Patches (2 page)

Charles gave Patches one more pat and stood up. “It’s Saturday, so Lizzie’s volunteering at the animal shelter today. Let’s go talk to her.” Sometimes Charles liked to do things on his own, without letting Lizzie get involved. His big sister could be
so
bossy. But he had to admit that she could sometimes be useful.

Sammy nodded. “Sounds good.” He patted Patches, too. “Hang in there, little fella!”

“We’ll be back soon,” Charles promised. He checked to make sure that the rope was still untangled. He hated to leave Patches all alone, but if they could find help for him, it would be worth it. He kept looking back at the puppy as he and Sammy left the garage and
cut across the driveway. Poor Patches. He looked so sad!

Why are the boys leaving, just when they had all been having so much fun? Oh, boooooo! Come back sooooon!

Patches started howling again before the boys were even out of sight. “Ohhh!” said Sammy, putting his hands over his ears again. “That sound!”

Charles didn’t like it, either. Hearing a dog cry like that made him sad, and mad, and all upset. How could people be so mean?

Then he saw something that made him
really
upset. “Sammy, look!” he said. They were in the backyard of the haunted house now, but they could still see across the driveway to the house where Patches lived. Charles pointed to a big picture window on the side of the house.

“I don’t believe it!” Sammy stared.

“Me, neither!” Charles clenched his fists. He
felt angrier than ever. Why? Because somebody
was
home at Patches’s house! A man was sitting there — just
sitting
there! — with his back to the window. He had white hair and he was wearing a red sweater, and he was calmly reading the newspaper. Since Charles hadn’t heard a car pull up or any doors opening or closing, he knew the man had to have been there the whole time.

How
could
he? How could somebody just sit there and read the paper while his dog was crying his heart out?

For a second, Charles felt like marching right up to the front door of that house and knocking on it. When the man answered, he’d say — what? He couldn’t quite imagine. That was when he realized it wasn’t such a good idea. Charles was just a little kid. Why would this grown-up man listen to anything he had to say? The man might even get mad. He would probably say it was none of Charles’s business how he treated his dog. And maybe it wasn’t.

But maybe it was. Maybe somebody could do something about the terrible way that Patches was being treated. “Come on!” Charles said. “Let’s get going.” He ran for his bike, hopped on, and started pedaling. He could hear Patches wailing for a long, long time.

By the time they got to Caring Paws, the animal shelter where Lizzie volunteered every Saturday, Charles and Sammy were panting. It had been a long ride, with lots of hills. One hill was so steep that Charles almost decided to get off and walk, pushing his bike. But then he remembered Patches. He could practically see the puppy’s sad face and hear his mournful howls. So Charles kept riding.

“I’ve never been here before,” Sammy said as they got off their bikes in the shelter’s parking lot. “I know they take care of dogs that need homes. And they must have lots of dogs right now!” They could hear barking echoing through the building.

“They have cats, too,” Charles told him. “I think they even take guinea pigs once in a while. But most people come here to adopt dogs or cats.”

“Or to give them up, right?” Sammy asked. “I remember once a friend of my mom’s had to give up her dog because she was allergic. She brought him to one of these places. They promised to find him a good home.”

Charles felt a knot in his stomach. He hated to think about people giving up their dogs. He would
never
give up Buddy, no matter how sneezy or itchy he got! But he knew that bringing a dog to a shelter was the responsible thing to do if you really couldn’t take care of it anymore. It was way,
way
better than leaving it somewhere like a gas station. That was where Snowball had been left. Snowball was one of the cutest puppies the Petersons had ever fostered. He was a fluffy white terrier who now lived a very happy and comfortable life with a lady named Mrs. Peabody.

Charles led the way into the shelter. The barking got louder as soon as they entered the main lobby. His sister was standing behind the counter.

“Hey!” Lizzie looked up and smiled. “What are you guys doing here?” She put down the marker she was using to make name tags for the dog cages. “Is everything okay?” Lizzie stopped smiling when she saw the serious looks on the boys’ faces. “Charles, what is it? Is Buddy all right?”

“Buddy’s fine,” Charles said. “It’s another dog that’s in trouble.”

“A beagle,” Sammy added. “Just a little puppy.”

Lizzie came out from behind the counter. “What are you talking about? What beagle puppy? Where?”

“He was all tangled up in his leash!”

“He was crying!”

“His name is Patches!”

“The people were
home!”

Sammy and Charles were both talking at once.

Lizzie held up both hands. “Hold on, hold on!” She made the boys sit down. “Wait here,” she said. “I have a feeling Ms. Dobbins should hear this.”

“All right, now. Tell me
exactly
what you saw.” Ms. Dobbins uncapped her pen. She was the director of Caring Paws, and she was
crazy
about animals. Charles sometimes thought Ms. Dobbins liked dogs better than people. The director had told Lizzie to bring the boys right into her office when she heard about what they had seen. Now she wanted a full report.

Charles, Sammy, and Lizzie sat across from Ms. Dobbins. She had pulled a form out of a folder and she was ready to fill it in. “We keep track of things like this,” she said. “If someone reports that an animal is being mistreated, we make a file for that animal and we follow up. If we discover that the animal needs our help, we get in
touch with the police. In some cases, we even end up taking the animal away from its owners.”

Charles was shocked. “Really? So if I didn’t treat Buddy right, you could take him away?”

Ms. Dobbins smiled. “From what I hear from Lizzie, Buddy gets treated like a king. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Her smile disappeared. “But not every dog is so lucky. Tell me about this beagle you saw.”

First she asked for the exact address of the house where Patches lived.

“It’s on Ferndale Drive,” Sammy told her. He looked at Sammy. “But we don’t know the house number.” He described the house and the garage.

“It’s next door to the haunted house,” Sammy added.

Ms. Dobbins raised her eyebrows. “Haunted house?” Then she laughed. “Oh, I know exactly which house you mean. The old Turner place. It’s been abandoned for years.” She made a note on
her form. “Okay, now we know
where.
So, tell me
what.
What did you see?”

Charles and Sammy described the howling they’d heard, and how they thought it was a ghost, and how they had discovered Patches all tangled up in his leash.

Ms. Dobbins kept nodding and saying, “I see,” and “uh-huh,” as she wrote everything down. Once in a while she shook her head and made a
tsk
sound. And she sighed when she heard about the man in the red sweater who was home the whole time.

When the boys finished their story, she sighed again. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know how upsetting it is to see an animal being mistreated.”

“So?” Lizzie asked. “What can we do?”

“Maybe our family can foster Patches.” Charles had been thinking about that the whole time. Wouldn’t it be great if Patches could come to stay with the Petersons? He wouldn’t be lonely or bored at all. He and Buddy could play all day, and
then Patches could sleep in Charles’s room, just like Buddy always did.

But Ms. Dobbins was shaking her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “We can’t just swoop in and take Patches away from his family. Not unless they’re doing something that’s against the law, like hitting him.”

“But —” Sammy began.

“Our state law makes it hard to take a dog away,” Ms. Dobbins went on. “If Patches has shelter, water, and a leash that’s at least four times as long as he is, then there’s nothing we can do. If he has those things, he has the basic necessities.”

Charles and Sammy looked at each other. Patches had all those things.

“But he couldn’t
get
to his water, because he was tangled!” Charles said. “Plus it’s just so
mean
to leave him alone out there!”

“It’s not against the law for a dog to be lonely,” Ms. Dobbins said gently. “And the people probably
aren’t being mean on purpose. Lots of people just don’t understand that dogs need human companionship, playtime, and love. That’s part of our job here at the shelter — to teach people about how to be good pet owners.”

“But how do you do that?” Charles asked.

“Sometimes we talk to the owners,” Ms. Dobbins told him. “But we also try to educate the public in general. We write newspaper articles and letters to the editor, and we sponsor special events.”

“Remember when Meg Parker and Sergeant Frost and their dogs came to school to do that demonstration about dogs who help people?” Lizzie asked. “Ms. Dobbins helped to set that up.”

Ms. Dobbins put down her pen. “I will drive by the house a few times and see how things look,” she promised. “I imagine you’ll keep an eye on Patches, too. If you see something happen that you think is really wrong, you can call me or just call the police. Don’t try to talk to the owners yourselves, okay?”

Charles and Sammy nodded. “Okay,” they said together.

“I want to thank both of you for coming to me about this,” Ms. Dobbins said. “It’s nice to know that there are people out there who really care about animals.”

“A puppy like Patches needs somebody to stand up for him,” said Charles. “He’s too little to take care of himself.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s very happy to have found such good friends.” Ms. Dobbins stood up and shook Charles’s hand, then Sammy’s.

Charles wasn’t sure whether they had really done anything to help Patches. But at least they had tried.

“So then Dagwood says, ‘But, Blondie, I want to take a nap!’” It was Sunday morning, and Charles was reading the comics to Buddy, who lay on his lap. Charles
always
read the comics to Buddy on Sundays. It was their tradition. Snoopy was Buddy’s favorite character, but he liked all the comics, not just Peanuts. The Bean was listening, too. He was curled up next to Charles, with his head on Charles’s shoulder. The Bean loved Garfield best.

Dad and Lizzie were off doing some errands. But before he’d left, Dad had made blueberry pancakes for breakfast. Charles had eaten five, an all-time record. He was
stuffed.
Even Buddy
had gotten a pancake — one that fell out of the pan when Dad was flipping it.

Mmmm, that pancake was so good. Buddy
loved
special treats like that. But the best treat of all was just being with Charles. Buddy loved the way Charles patted his ears while he read out loud. Maybe later they would go outside and play ball! Life was good.

“Charles!” Mom called. “Sammy is here!”

When Charles came into the kitchen, he found Sammy already sitting at the table, finishing off a pancake. Sammy almost always ate two breakfasts, one at home and one at the Petersons’. “Hey,” he said when he saw Charles. “Ready to go see Patches?”

“Who’s Patches?” Mom asked as she put the syrup and butter away.

“Nobody,” Charles said. “I mean, he’s just a puppy we know.”

“Charles!” His mother gave him a stern look. “Are you going to come home with another puppy to foster? Because if you are —”

“I’m not!” Charles said. “I promise. We’re just visiting.”

“Okay.” Mom didn’t look totally convinced.

Charles didn’t want to tell Mom all about Patches quite yet. He and Sammy had decided to spy on Patches’s family that morning and make sure they were treating him right. Somehow, Charles didn’t think his mom would approve. Spying was not high on her list of okay things to do. But Charles thought it was important to check up on Patches.

Charles gave Buddy and the Bean good-bye hugs. Then he and Sammy hopped on their bikes and rode to Ferndale Drive. This time Charles walked right up onto the porch of the haunted house. Now that he knew all the moaning came from Patches, and not from a ghost, he felt safe.

“Here, behind these vines,” Sammy whispered
when they got to the back porch. “We can see everything, but nobody can see us.”

They sat down behind the vines. Charles pulled out the little notebook he had brought so that they could keep track of how Patches was being treated.

Patches was tied out in the garage again. But this time he wasn’t crying. This time he was getting at least a
little
bit of attention. First, two kids came out of the house, a boy and a girl about Lizzie’s age. The girl gave Patches a little pat when she passed him on her way to get her bike out of the garage. The boy didn’t pat him, but he said, “Hey, Patches.”

Charles could tell that Patches would have liked more attention. But the kids jumped onto their bikes and rode off. Charles made some notes in his notebook.

A few minutes later, a lady who must have been the kids’ mom came outside. She went to the hose and filled up Patches’s water bowl. His tail wagged
when she put it down for him, but she didn’t pat him or say anything to him.

“Wanda!” somebody yelled from inside. “Where are you?”

It must have been the dad. His voice was loud. Charles wondered if he was mad. Mad enough to be mean to a puppy? Charles hoped not.

“I’m out here with the dog,” the woman called back. “I’ll be right in.” She rearranged the blankets that made up the puppy’s bed, then headed inside.

Charles made some more notes while he and Sammy sat and waited for something else to happen. Nothing much did. After a while, the kids came back on their bicycles. They left them in the driveway and ran inside without saying hello to Patches. A little bit later, the whole family came out.

“Whoa,” Charles whispered when he saw the dad. He was a big guy, like football-player big. And he was frowning. He didn’t even glance at Patches.

“Let’s go,” he said to the kids. “We’re late.”

The family piled into the car and drove off without saying good-bye to Patches. As the car disappeared down the driveway, Patches began to howl.

Charles didn’t even stop to write any notes in his spy notebook. He jumped up and ran right across the driveway and into the garage. He gave Patches a big hug. “You poor guy,” he muttered into the soft fur on the puppy’s neck. “All you want is a little more attention.”

It felt so good to be hugged! Patches snuggled into the boy’s arms. He could have stayed there forever.

“Charles!”

Charles looked up. Sammy was standing on the porch, waving both arms. “Charles, there’s somebody home!” Sammy said in a loud whisper.

Oops! Charles gave Patches one last squeeze,
then dashed back across the driveway. When he joined Sammy on the porch, Sammy pointed to the side window of the house next door. The man in the red sweater was sitting there again!

“But that’s not the only reason I called you back over here,” Sammy said. “Listen.” He held up one finger and tilted his head toward the front of the haunted house.

Charles tilted his head, too. What he heard made him gulp.

It was a low, moaning sound.

It wasn’t Patches.

Maybe this time it really was a ghost!