the man, and at the puppies. “What is this?”
The man pushed back his cap, scratched his head, and smiled shyly, and Lizzie found herself smiling back at him. “Puppies,” he drawled in a Southern accent. “A whole passel of puppies.”
“I can see that.” Ms. Dobbins turned to the others. “Mr. Beauregard is new to town but he has already become a very generous supporter of Caring Paws.”
Lizzie knew what that meant. He might not look it, but this man was R-I-C-H. And he lovedanimals. That was good! Caring Paws always needed money for dog food and cat litter and flea shampoo and veterinarians’ bills.
“These are some other friends of the shelter.” Ms. Dobbins swept a hand toward the members of the Caring Club. “And I think we
all
want to know what you’re doing with a carload of puppies.”
“I bought ‘em! I bought the whole lot from a man selling puppies out of a big white truck with red stripes on it, down on Route Nine. I couldn’t stand to see the little critters being sold like they were apples or corn at a farm stand. So I gave the man every cent in my pockets and I told him I never wanted to see him around these parts again.”
Ms. Dobbins frowned. “I’ve seen that truck. It makes me so mad that someone would sell puppies that way. I’ve called the authorities but they say there’s no law against it.”
“Why is it so terrible?” asked Sammy. “If I was driving past that truck with my mom or dad, I’d want to stop and get a puppy.”
“That’s exactly it,” said Ms. Dobbins. She began a lecture that Lizzie had heard many times before. “If you want to add a pet to your family, there’s lots to think about. You need to be sure you’re ready for the responsibility. Once you’ve talked it over, you can adopt a pet from a shelter or buy one from a responsible breeder. But buying a puppy from a truck, just on the spur of the moment — that’s not a good idea.”
Mr. Beauregard let out a big booming laugh. “That’s for sure,” he said. “As soon as I did it, I thought, ‘Now what, Daniel?’ I’d love to keep every one of these rascals myself, but I’m always travelin’ for business. Then I figgered out that you’d know what to do, so I drove the whole bunch of ‘em over here.” He ducked his head and smiled guiltily at Ms. Dobbins. “Course I’ll cover anyextra costs you rack up taking care of the little peanuts.”
“Well,” said Ms. Dobbins, “I guess we’d better start sorting them out.”
While Lizzie and the others watched, Ms. Dobbins, Mr. Beauregard, Andrew, and Julie began to unload the puppies. First Ms. Dobbins pulled a chunky black Lab pup out of the backseat. She handed the pup to Andrew, who headed into the shelter to find an empty kennel. Mr. Beauregard got into the car and passed along a shaggy white pup that looked a lot like Snowball, a feisty West Highland white terrier Lizzie’s family had once fostered. Then came three puppies in a row: another Lab, a squirmy dachshund, and a sort of beagley looking brown-and-white dog whose long, droopy ears reminded Lizzie of Patches, another foster puppy. “Oh, he’s cute!” said Lizzie.
The puppy sneezed. “Cute, yes,” said Ms. Dobbins. “But there’s a good chance this puppymight be sick, too. I think these puppies came from a puppy mill.”
Mr. Beauregard nodded. “A few of these pups are in need of some TLC.”
Lizzie knew what TLC meant: tender loving care. But even though she had heard of a puppy mill before, she wasn’t exactly sure what it was. She knew that paper was made at a paper mill, and steel was made at a steel mill. So . . . “A puppy mill?” she asked. “What’s that? Like a factory for puppies?”
Ms. Dobbins sighed. “Exactly. People who run puppy mills keep mother dogs in cages and make them have litter after litter of puppies, just so they can sell them.” She started to talk faster and more loudly, the way she always did when she was upset about something
The man pushed back his cap, scratched his head, and smiled shyly, and Lizzie found herself smiling back at him. “Puppies,” he drawled in a Southern accent. “A whole passel of puppies.”
“I can see that.” Ms. Dobbins turned to the others. “Mr. Beauregard is new to town but he has already become a very generous supporter of Caring Paws.”
Lizzie knew what that meant. He might not look it, but this man was R-I-C-H. And he lovedanimals. That was good! Caring Paws always needed money for dog food and cat litter and flea shampoo and veterinarians’ bills.
“These are some other friends of the shelter.” Ms. Dobbins swept a hand toward the members of the Caring Club. “And I think we
all
want to know what you’re doing with a carload of puppies.”
“I bought ‘em! I bought the whole lot from a man selling puppies out of a big white truck with red stripes on it, down on Route Nine. I couldn’t stand to see the little critters being sold like they were apples or corn at a farm stand. So I gave the man every cent in my pockets and I told him I never wanted to see him around these parts again.”
Ms. Dobbins frowned. “I’ve seen that truck. It makes me so mad that someone would sell puppies that way. I’ve called the authorities but they say there’s no law against it.”
“Why is it so terrible?” asked Sammy. “If I was driving past that truck with my mom or dad, I’d want to stop and get a puppy.”
“That’s exactly it,” said Ms. Dobbins. She began a lecture that Lizzie had heard many times before. “If you want to add a pet to your family, there’s lots to think about. You need to be sure you’re ready for the responsibility. Once you’ve talked it over, you can adopt a pet from a shelter or buy one from a responsible breeder. But buying a puppy from a truck, just on the spur of the moment — that’s not a good idea.”
Mr. Beauregard let out a big booming laugh. “That’s for sure,” he said. “As soon as I did it, I thought, ‘Now what, Daniel?’ I’d love to keep every one of these rascals myself, but I’m always travelin’ for business. Then I figgered out that you’d know what to do, so I drove the whole bunch of ‘em over here.” He ducked his head and smiled guiltily at Ms. Dobbins. “Course I’ll cover anyextra costs you rack up taking care of the little peanuts.”
“Well,” said Ms. Dobbins, “I guess we’d better start sorting them out.”
While Lizzie and the others watched, Ms. Dobbins, Mr. Beauregard, Andrew, and Julie began to unload the puppies. First Ms. Dobbins pulled a chunky black Lab pup out of the backseat. She handed the pup to Andrew, who headed into the shelter to find an empty kennel. Mr. Beauregard got into the car and passed along a shaggy white pup that looked a lot like Snowball, a feisty West Highland white terrier Lizzie’s family had once fostered. Then came three puppies in a row: another Lab, a squirmy dachshund, and a sort of beagley looking brown-and-white dog whose long, droopy ears reminded Lizzie of Patches, another foster puppy. “Oh, he’s cute!” said Lizzie.
The puppy sneezed. “Cute, yes,” said Ms. Dobbins. “But there’s a good chance this puppymight be sick, too. I think these puppies came from a puppy mill.”
Mr. Beauregard nodded. “A few of these pups are in need of some TLC.”
Lizzie knew what TLC meant: tender loving care. But even though she had heard of a puppy mill before, she wasn’t exactly sure what it was. She knew that paper was made at a paper mill, and steel was made at a steel mill. So . . . “A puppy mill?” she asked. “What’s that? Like a factory for puppies?”
Ms. Dobbins sighed. “Exactly. People who run puppy mills keep mother dogs in cages and make them have litter after litter of puppies, just so they can sell them.” She started to talk faster and more loudly, the way she always did when she was upset about something
Similar Books
