Webster Read Free

been in before. But, prison was still prison.
    There was a low swinging door on the other side of the room, so he could go outside to go to the bathroom anytime he wanted. Not that he had the energy to go check it out. Yeah, he was still going to escape and have adventures and everything—but, maybe he would wait until tomorrow, when he was less tired.
    From what he could see through the opening, the door led to a fenced-in concrete run. He was curious about what would happen if he had an accident on the floor—would they yell and scream at him, and call him a Beast? Probably, yeah.
    There were other dogs in the kennels next to his, and even more dogs in the kennels across the hall, but he didn’t care enough to go to the door and check to see who his new neighbors were. What did it matter? It wasn’t like they were going to be friends, or anything. They were just like, cell mates .
    There was a big sturdy bowl full of cool, fresh water in his kennel, and a dish with some hard brown kernels in it. They smelled much better than the ones he had usually been given, but he still wasn’t hungry. So, he just sniffed at the food, took a small drink of water, and then stood by the wall.
    â€œIt’s okay, Webster,” Joan said, and indicated the fleece bed. “You can lie down right here.”
    Maybe later. When he was alone.
    As suppertime approached, the atmosphere around the farm seemed to get louder and more excited. All of the other animals were eager to have their evening meals, apparently, and there was a lot of barking and meowing going on. Monica, the elderly lady who had baked the dog biscuits, brought him a dish filled with cooked hamburger, hard-boiled eggs, mashed carrots, brown rice, and other stuff. It smelled good, and even though he was exhausted, he took a couple of bites. Then, aware that she was watching him intently, he retreated and stood by the wall again.
    â€œOh, you poor thing,” she said. “Don’t you worry, Webster dear, soon you’ll be feeling nice and strong.”
    Maybe. He waited until she was gone, and then he took two more bites. But, that was enough effort to make him feel tired again. He stretched out on the floor instead, moving carefully so that he didn’t jar his ribs.
    People kept coming to check on him, and he would wake up for a few seconds, and then go back to sleep. To his shock, later that night, Joan brought in a sleepingbag and slept on the floor right next to him. It made the dog uncomfortable, but he had to admit that it was nice to know that someone was concerned about how he was doing. He couldn’t ever remember having anything like that happen before.
    He spent the next day sitting either on the linoleum, or on the cement in the outdoor run. But, when he was outside, the dogs on either side of him—including the irritating Yorkshire Terrier—kept trying to talk to him, and be friendly, and all—and he just wasn’t into it. Not even a little bit. So, for the most part, he stayed inside, where he could have some privacy.
    At about noon, Monica carried in an early lunch of plain chicken, rice, and yoghurt, but he still couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the entire dish of food. Partially because his stomach still hurt, but also because the simple truth was that he really didn’t have any appetite, because he was sad. Very, very sad.
    Maybe the family that had adopted him hadn’t been nice, but it was pretty mind-blowing to get returned to a shelter, like a shirt that didn’t fit, or something. It made him feel small. And damaged.
    Which was really depressing.
    It was creepy to have people peeking in at him all the time, so he got up, pushed through the swinging door, and went out to his cement run for a while. The dog in the cage on his left tried talking to him again, but he pretended he didn’t hear him, and stared blankly out at the farm. It was kind of cold, but he liked being in the