Chicken Soup for the Cat & Dog Lover's Soul Read Free Page A

gave up their best opportunity to increase the dog’s chances of finding another home—just to save a measly ten dollars. At first I felt crushed by this kind of behavior, but as time passed I toughened up. Lately, I felt so cynical I was afraid of what was happening to me.
    One October when the nights were already dropping below freezing, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Bobby for a while. He usually spent his nights at the Salvation Army in the winter, so I stopped by and asked about him. No one had seen him. I looked at the phone call log at headquarters to see if he had been making his usual calls to report animals—or just talk. No calls were recorded.
    A week later I got a call at headquarters. “Goldilocks,”
    he rasped, “I need you to come.” He had a bad cold.
    “Bobby! Where are you? Everyone’s been looking for you!”
    “I’m okay. I’m out in back of the chair factory.”
    Within a few minutes, I was turning the car off the main street onto a gravel road behind the old chair factory. All at once the road stopped and I was in a large field strewn with debris. In the middle of the field, a rusting station wagon sat on cement blocks.
    I approached the car, bent over and knocked lightly on the passenger window. Bobby was curled up tightly in the front seat with his windbreaker thrown over him. Lying next to him was a chocolate Labrador puppy with long gangly legs and ears that he had yet to grow into.
    The dog looked up at my knock with bright eyes and a thumping tail. I peered in to get a closer look. The front of the car was filled with empty Styrofoam cups and potatochip bags. The back of the wagon was covered in soft blankets. Neatly stacked boxes of dog biscuits and a bag of dog food were lined up next to two jugs of bottled water and two chewed rubber balls.
    “Bobby, are you okay?” His eyes fluttered open.
    “Goldilocks,” he croaked. He struggled to sit up and get his bearings. He looked at me and I could see his nose was red and his eyes bleary. He untangled himself and climbed from the car, wincing as he stood.
    “Come on with me, Bobby. Get in the patrol car and I’ll bring you to the Salvation Army, or the medical center. Okay? It’s warm there.” I urged.
    “No, I’m okay. Social Service says I’m gonna lose my check if I don’t go into housing. You gotta take Brownie.”
    It was true. I couldn’t think of a single facility that would allow him to keep his dog. He was only out here in the cold because the Salvation Army didn’t allow pets. He started unloading the puppy’s supplies and carrying them over to the patrol car. Brownie watched every move he made with adoring eyes. I grabbed a jug of water out of the car and started to help, feeling helpless all the same.
    Everything was packed up, except for Brownie. Bobby knelt down and put his hands on each side of the puppy’s head. They looked at each other for a long moment and then Brownie started to lick Bobby’s face. In one quick movement, the man picked him up and placed him gently in the front seat of the patrol car. He turned to me, his eyes even redder than before.
    “Here,” he said, handing me a ten-dollar bill. “For the dog pound.” I stared open-mouthed at the money. I couldn’t believe it. Bobby was paying the surrender fee, though it was probably all the money he had in the world.
    I put out my hand and grabbed his arm, “Bobby, don’t worry about any fee. They’ll understand.”
    He looked at me. “No, Goldilocks. You told me ten dollars to get a good home, ’member? A home with a kid to play with would be good for Brownie.”
    He turned from me suddenly and started to walk back toward the rusty station wagon. I knew better than to try to convince him to come with me. He had a mind of his own and treasured his independence, often at the expense of his health and safety.
    “Bobby! I’ll find him a great home,” I called after him, my voice catching in my throat.
    He made a noise, but