Rescue Me.

“Hello,” says a voice and I wait for the rest of the message. “Hello?” the voice says again.

The voice must belong to a real person.

“Hello,” I say. “My name is Rose Howard, and I'm looking for my dog. She got lost during the storm.”

“Hi, Rose.” The voice sounds kind. I think it's a woman's voice. “I'm sorry about your dog. What does she look like?”

I describe Rain, and add that my father let her out in a superstorm without her collar. “Oh dear,” says the woman. “Well, we don't have any dogs here that match Rain's description. But dogs and cats that were separated from their owners are turning up every day. I'll take down your information so we can call you if anyone brings in a small blonde dog with white toes.”

“Seven white toes,” I remind her.

“Yes, seven white toes. That's a good identifier.”

I give the woman my name and phone number and tell her I'll check back in a few days. I look at my list again. Next to Rescue Me I write: CBIAFD. This means Check Back In A Few Days.

I call Furry Friends, the third shelter on the list. A man answers and I tell him about Rain.

“Well, ma'am,” he says, “we're a very small shelter, and only two dogs have been brought in since the storm – a poodle and a Yorkshire terrier. I'm sorry.”

I give the man my name and phone number, hang up, and write: CBIAFD. There are still seven shelters to call before I can go on to the second list. When I have called all seven I look at the column I've made on the left-hand side of the paper. It reads:

CB,
CBIAFD,
CBIAFD,
CBIAFD,
CB,
NOATP (that means No One Answered The Phone),
CB,

CBIAFD,

MPWWTTAK (Mean Person Who Wouldn't Talk To A Kid),

CB.

So far there is no sign of Rain.

I spend the rest of the morning calling shelters. My father and Uncle Weldon work on the temporary bridge. At lunchtime we sit in the kitchen and eat nice, fresh, cold food from the refrigerator. Then I go back to my lists and my father and uncle go back to the bridge. By the end of the afternoon I have called every shelter on all of my lists and I have even called several of them a second time. (I decide to ask Uncle Weldon to call the mean person.) No one has seen Rain, but she could still be wandering. I will have to do a lot of phoning before school starts again.

Uncle Weldon stays for supper.

“What about the ad?” I say when my father has served us hot dogs.

“What ad?” asks my father.

Uncle Weldon clears his throat. “I told Rose I'd put an ad in the paper about Rain.”

“Unh.”

“Don't you miss her?” I ask my father.

“Rain? Of course I miss her.”

“Then why did you let her out—” I start to say.

My father jerks his head up so fast that I jump backwards in my chair.

Uncle Weldon frowns. “What's wrong?”

“If she asks me that
one more time
,” says my father, “I swear I'll—” My father stops talking suddenly. He's looking at his brother, and so am I. I see something in Uncle Weldon's eyes that hasn't been there before.

“Enough,” Uncle Weldon says quietly to my father. “Enough.”

I leap out of my chair and dance around the table.

“Two, three, five, seven!” I cry.

“Settle down, Rose. Settle down.” Uncle Weldon pats my chair. “Come back and finish your supper.”

“‘Settle down, Rose. Settle down. Come back and finish your supper',” I repeat. “Uncle Weldon, you didn't say any homonyms except my name.”

My father is holding his hot dog in mid-air and glaring at my uncle and me.

“That's all right, Rose,” says Uncle Weldon, “because guess what. I thought of a new homonym for you today. How's this? ‘Packed' and ‘pact'?”

I forget about my father. “That's a perfect one!” I exclaim. “It fits all the rules.” I think for a moment. “And if you follow that pattern, how about ‘tacked' and ‘tact'?”

“Brilliant.” Uncle Weldon grins at me. “After supper we'll work on your list.”

“Okay.” I glance warily at my father. I feel like Rain, trying to figure out what kind of mood he's in. “Did you know,” I say as we're finishing our supper, “that if you add up the numbers of our names and subtract the numbers of Rain's name you come out with a hundred and seventy-seven, which is
not
a prime number?”

Uncle Weldon frowns, thinking this over. “Is that good or bad?” he asks finally.

Before I can answer, my father says, “Who the hell cares?”

On Monday, ten days after Hurricane Susan, my school reopens. Halloween has come and gone, but I don't think anyone noticed. Uncle Weldon arrives at my house at the usual time. I am waiting for him on the front porch, only now I am alone. This is because my father let Rain outside without her collar during a superstorm.

The air is cool and the morning is sunny. As soon as I see my uncle's truck I run across our yard to the temporary bridge and walk very carefully along the planks. I don't want to fall into the stream below, even though now there isn't much water down there. Parked in the road in front of our house is an old yellow car my father borrowed from Sam Diamond. He has to leave it in the street since we can't drive over our temporary plank bridge. But at least we aren't stuck on our property any more.

I climb into Uncle Weldon's truck, and as soon as I've closed the door, I announce, “‘Praise', ‘prays' and ‘preys'.”

Uncle Weldon smiles at me. “Excellent. Was there room for that on your list?”

“Yes,” I say. “There was room.”

“Any word from any of the shelters?”

I shake my head. “No. No word.”

“Are you nervous about going back to school?”

I think for a moment. “Yes. I am nervous.” My father drove me by my school yesterday so I could see it, and it looked fine, but I'm still nervous.

“What are you nervous about?”

I shake my head.

I don't know.

Mrs Leibler walks me to Mrs Kushel's room and I see my desk. It looks like it did before Hurricane Susan. So does the rest of the room. Mrs Leibler sits in her chair. I sit in mine. I begin to feel calmer.

The bell rings and Mrs Kushel stands at the front of the room and smiles at us. “Hello, class,” she says. “I'm glad to see you here. And I'm glad to be here with you. The last week or so has been pretty scary. But now it's time to get back to work. Before we do that, though, I think some of you might want to talk about your experiences during the storm.”

I can't help myself. I leap out of my chair and say, “We can't start yet, Mrs Kushel! Anders and Lenora aren't here.”

Mrs Leibler pulls me back into my seat and gives me a look that is most likely a warning look.

“I was just getting to that, Rose,” says Mrs Kushel. “I'm sorry to say that Anders and Lenora won't be in our class any longer. Their families had to move.” Flo raises her hand and says, “Their houses washed away.”

“Are they okay?” asks Parvani. Her voice shakes a little. “I mean, are Anders and Lenora okay?”

“They're fine,” Mrs Kushel replies. “Promise. Their families have left to live with relatives.”

“Could we write to them?” asks Parvani.

“That's a wonderful idea,” says Mrs Kushel. “We'll write letters to Anders and Lenora this afternoon. Now, who would like to talk about their experiences?”

One by one my classmates talk about the last week and a half.

“My sister broke her arm,” says Morgan. “She fell down our stairs when the lights were out.”

“I wanted to go trick-or-treating,” says Martin, “but my parents said Halloween was cancelled.”

“We have to live on the second floor of our house until all the mud gets cleaned out of the first floor,” says Flo. “Our house stinks.”

Mrs Kushel turns to me. “Rose, would you like to tell us anything? How did Hurricane Susan affect you?”

“Two trees fell in our yard – a birch and an elm. An oak tree split in half and the elm tree snapped over. Our bridge washed out. And my father let Rain outside during the storm without her collar and she didn't come back.”

Parvani gasps. She cranes her neck to look at me and says, “Rain is missing?” Her voice is small.