He’ll be in the shade, and it’s not too far from the ground for when he’s ready to flutter.”
“Alice, you’ve really thought this through.”
Grandma Alice rummaged in her purse and pulled out the scissors from their kitchen drawer.
“Yes, I have,” she said. “I put a Tupperware top inthe bottom to make sure it doesn’t collapse and we’re going to have to cut down the sides a bit for easy reentry. Believe me, given the crows’ nests I’ve seen, this little baby is getting the Cadillac version.”
“Let’s hang this,” Daddy said, examining the bag. “And if it works as well as I think it will, Mrs. Sampson can give it back to us after the crow abandons it. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you”—Daddy was rubbing his stomach—“but I might need a little something to tide me over until dinner. I can run over to Charley’s candy store and get some fuel for the volunteer cat chasers.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Sampson said, glancing toward the kitchen. “Children don’t need candy for fuel. I—Misty, my niece, had the flu and couldn’t take me grocery shopping.”
“I took the liberty already,” Grandma said, “when I noticed you were a little low. Bob’s got the cooler in his trunk. You can’t travel with this crowd and not bring food along. I bet even the little one could use a snack before we hang him out to fly.”
Alice and Bob went out for the cooler, Jorge seemed happy outside with the birds and everyone else went back into the dining room. Wumpa-wumpa-wumpa. Cocoa’s tail against the side of the box greeted them as they walked into the room.
Carefully, Mama picked up the little dog. Cocoa’s front leg hung straight down in her cast. Some hair had been shaved away on her behind. Keisha counted seven stitches.
Mama turned Cocoa in such a way that there was no pressure on her wounds. Cocoa would have licked Mama, but she had to lick the air instead. Still, Keisha couldn’t believe her eyes. Mama didn’t like dogs very much. Or at least that’s what she said. Nowshe was cuddling Cocoa and making the little crooning noises she made to Paulo.
Mrs. Sampson leaned in, peering at the incision. “It’s more a tear than a cut. Could this little dog have been in a fight?”
“That’s something we’ll never know,” Daddy replied. “Maybe she crossed to the wrong side of the street into a bigger dog’s territory.”
Mama kept crooning.
Mrs. Sampson fingered the cast. “And what did you say this one was? A boy or a girl?”
“A girl,” Daddy said.
Mrs. Sampson patted the dog’s head. “What’s her name?”
“We don’t name our patients, Mrs. Sampson.”
“But, Fred, this is not our patient,” Mama corrected him. “Cocoa, I believe.”
“Well, that would make sense,” Mrs. Sampson said. “Her fur looks like a cup of nice hot cocoa.”
Alice and Big Bob “pardon me’d” their way past Cocoa’s admirers into the kitchen.
“So, Bob,” Mama said as Big Bob returned to the dining room. “What will happen to this little one?”
“Can’t say. Our other foster homes are full up. Half of the volunteers are on vacation. Cocoa’s going to need someone to watch this incision and—”
“Someone with training, not just anyone,” Mrs. Sampson interrupted. She was still examining the wound.
“Yes, exactly. And that someone’s going to have to put salve on her wounds and carry Cocoa outside for a while.”
“Well, I’m a little old for that sort of thing,” Mrs. Sampson said.
“She’s light as a feather,” Mama said, handing her over to Mrs. Sampson before the old woman could protest. “Not more than twelve pounds.”
“Well.” Mrs. Sampson held the trembling little dog. “Well. She is a little thing.”
“The sad part is,” Bob continued, “even if her leg heals up, she’s still going to have problems. That’s my guess, and I’m afraid we won’t find a home for her.”
“You can’t get old without having problems. I’d like to
“Alice, you’ve really thought this through.”
Grandma Alice rummaged in her purse and pulled out the scissors from their kitchen drawer.
“Yes, I have,” she said. “I put a Tupperware top inthe bottom to make sure it doesn’t collapse and we’re going to have to cut down the sides a bit for easy reentry. Believe me, given the crows’ nests I’ve seen, this little baby is getting the Cadillac version.”
“Let’s hang this,” Daddy said, examining the bag. “And if it works as well as I think it will, Mrs. Sampson can give it back to us after the crow abandons it. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you”—Daddy was rubbing his stomach—“but I might need a little something to tide me over until dinner. I can run over to Charley’s candy store and get some fuel for the volunteer cat chasers.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Sampson said, glancing toward the kitchen. “Children don’t need candy for fuel. I—Misty, my niece, had the flu and couldn’t take me grocery shopping.”
“I took the liberty already,” Grandma said, “when I noticed you were a little low. Bob’s got the cooler in his trunk. You can’t travel with this crowd and not bring food along. I bet even the little one could use a snack before we hang him out to fly.”
Alice and Bob went out for the cooler, Jorge seemed happy outside with the birds and everyone else went back into the dining room. Wumpa-wumpa-wumpa. Cocoa’s tail against the side of the box greeted them as they walked into the room.
Carefully, Mama picked up the little dog. Cocoa’s front leg hung straight down in her cast. Some hair had been shaved away on her behind. Keisha counted seven stitches.
Mama turned Cocoa in such a way that there was no pressure on her wounds. Cocoa would have licked Mama, but she had to lick the air instead. Still, Keisha couldn’t believe her eyes. Mama didn’t like dogs very much. Or at least that’s what she said. Nowshe was cuddling Cocoa and making the little crooning noises she made to Paulo.
Mrs. Sampson leaned in, peering at the incision. “It’s more a tear than a cut. Could this little dog have been in a fight?”
“That’s something we’ll never know,” Daddy replied. “Maybe she crossed to the wrong side of the street into a bigger dog’s territory.”
Mama kept crooning.
Mrs. Sampson fingered the cast. “And what did you say this one was? A boy or a girl?”
“A girl,” Daddy said.
Mrs. Sampson patted the dog’s head. “What’s her name?”
“We don’t name our patients, Mrs. Sampson.”
“But, Fred, this is not our patient,” Mama corrected him. “Cocoa, I believe.”
“Well, that would make sense,” Mrs. Sampson said. “Her fur looks like a cup of nice hot cocoa.”
Alice and Big Bob “pardon me’d” their way past Cocoa’s admirers into the kitchen.
“So, Bob,” Mama said as Big Bob returned to the dining room. “What will happen to this little one?”
“Can’t say. Our other foster homes are full up. Half of the volunteers are on vacation. Cocoa’s going to need someone to watch this incision and—”
“Someone with training, not just anyone,” Mrs. Sampson interrupted. She was still examining the wound.
“Yes, exactly. And that someone’s going to have to put salve on her wounds and carry Cocoa outside for a while.”
“Well, I’m a little old for that sort of thing,” Mrs. Sampson said.
“She’s light as a feather,” Mama said, handing her over to Mrs. Sampson before the old woman could protest. “Not more than twelve pounds.”
“Well.” Mrs. Sampson held the trembling little dog. “Well. She is a little thing.”
“The sad part is,” Bob continued, “even if her leg heals up, she’s still going to have problems. That’s my guess, and I’m afraid we won’t find a home for her.”
“You can’t get old without having problems. I’d like to
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