Trapped Read Free

capture the lights and darks of the forest. You can really see the details of something when you don’t have color to distract you. You see what’s true. Of course, that might just be me being “black and white” again!
    Somehow I don’t feel like clicking the shutter just now. I let the camera drop to my side and stand still for a moment, to soak it all in.
    It’s so quiet, I can hear a woodpecker drumming away on a dead tree and two chickadees calling to each other.
    Suddenly I hear another sound, a crashing noise coming from my right. I look over just in time to see a young deer leaping through the underbrush. Its white tail flashes as it bounds away, faster than I could ever run. I must have scared the animal when I moved. I wish I could call out to it, tell it that it’s safe here in the nature preserve.
    And I would have loved to snap the deer’s picture, but it was moving way too fast for that.
    I walk down to the creek now and stoop to take a closer look at a tiny fern growing out of a rock. Mom and I are trying to learn to identify the different types, but I can’t remember what this one is called. I take out my camera again and focus on the fern. Click. I’ll look it up in our field guide when I get my pictures back.
    As I straighten up, I hear something else. A whimpering sound, very faint. I know that sound.
    It’s an animal in pain.
    I listen carefully to figure out which direction it’s coming from, then tuck my camera into my basket and start to run.
    I come into a clearing just beyond the creek, near an old apple tree that still blooms sometimes in the spring. The whimpering sound is louder here, but I can’t tell what it is.
    Then I look down near the base of the tree, and I gasp.
    There’s a wolf lying there.
    No. That can’t be!
    There are no wolves in these woods. I take a closer look. It’s a dog, but the shape of his head and his thick, shaggy coat make him look like a wolf.
    This dog is in trouble. His beautiful coat—shades of cream, tan, and gray tipped with brown—is dull and matted. And he’s so thin I can practically count every rib. I can see the way his panting makes his chest rise.
    At least he’s still alive.
    I approach him carefully, trying to see if he’s wearing a collar.
    â€œAre you OK, boy? What happened?”
    He watches me closely and curls his upper lip, but he’s too exhausted to growl, much less snap at me. He can barely lift his head. I can’t figure it out. Why is he just lying there?
    Then I take one step closer, and I know.
    My stomach flips over. My knees turn to Jell-O. Suddenly I can’t catch my breath.
    The dog’s front leg is caught in a trap.

Chapter Three
    I can’t move. I just stand there, staring at the dog. “Oh!” is all I can say. “Oh, no!”
    He looks up at me. His brown eyes are dull.
    I pull it together. “Wait here, boy,” I tell the dog. “I’ll be right back.” I want to stroke his fur, to comfort him, but I know better than to touch an animal in distress.
    I turn and start running. It isn’t easy, because my eyes are filled with tears, but I thread my way through the trees and take a shortcut back to the house.
    I make it back in record time and burst into Dad’s carpentry shop. He looks up, startled.
    â€œBrenna?” he asks. He puts down the piece of wood he’s holding, turns off the saw, and comes toward me, taking off his safety goggles. “What is it, honey?”
    â€œIt’s a dog!” I say. “His foot is in a trap. I think he’s”—I take a huge, sobbing breath—“dying.”
    Dad doesn’t waste any time. He steps to the door of his shop. “Jayvee!” he yells. Jayvee is playing out back. “Tell Sage to call Dr. Mac’s. We’re bringing in an emergency patient. Then call Mrs. Piper and ask if you can go play with Jason for a while.” He