Cages (8 page)

As they left City Hall, Dorothy said, “Is that the speech teacher you’re always talking about? The one who’s so terrific?”

“Yes.”

“She must weigh two hundred pounds. What’s so terrific about that?”

“She does interesting things. She plays the harp for wedding receptions and she leads tours of the zoo.”

Dorothy sniffed. “She’d fit right in, with the hippos.”

Kit decided to change the subject. She knew there was no way her mother would ever see what a vibrant, exciting person Miss Fenton was. Dorothy couldn’t see past the excess pounds on Miss Fenton’s hips.

“I don’t know anything about The Humane Society,” she said. “Do you?”

“All I know,” said Dorothy, “is that they take care of unwanted animals.”

“I wonder what they’ll have me do.”

“Clean out the cages, I expect.”

A tiny pinprick pierced Kit’s soap bubble. Oh, great. For twenty hours, she would serve the community by shoveling dog piles.

The next morning, she took Tracy’s birthday gift to school. It was a small picture frame, molded of clay, with bears on it. Tracy collected teddy bears and Kit was sure she would love the picture frame.

Tracy hardly had time to look at it because a group of kids crowded around, asking about the balloon ride.

“It was fantastic!” Tracy said. “We saw our balloons reflected in the water when we went over a river. And we startled some deer and watched them run into the woods.”

“We could look down on the tops of the trees,” Linda said, “and when we drifted over a farmhouse, the children ran out and waved and called. They looked like little dolls down below.”

People followed Tracy around all day, asking questions. You’d think Tracy was a national hero, or something. You’d think she and Linda were the first people to walk on Mars.

Even when Kit was alone with her, Tracy didn’t want to talk about anything else. She never did thank Kit for the picture frame. Not that Kit cared about being thanked. She just didn’t like being left out. She felt as if everyone who had gone on the balloon ride belonged to an exclusive club and she could never be a member.

It wasn’t until classes were over that Tracy asked Kit about her evening. “Did everything go OK for you last night?” she said.

“Yes.”

Tracy cocked her head to one side and gave Kit a piercing look. “Care to tell me about it?”

Kit shook her head.

“So be a mystery woman,” Tracy said. “Who cares?” She walked away, leaving Kit alone at their lockers.

It was the first time Kit could ever remember Tracy being angry with her. Not that she blamed Tracy. She
was
acting mysterious; she knew that.

Kit put on her sweater, picked up her bookbag, and slammed her locker shut. She didn’t like alienating Tracy. She didn’t like it one bit.

She leaned against her locker and closed her eyes. What was she going to do now? Not even the Triple-B would help if she lost Tracy’s friendship.

“Kit?” It was Miss Fenton.

Kit straightened and forced a smile.

“Could I speak to you for a moment, in my room?”

Miss Fenton closed the door and gestured for Kit to sit down. “Last night,” she said, “I sensed that you were not telling the whole story. I think perhaps you
do
have a problem at home and I want to help you, if you need it. Not as a member of the committee. Because I care about you.”

“Thanks.”

Miss Fenton waited. Kit looked at her shoes.

“There’s no shame in having a problem,” Miss Fenton said. “The only shame is in not trying to correct the problem.”

Like Dorothy, Kit thought.

“I feel something else happened that night, before you went to the mall. Something to do with your stepfather. Do you want to talk about it?”

Suddenly, Kit did want to talk about it. The whole story spilled out: Wayne’s binges, Dorothy covering up for him, Kit’s frustration.

When she finished, Miss Fenton asked, “Have you talked to your mother about this?”

“It doesn’t do any good. She pretends everything is OK.” Kit couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “She only sees what she wants to see.”

“Don’t be too hard on her. It’s difficult to be caught in someone else’s trap.”

Kit sniffed.

“Do you feel able to cope with the situation?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure? You have a bright future, Kit. I don’t want you to spoil it.”

“I can cope.”

“If that changes—if you feel threatened or afraid or just pushed too far—will you tell me, or tell someone else who’s in a position to help?”

Kit nodded.

Miss Fenton stood up. “I won’t repeat this conversation,” she said. “Thank you for being honest with me. The shoplifting was so out of character for you and you looked so unhappy there by your locker, I was afraid you had a problem you couldn’t handle.”

I do, Kit thought, remembering Tracy’s anger. But that wasn’t something Miss Fenton could help with.

T
HE noise was loud; it was frantic. The dogs sounded desperate, as if they believed that if they barked loudly enough, someone would surely let them out.

The barking began as soon as she entered the kennel building. Some dogs leaped into the air; some pawed at the doors of their cages, trying to get her attention. Others cowered in a corner, watching her warily. One, in his haste to be noticed, stepped in his bowl of food, spilling kibble across the floor.

Kit put her hands over her ears as she walked slowly down the concrete walkway. There were cages on both sides of her, each containing one or more dogs. The cages were clean; the animals all had water and some had blankets to sleep on. It was clear that they were being cared for as well as possible,
given the circumstances. It was equally clear that food, water, and housing were not all they needed.

Their eyes followed Kit and the barking grew more frenzied as she continued.

Her assignment was to “socialize” the dogs.

When she had arrived that afternoon for her first two-hour stint, she met Lynnette, the manager. Lynnette was a friendly young woman who acted pleased to have Kit there.

“What do you know about The Humane Society?” she asked.

Kit admitted she didn’t know anything.

“We are not the ‘dog pound,’” Lynnette said. “We don’t pick up stray animals or enforce leash laws. That’s done by the county animal control, which is entirely separate from us. We’re a nonprofit organization, affiliated with the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. We investigate cruelty cases and we try to provide homes for unwanted animals.”

She gave Kit a quick tour of the main building. In addition to the large room where the adoption desk was, there was a cat room with floor-to-ceiling cages, a spay/neuter clinic, Lynnette’s office, and a volunteer station.

Lynnette wrote
KIT, Volunteer
on a nametag and handed it to Kit. “Today, I’d like you to socialize the dogs,” Lynnette said. “You can sit with them in the cages, if you want. Pet them and talk to them. Or you can take them out to the exercise yard, one at a time. It’s fenced, so once you’re in the yard, you can remove the leash and let the dog run free. There are balls for them to play with and poop-scoops for you to clean the yard with, if you need to.”

As she talked, she led Kit out a side door and pointed to
the exercise yard. It was surrounded by an eight-foot-high chain link fence.

“Before we began our volunteer program,” Lynnette said, “some dogs became unadoptable and had to be euthanized because they were so withdrawn. They don’t understand why they’re here; it’s natural for them to pull back and be distrustful. Since we began using volunteers to socialize the dogs, we haven’t had to euthanize a single animal because it became antisocial.” She spoke with pride. Kit could tell that the animals were important to Lynnette.

“Have you ever had a dog, Kit?”

“No, but I’ve always wanted one.”

Lynnette took a yellow leash from a hook and handed it to Kit. Then she led the way to the kennel.

“Be careful when you open a cage door,” she said. “The dogs will try to get out.” She demonstrated how to do it, using her knee to block the space as she eased the door of the first cage open and slipped inside. Then she came back out and had Kit do it. As soon as she was in the cage, Kit began petting and talking to the black lab inside.

“Don’t spend too much time with any one animal,” Lynnette said. “I wouldn’t want you to get overly attached.”

It seemed an odd remark for someone whose business was trying to find homes for unwanted pets.

Lynnette watched while Kit put the leash on the lab and took it to the exercise yard. When Kit had put the lab safely back in his cage, Lynnette returned to the office.

Kit walked slowly through the kennel while the dogs on both sides leaped and yipped.

A sheet of paper was clipped to the front of each cage. It
told how old the dog was, its name, and any known background information. There was a blank space where Kit was supposed to write the date and how much time she spent with each dog.

“Do as many as you can,” Lynnette had said. “I know you won’t have time to do them all so try to do those who haven’t had a volunteer visit recently.”

The last cage in the row contained a medium-sized terrier with reddish-blonde fur. Unlike the others, this dog didn’t bark and didn’t jump around. It just sat on the floor, staring balefully up at Kit. Kit looked at the paper on the cage.

Terrier mix. Approx. 2 years old. Found abandoned in a freeway rest stop
.

Someone had added a date and: “Socialized, 10 min. I called her Lady.” The date was more than a week ago.

Kit lifted the latch on the cage, carefully slipped inside, and closed the door.

“Hello, Lady,” she said.

Lady stood up and her tail wagged tentatively.

Kit sat down. She was surprised to find that the concrete floor was warm. The kennel must have some kind of radiant heat.

“Good dog,” she said. “Good Lady.”

The terrier sat next to Kit, leaning against her. There was a metal dog door on the back wall which could be opened or closed from the front of the cage. Peering through the open door, she saw that the kennel continued on the outside of the building.

Kit scratched Lady’s ears. The rest of Lady’s fur was coarse
and wiry but her ears were like rust-colored velvet. Lady leaned closer, until she flopped over sideways onto Kit’s lap.

Kit laughed and rubbed the dog’s stomach. Lady wriggled with pleasure and licked Kit’s arm.

“You’re a fine dog,” Kit said. Did Lady jump out of the car and run off while her family was traveling? Or did someone purposely leave her at the rest stop? She wondered how anyone could have left such a nice dog behind.

Kit slipped the looped end of the leash over Lady’s neck, and pulled it snug. Then she stood up and opened the cage door. Instantly, Lady bounded out the door and trotted down the kennel walkway, toward the yard. Kit held tightly to the leash and ran along behind. She opened the gate to the exercise area and took Lady inside. After making sure the gate was securely closed again, she removed the leash.

Lady galloped back and forth. She sniffed the ground; she sniffed the fence. Kit picked up a tennis ball and threw it. Lady ran after it but she wouldn’t bring it back to Kit. Instead, she ran in circles around the yard, with the ball in her mouth.

Kit threw a second ball. Lady promptly dropped the first ball and charged after the second one. Then she ran laps with that one in her mouth. Her tail streamed out behind her and her ears flapped up and down as she ran.

It must feel good, Kit thought, to run like that after she’s been caged for so long. She threw the balls until Lady’s tongue hung sideways out of her mouth. Lady still wanted to play but Kit was afraid to overdo it. She put the leash back on Lady and took her back to the kennel.

As soon as they approached the kennel, Lady hung back.
Kit had to tug on the leash to get Lady to walk beside her, back to her cage. When Kit opened the cage door, Lady braced her feet and leaned away from the cage, refusing to go in.

“You have to go back in,” Kit said. “I’m sorry, Lady.” She gave the terrier a hard push but Lady didn’t budge. Finally Kit had to get back inside the cage herself, and pull Lady in after her. Once Lady was inside, Kit removed the leash and slipped back out. As she latched the door, Lady sat in the corner of the cage and looked up at Kit. Her brown eyes seemed to beg, “Couldn’t I go home with you? Couldn’t you take me home?”

Kit wrote the date and “Socialized” on Lady’s paper. She looked at her watch, surprised to see that thirty minutes had passed already. She wrote, “30 min.,” feeling guilty that she’d spent so long with Lady when Lynnette had asked her to do as many dogs as possible. Still, it hadn’t seemed like nearly enough time for Lady. Trying not to look at the terrier’s sad brown eyes, Kit went on to another cage.

This one contained three black puppies. Kit sat on the floor and let the puppies crawl on her, chew her shoelaces, lick her fingers. She petted them and talked to them but she didn’t take them out of their cage. The note on their cage said only, “Six weeks old. Owner can’t keep. Too many puppies.”