Trapped (10 page)

“What's
he
doing here?”

I'm back at home, in Sage's room. We're both looking out the window, watching Billy and Dad talk together in front of the woodshop.

Sage is not happy to see Billy.

“Dad's going to give him a job,” I say. “It was my idea. Billy promised to quit trapping if this works out. He's a really good woodworker, Sage. And he'd much rather build things than kill things.”

I'm babbling a little, but I really, really want Sage to accept this. To understand. Billy is going to be around for a while, and my brother is going to have to deal with it.

Sage nods slowly. Then he surprises me. “Good for you, Brenna,” he says. “Good work.”

It's exactly what I wanted to hear. I just never thought he'd say it. “But, Sage,” I say. “What about ‘direct action is the only way'?”

“Getting a trapper a different job seems like one sort of direct action,” Sage says, smiling a little. “But the truth is, I've been doing a lot of thinking ever since you mentioned good old Steven Bauer. And ever since I hit you.”

Sage bows his head. “I really, really am sorry about that, Brenna,” he continues. “Anyway, I think I've gotten a little carried away with all this animal rights stuff. Not that I'll stop going to meetings or anything,” he adds quickly. “I still believe in all the goals. And I'm still going to be a vegan. But I have to admit that you proved there's more than one way to make change happen. I guess what I'm saying is that maybe I learned something from my little sister after all.”

I'm stunned.

Then Sage turns and digs around under the bed. “I'm getting rid of this,” he says, holding up the parts of his man-trap. “So you can keep that spring you stole.” He smiles again. “And just so you know, this isn't what most of the Animals Always people are into. The plans for this trap came from one guy who's really radical.”

I nod. “Sage,” I begin.

Then I realize that I can't think of a thing to say, so I just throw my arms around him. He gives me a huge hug. I've got my brother back.

Chapter Twelve

A
nother Sunday morning, another yoga session in the sunroom. I move through the postures, enjoying the feeling of the sun warming my muscles as I stretch.

We do the Eagle, balancing on one foot, focusing intensely. Back down on the floor, we do the Pigeon pose, puffing out our chests, and then flow into the Downward Facing Dog. We move through the Cat, hold the Cobra for five long breaths, then relax into the deep stretch of the Frog.

Mom's eyes meet mine. “Finish with a Lion?” she asks, just like last week. I nod happily. We open our eyes wide, stick out our tongues, and growl.

Once again, Jayvee runs in to join us, adding his baby lion growl to ours.

But this week something's different. This week, Dad and Sage are here, too. We sound like a whole pack of lions. We feel like a family again.

Now that Billy is helping my father in the carpentry shop, Dad has more free time. As for Sage, I guess he's decided that maybe he doesn't have “more important things to do” after all—at least not on Sunday mornings.

I gaze around the room, looking into each Lion face in turn. And then I can't hold it in any longer. I burst into giggles. Mom starts laughing, too. Jayvee rolls onto the floor and hoots happily. That makes Sage and Dad crack up.

Soon, the whole room echoes with our laughter.

Later, I ride my bike over to Dr. Mac's Place. I'm really looking forward to spending a regular day there, working with my friends. Things have been so crazy lately! I've missed my usual routine. It'll be a relief to walk in, grab a mop, and start cleaning.

But do I head for the broom closet when I arrive? Of course not. First I have to check up on Chico and the fawn. I've brought my camera, thinking I can take pictures of both of them. A nice picture of Chico might help us place him in a good home.

I head for Chico's cage first, but he's not in it!

For a second, my stomach does a little flip. Did something go wrong? Then I see Zoe walk in, leading Chico on a leash.

I take the lens cap off my camera and focus on the two of them.
Click.
Chico looks so much better than before. His coat is shinier, his eyes are brighter, and his tail is waving like a flag.

“He's walking?” I ask, even though I can see for myself that he is.

“Well, duh,” says Zoe. “Actually, he's doing a lot more than walking. He just chased a squirrel all over the backyard! Almost caught it, too. And he went up and down the stairs without any problems at all. Dr. Mac says that learning how to go down stairs is one of the hardest things for dogs that have lost a front leg. But he did great!” She beams down at Chico but doesn't reach out to pat him. “He's still not the friendliest dog—but who can blame him?” she adds.

I snap another picture as Zoe walks Chico back to his cage. It's just like Dr. Mac said: he doesn't even seem to notice that anything's missing. He's doing just fine on three legs. “So, he's all ready to go home?” I ask.

“If he had a home,” Zoe answers. She unclips Chico's leash and lets him back into his cage.

I come closer and we both look in at him.

This time he doesn't growl at me. I get a biscuit from the jar and offer it to him, and he actually takes it!

I guess his attitude has a lot to do with my own. When I was so upset and angry about everything, Chico could probably sense it. He didn't want anything to do with me. But Billy was calm and patient, and that made Chico feel less threatened.

A few days ago, I never would have believed that a hunter could actually be more tuned in to an animal than I was.

Just then, Maggie walks in. “Hey, have you seen the fawn yet?” she asks. “I think she's almost ready to be moved over to your place.”

“Cool!” It'll be fun to have the fawn to take care of. Maggie and I go over to the deer's cage, which is set apart from the others and draped with blankets to keep it quiet and dim. I peer in.

The fawn is lying down, but when she hears me, she jumps to her feet. Her cuts are healing beautifully, and it's obvious that all four legs are working just fine. She's gorgeous, with her huge eyes and soft, brown coat.

Moving slowly, I focus my camera and take a few quick shots, hoping there's enough light for them to come out.

“She looks great,” I whisper to Maggie.

It's hard to tear ourselves away from the fawn, but there's lots to do. I get to work cleaning cages to make them ready for any boarders we might get this week. It feels wonderful to be scrubbing away without any worries.

“Nice job!” I turn around to see Dr. Mac nodding approvingly. “These cages are gleaming. Thanks, Brenna.”

“No problem. Hey, the fawn looks great. Chico does, too.”

Dr. Mac smiles at me. “Two success stories,” she says. “We can always use those around here.”

I look over at Chico's cage. “Well, sort of a success,” I reply. “Chico still doesn't have a home. I sure wish I could take him, but there's no way that we can have a dog. Not with all the wild animals at our place.”

“Oh, I think I know somebody who may want him,” says Dr. Mac, a little mysteriously.

“Who?” Maggie, David, Sunita, and Zoe have joined us by then, and they're just as curious as I am.

“Billy.” Dr. Mac beams as she sees five jaws drop. “He came by here yesterday, and we talked about it. He's afraid his mother won't agree because of the expense, but I offered to continue caring for Chico for free if Billy and his family will give him a home.”

Dr. Mac can afford to do things like that. She's made lots of money from some vet instruments she invented, and she also writes a column about animals that runs in newspapers all over the country.

“Really?” says Maggie.

“That's awesome!” I say

It dawns on me that I have a lot to thank Billy for. If it weren't for him, I never would have learned that not everybody who hunts or traps is evil. And now that I understand why some people trap, I think I'll have a better chance of convincing them not to. (And believe me, I do intend to work hard to ban trapping in this country.)

Even Sage now realizes that by understanding another person's point of view, it's easier to work together for change.

It's kind of like yoga. If you resist stretching, it only hurts worse and your body rebels. But if you give in a little, relax, you can stretch farther than you ever thought you could.

Later that day, Billy and his mom and his sister come by to visit Chico. I feel a ridiculous urge to cry when I see how Chico stands up and wags his tail as soon as he hears Billy's voice.

When they take Chico out of his cage for a walk, I run to find my camera. I make the four of them stand out in back of the clinic, posing for me.
Click
. I take one shot, then another.
Click
.
Click
. Billy and his mom smile at each other.
Click.
Billy makes rabbit ears in back of his sister's head.

Then, I see it. The perfect shot. All three humans are looking down at their beautiful new dog. Chico looks straight at the camera, chest puffed out proudly. He already belongs with the Morrisons—anybody can see that. He'll be going home soon, and he couldn't ask for a better family to live with.

I've got the picture. And this time, it's not in black and white.