Dog Days (2 page)

For a moment, Larry just stared at the sticker on the shelf below the bag of dog food. The price had gone up. And it hadn’t gone up just a little. It had gone up a lot.

“Hey, mister,” Larry said, spotting one of the market’s managers at the end of the aisle. “I think there’s a mistake on this price.”

“Really? Let me see.” The man pulled a small notebook from his pocket as he followed Larry back to the dog food. Then he bent down in front of the shelf.

“That’s some big mistake,” Larry said. “I’m sure glad I noticed it.”

The man glanced at a page in his notebook, then back at the dog food. “No, it’s right. They raised the price.” He swept his hand past the different brands. “They all raised their prices. Sorry, kid. But that’s the way it happens. Prices go up. Look on the bright side—your brand is still the cheapest.” The man shrugged, then walked away.

Larry had no choice. The dogs needed the food no matter how much it cost. He bought the bag. Not only did he have to spend everything he’d taken from his bank, but he also had to go through his pockets to gather his change.

I’m not going to make it
, he thought as he carried the bag down the street. The money that was left in his bank wouldn’t even be enough for the next bag. He couldn’t keep buying dog food unless he earned more money. Larry knew he couldn’t ask his parents to help out. Some months they barely managed to pay all the bills and buy food for themselves. The walk home felt a lot longer than usual. And the bag on his shoulder felt heavier than ever before.

After Larry put the dog food in the closet, he sat down and tried to think of some ways to make more money. Later that afternoon, he’d go out to collect cans and newspapers, like he did every Monday. That was the best day of the week, because people wanted to get rid of the thick Sunday papers, and they seemed to drink more soda on the weekends.
I could ask the neighbors for work today
, he decided. He’d check at every house to see if there were any jobs he could do.

Usually whenever he asked around, somebody had some kind of chore for him. During the last year, Larry had painted a fence, washed nine cars, weeded several yards, trimmed a couple hedges, and cleaned out one attic, two garages, and a basement. He was tempted to start looking right away, but he remembered that most of the people in the neighborhood were at work. There was no point trying to talk to anyone yet.

Larry was in the mood to play more baseball. Paul and his mom had already eaten lunch, but she’d made a sandwich for Larry to take along. He grabbed his glove and headed back to the park. But as he walked and ate, Larry’s mind wandered. Mostly, he thought about how he was going to earn money for the dog food. He also thought about the dog he’d seen in the alley. Larry was so lost in thought that he didn’t pay any attention to where he was headed. When he looked up, he realized he was close to the diner. It was the tail end of the lunch hour and the place was busy, people coming and going like ants at a picnic.

I may as well take another look
, he told himself. He sneaked up to the alley and peeked past the edge of the bookstore, wondering if the dog would growl at him again. In his mind, he saw himself making friends with it. He’d say calm words and get the dog to trust him.

But the dog didn’t growl at him. It couldn’t growl, because it wasn’t there.

No reason for it to be here
, Larry thought. Strays wandered. And there was no reason he should be looking for the dog. He absolutely couldn’t take care of another stray, no matter how much it needed a home. But Larry was still bothered that it had growled at him. Dogs never did that.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, are you going to play ball or just wander around town?”

Larry turned away from the alley. “Sure, I’m going to play,” he told Carlos. “I was on my way there.”

“Then let’s go.”

Larry walked to the park with Carlos. They reached the ball field just as everyone was getting ready to choose up sides for a new game. Despite his worries, Larry managed to enjoy himself. The warmth of the sun on his face and the smell of his leather glove were a wonderful combination. He decided he wasn’t going to let anything spoil his day.

This time when Adam hit a high fly, Larry caught it without any trouble.

On Larry’s first turn at bat, he hit two fouls and took three balls. With a full count, he watched the pitcher. He knew that Steffi Shimoto almost always threw a high one over the middle on a full count. That was great, because Larry liked them a little high. Steffi went into her windup. The ball hurtled toward the plate, zooming in at just the right height to be blasted over the fence.

Perfect
, Larry thought, already seeing the home run in his mind.
You’re going on a trip.
He stepped into his swing, eager to hear the solid crack that meant the ball was headed for orbit.

A frightened shout came from his left. “Larry! Lar-r-r-r-ry!”

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 to topple. 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.

“What’s wrong?” Paul asked.

“That,” Larry said. He pointed to the piece of cardboard taped to the fence beside the gate.

Paul stared at the sign. “I can’t read. What does it say?”

“It’s the price he’s paying for paper and aluminum,” Larry told him. “It went down. I won’t get as much as I thought.”

“Maybe it’s a mistake,” Paul said.

“No such luck,” Larry answered, shaking his head. He’d learned that lesson at the market—prices changed. But why did they always have to change in the worst possible way? Why couldn’t the price of dog food go
down
and the price of scrap metal go
up
? He guessed it was for the same reason that dogs wandered the streets and people got sick—life wasn’t always fair.

“Well, it’s not good, but it’s better than nothing,” Larry said, sighing. He pulled his wagon along the gravel path that led to the scales.

Fang, the dog who guarded the scrap yard, snarled and rushed out from the shed where he lived. But as soon as he recognized Larry, he wagged his tail. Two years ago, Larry had found the dog huddled and shivering in the rain by the bowling alley. It was barely more than a puppy back then. He’d brought it home, cared for it, and named it Lucky. Mr. Penwood, who owned the scrap yard, wanted a dog. He’d given Lucky a new home and a new name. “Scrap yard dogs need tough names,” he’d explained. “Now he’s Fang.”

Paul moved behind the wagon, putting it between himself and Fang.

“Hi, boy,” Larry said, petting the dog. “Mister Penwood, I’m here at the scale,” he shouted.

“Be right with you,” a voice called from the other side of a pile of tires. “Go ahead and load it up.”

Larry stacked the newspapers on the scale.

“Let’s see what you have,” Mr. Penwood said as he walked up to the scale. He slid the weights at the top, squinted at the numbers, then took the papers off the scale and weighed the cans.

“Okay, eight plus seven is fifteen, carry the one . . .” He mumbled a bit more, scrunched his brows as if thinking, then dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “Sorry about this,” he said as he counted out the money, “but there’s so much scrap that the prices had to go down. Everybody’s recycling. Especially now with the new town law. Supply and demand. That’s life, I guess.”

“Thanks.” Larry took the money.
This isn’t going to help very much
, he thought. He knew he had to find some way to earn more. There wasn’t anything else he could do that evening. But tomorrow he’d search all over town. Surely someone would have some kind of work for a kid. He was willing to do anything—the dogs couldn’t go without food. If he wasn’t able to feed them, he’d have to take them to the dog pound. He didn’t even want to think about that.

“Here, this is for helping.” Larry gave his brother a dime.

“Wow, thanks,” Paul said. He looked down at the coin in his palm as if he’d been handed a sack of gold. “Dad said a penny saved is a penny earned. So I guess this is ten pennies earned. Right?”

“Right.” That gave Larry an idea. He hated to ask, but he didn’t have much choice. “Hey, Paul, do you have any money saved up?”

“Yeah. I have a whole bunch,” Paul said.

“Really?” Larry’s heart beat faster at the news. “How much?”

“Three dimes and two quarters,” Paul said. “Four dimes now,” he added, grinning. “That’s a lot, isn’t it? I’m almost rich.”

“Yup, that’s a lot.” Larry realized that Paul’s life savings weren’t going to be any help. He gave Fang another pat on the head. The dog rolled over and let Larry rub his belly.

“Come on,” Larry said to Paul. “He wants you to scratch him.”

Paul inched over, taking small, shuffling steps like someone crossing an icy sidewalk. He reached out and gave Fang’s belly a quick scratch, then jerked his hand away.

Larry waited until it was obvious that Paul wasn’t going to try again. “Let’s go,” he said. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

Larry pulled the wagon home. When he got there, he went into the yard to feed the dogs again.

“Hey, guys, have you ever thought about going on a diet?” he asked as he watched Buck, Hobo, and Duke gobble up the food. They didn’t answer him with words. Instead, they filled the air with crunching sounds. In the bowls, the chunks of dry food disappeared like coins in a magician’s hand.

After the dogs finished attacking the food, they attacked Larry with paws and tongues and wet noses. He fell on the ground and rolled around with them, buried in an avalanche of furry affection.

It’s worth it
, he thought as he scratched Buck behind the ear with one hand and pushed Duke’s muzzle away from his own ear with the other. Whatever he had to do to keep these dogs fed, it was worth it. He petted Buck, remembering how scared and nervous the dog had been when Larry first found him. Somebody had mistreated Buck. Hobo, on the other hand, had always been a clown. And Duke, who had lots of energy, was the leader of the pack.

As Larry played with the dogs, he found himself thinking about the dog in the alley. Why did it growl? Where did it eat? Did anyone ever pet it? He knew that if he brought the dog home, it would stop growling at him. Maybe it would even become as friendly as these three.

“Don’t even think about doing that,” he said out loud.

Hobo cocked his head and stared at Larry when he spoke. Larry laughed and petted the dog. “Don’t worry. I’m just talking to myself. I found a new friend for you, but I get the feeling you’ll never meet him.”

Larry got up and went inside, carrying the nearly empty bag with him. He’d have to open the new bag soon. And once it was opened, it wouldn’t last long.
I’ll come up with some way to make money tomorrow
, he thought as he closed the back door.
I have to
.