Chewy and Chica
Authors: Ellen Miles
THE
PUPPY PLACE
SPECIAL EDITION
CHEWY
AND CHICA
ELLEN
MILES
For my writing buddies
Norma, Leda, and Linda,
with love and thanks.
CHAPTER ONE
Date: April 22
Time: 4
P.M.
Event: Caring Club, first meeting
President: Lizzie Peterson
Notes by: Lizzie Peterson
Others in attendance: Charles and Betsy Peterson, Maria, Ms. Dobbins, Julie (shelter employee), Sammy.
Ms. Dobbins and Lizzie opened the meeting with an explanation of what the Caring Club is all about. Our mission is to learn about the best ways to care for and help our animal friends, to educate the public about animals and pets, and to do good deeds for our community. History of the club: Lizzie read about another Caring Club in some other town and asked Ms. Dobbins if they could start one at Caring Paws Animal
Shelter, where Lizzie volunteers. (Lizzie is president because the whole thing was her idea.)
Lizzie’s younger brother Charles has joined, and their mother, Betsy, will also attend meetings as often as possible, as long as she doesn’t have to watch their younger brother, Adam, also known as the Bean, who might be too squirmy to sit still through a whole Caring Club meeting. The Petersons are all very familiar with the problems pets face, since they are a foster* family for puppies.
Maria is Lizzie’s best friend and also an animal lover, although she loves horses best of all. Sammy is Charles’s best friend, who lives next door.
Meeting continued with a brainstorming session about things the Caring Club could do. For example:
— Write informative letters to the editor of the newspaper about pets and how to care for them properly. (Like not leaving them in your car when it’s warm out.)
— Be kind to every dog and cat (and horse) we meet.
*Definition of fostering: taking care of puppies who need homes, just until the perfect forever family is found for each one.
— Teach our own pets (for example, the Petersons’ puppy, Buddy, the cutest, sweetest dog ever) how to be good canine citizens with nice manners.
— Have a bake sale or a dog wash (like a car wash, only with dogs) or something else to raise funds for Caring Paws.
— Take our well-behaved dogs to schools and workplaces to show off their manners and maybe also some tricks they can do, like —
4:30
P.M.
: Meeting suddenly adjourned. Explanation later.
It was just as well that Lizzie decided to give up on taking notes, since no matter how fast she scribbled, it would have taken her way too long to write down every thing that happened that spring afternoon in the middle of the first Caring Club meeting.
What happened was this. First there was a knock on the door. “Ms. Dobbins?” Andrew, the boy who worked at the front desk of the animal shelter, poked his head in. His cheeks were flushed pink and he stumbled over his words.
“I — I think you might want to come see what just arrived.”
Ms. Dobbins stood up. “Thank you, Andrew,” she said.
There was something in Andrew’s face that made everybody else stand up, too, and follow Ms. Dobbins out to the parking lot in front of the shelter. There Lizzie saw a big shiny black car, pulled up at an angle to the front door. The car’s windows were rolled down just a bit. Lizzie couldn’t believe what she was seeing, so she stepped forward to take a closer look. That car was full of puppies! Puppy noses stuck out of every window, sniffing and snuffling and snorting. Puppy paws pressed against the glass. Lizzie saw brown puppies, white puppies, and black puppies; fluffy puppies and sleek puppies; big puppies and tiny puppies. Lizzie had never seen so many puppies in one place!
The car door opened, and a tall, gangly man unfolded himself from the front seat, holding
back three puppies that tried to climb out after him. He wore worn, faded overalls, with a clean white shirt underneath. He wasn’t handsome — in fact, he was kind of funny-looking — but there was something about him that Lizzie liked right away.
He tipped his red baseball cap and smiled at Ms. Dobbins. “Hello, ma’am,” he said.
“Mr. Beauregard?” Ms. Dobbins stared at the car, and at the man, and at the puppies. “What is this?”
The man pushed back his cap, scratched his head, and smiled shyly, and Lizzie found herself smiling back at him. “Puppies,” he drawled in a Southern accent. “A whole passel of puppies.”
“I can see that.” Ms. Dobbins turned to the others. “Mr. Beauregard is new to town but he has already become a very generous supporter of Caring Paws.”
Lizzie knew what that meant. He might not look it, but this man was R-I-C-H. And he loved
animals. That was good! Caring Paws always needed money for dog food and cat litter and flea shampoo and veterinarians’ bills.
“These are some other friends of the shelter.” Ms. Dobbins swept a hand toward the members of the Caring Club. “And I think we
all
want to know what you’re doing with a carload of puppies.”
“I bought ‘em! I bought the whole lot from a man selling puppies out of a big white truck with red stripes on it, down on Route Nine. I couldn’t stand to see the little critters being sold like they were apples or corn at a farm stand. So I gave the man every cent in my pockets and I told him I never wanted to see him around these parts again.”
Ms. Dobbins frowned. “I’ve seen that truck. It makes me so mad that someone would sell puppies that way. I’ve called the authorities but they say there’s no law against it.”
“Why is it so terrible?” asked Sammy. “If I was driving past that truck with my mom or dad, I’d want to stop and get a puppy.”
“That’s exactly it,” said Ms. Dobbins. She began a lecture that Lizzie had heard many times before. “If you want to add a pet to your family, there’s lots to think about. You need to be sure you’re ready for the responsibility. Once you’ve talked it over, you can adopt a pet from a shelter or buy one from a responsible breeder. But buying a puppy from a truck, just on the spur of the moment — that’s not a good idea.”
Mr. Beauregard let out a big booming laugh. “That’s for sure,” he said. “As soon as I did it, I thought, ‘Now what, Daniel?’ I’d love to keep every one of these rascals myself, but I’m always travelin’ for business. Then I figgered out that you’d know what to do, so I drove the whole bunch of ‘em over here.” He ducked his head and smiled guiltily at Ms. Dobbins. “Course I’ll cover any
extra costs you rack up taking care of the little peanuts.”
“Well,” said Ms. Dobbins, “I guess we’d better start sorting them out.”
While Lizzie and the others watched, Ms. Dobbins, Mr. Beauregard, Andrew, and Julie began to unload the puppies. First Ms. Dobbins pulled a chunky black Lab pup out of the backseat. She handed the pup to Andrew, who headed into the shelter to find an empty kennel. Mr. Beauregard got into the car and passed along a shaggy white pup that looked a lot like Snowball, a feisty West Highland white terrier Lizzie’s family had once fostered. Then came three puppies in a row: another Lab, a squirmy dachshund, and a sort of beagley looking brown-and-white dog whose long, droopy ears reminded Lizzie of Patches, another foster puppy. “Oh, he’s cute!” said Lizzie.
The puppy sneezed. “Cute, yes,” said Ms. Dobbins. “But there’s a good chance this puppy
might be sick, too. I think these puppies came from a puppy mill.”
Mr. Beauregard nodded. “A few of these pups are in need of some TLC.”
Lizzie knew what TLC meant: tender loving care. But even though she had heard of a puppy mill before, she wasn’t exactly sure what it was. She knew that paper was made at a paper mill, and steel was made at a steel mill. So . . . “A puppy mill?” she asked. “What’s that? Like a factory for puppies?”
Ms. Dobbins sighed. “Exactly. People who run puppy mills keep mother dogs in cages and make them have litter after litter of puppies, just so they can sell them.” She started to talk faster and more loudly, the way she always did when she was upset about something having to do with animals. “The puppies grow up with very little exposure to people, in overcrowded conditions, where diseases can spread easily. The puppies are sold at pet stores, or through classified ads,
to owners who don’t know that they may be buying a sick dog, or a mixed-up puppy with behavior problems that can’t be solved.” Now Ms. Dobbins looked really sad. “There are already plenty of unwanted puppies in the world, and we don’t need more. Puppy mills are a terrible, terrible thing.”
“But . . . aren’t they illegal?” Mom asked. She held the dachshund and rocked it like a baby. “They must be. How could anyone treat dogs that way?”
“They’re banned in some places, but not in this state. Our legislature hasn’t passed a law against puppy mills yet,” Ms. Dobbins said. She sighed and went back to unloading the car.
The puppies just kept coming. Andrew and Julie took the dogs into the shelter and settled them into kennels. Lizzie saw a tiny long-haired shih tzu, a German shepherd with huge ears and a pointy nose (“That looks just like Scout when
she was a puppy,” Charles said when he saw it), and another Lab puppy, a yellow one this time. Lizzie wished she could hug and kiss and hold every single one of them, but Ms. Dobbins wanted to get them settled as quickly as possible.
“We’re out of kennels,” reported Andrew after he’d taken the yellow Lab puppy inside.
“I was afraid of that,” said Ms. Dobbins. “And there are still two puppies left. Brother and sister, by the looks of them.”
She reached into the car one more time and Mr. Beauregard handed over two teeny, tiny puppies. Their heads were shaped just like apples, and both had short fur, perky ears, and big, bulgy shiny brown eyes. “This one is the boy” — Ms. Dobbins held up a brown-and-white one — “and this one is the girl.” She showed off a black-and-white one.
Lizzie could hardly believe how small they were. They snuggled together, fitting perfectly
into Ms. Dobbins’s cupped hands. Lizzie couldn’t help herself. She walked right over to Ms. Dobbins and put out one finger to gently pet the black-and-white puppy’s tiny head.
“Chihuahuas!” said Lizzie.
“You’re absolutely right,” said Ms. Dobbins.
Lizzie was
always
right about dog breeds. Charles knew that it was because of the “Dog Breeds of the World” poster in her room. She had practically memorized it, so even if she had never seen a briard in real life, she could tell you exactly what it looked like (huge, shaggy), where it came from (France), and what it was used for (guarding sheep). Charles had to admit that Lizzie knew a lot about dogs.
“Chihuahuas who are going to need a foster home,” Ms. Dobbins went on. She looked right at Mom when she said that.
Mom gulped. “Two puppies?” she asked. “You want us to foster two puppies at once?”
Ms. Dobbins nodded. “These two will probably do best if they are together for now,” she said. “They may have to be separated eventually, but I hate to do it on their first night in a new place. If you could just take them for a few days, until I find homes for some of the other puppies . . .”
Sammy nudged Charles. “C’mon, you have to take them,” he whispered.
“We’ll do it!” said Charles.
Mom turned to him. “But what about our trip?”
“Never mind the trip,” Lizzie burst out. “This is way more important.”
Charles bit his lip. He had almost forgotten about the vacation his family had been planning for the last few weeks.
