A Dog Like Daisy Read online

  DEDICATION

  To the families who serve our country

  (because when one family member serves,

  the whole family serves)

  and to my family,

  who continually inspires me to be brave

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  1. Hope Like Fireflies

  2. Leashes and Other Indignities

  3. Instinct is Your Bones Knowing

  4. It’s a Human’s World

  5. The Difference Between Smart and Obedient

  6. Don’t Fly, Daisy

  7. Choose Your Role Wisely

  8. Disobedience Tastes Like Dry Leaves

  9. Humans are Weird

  10. A Tool, Not a Dog

  11. The Taste of Danger

  12. Hurt is Contagious

  13. A Too-Tight Place for the Soul

  14. Humans are Daffy

  15. Untruths Taste Like Turkey Bacon

  16. Garbage Truck Words

  17. Itches that Can’t Be Reached

  18. Failing Doesn’t Make You a Failure

  19. Pack Rules

  20. The Bangy, Bouncy Side of Messy

  21. Second Chances

  22. Three Words that Make a Whole Poem

  23. Disobedient Daisy

  24. Rainy Days

  25. The Good Side Bell, Part Two

  26. Rain Spun into Sunshine

  27. That’s My Job

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  HOPE LIKE FIREFLIES

  The cage I’m in squeaks when I move, and the sound makes me picture tiny scratches of the color yellow, like toy lightning. Plus, when I shift, I lose the warm spot I’ve made on the metal. So I stay still. You can smell and hear things best when still. The colors tell you more.

  Quit moving, the Doberman in the cage next to me snaps.

  I didn’t.

  Well, then quit thinking about moving.

  I snuff. These cages are no way to build a pack. Humans know nothing about the importance of building strong pack dynamics.

  The bell over the Good Side door chimes green.

  Good morning! Howdy-do! Hi, hi, hi! The dogs and pups greet the incoming human.

  “Morning, Daisy!” Janie says when she gets to me. She stoops to my cage and reaches in. My tail thumps, because petting is a joy like sunshine.

  Janie’s voice is creamy thin milk. Janie. That’s the tag of the Woman in Charge around here. She scratches me behind my good ear. “She’s a good girl.”

  I am. I am a good girl with one good ear. Useful and good, despite what my old pack said.

  The Other Worker comes in next. His tag is Phillip. He squats on his hindquarters to my bottom-row cage. Refreshes my water. Then leaves. Phillip doesn’t look me in the eyes or speak. Ever. I only know the tan color of his voice by his clipped answers to Janie. But I don’t get the feeling he’s evil.

  Janie in Charge and the Other Phillip are nice enough. The shades that color their speech and shine on their faces are usually pale, like a cold-weather sunrise. Certainly not bold, so probably not useful.

  The bell over the Good Side door rings again, and three humans enter, two full-grown people and a pup. A boy. The cage above me wiggles with glee. People! People! Lookee here! Lookit me! the puppies yap.

  People make things interesting, because they can take us Out. A soft glow of hope lights inside me like a firefly. Yellow, but not too yellowy. Hope, but not too hopey.

  The bell quiets. There are two doors in this room. One has a bell above it. The bell shows that it’s the Good Side. From my cage, I can see through the clear Good Side door. The Good Side has sunshine behind it. It smells like grass and earth and rain and garbage and running and freedom.

  The other door in this room is thick and metal. It slams when it closes. Echoing slams, like trucks with jaws. Dogs who walk through that door smell like fear. Those dogs never return. It’s the Bad Side.

  Rumor here is that each dog gets fourteen sunrises before they must go through the door to the Bad Side.

  I have two more sunrises before I have to walk through to the Bad Side. I know that means I should muster my cuteness for these humans, but I just can’t do it. False enthusiasm tastes like salt water.

  The three humans who entered pause at each cage. Two of them, the full-grown adults, don’t reach through to pet the dogs inside. Unusual. Most humans say chewy pink bubblegum words like ooo and lookee when they peer in at us. Most of them want to touch each one of us, which mixes our scents and makes us smell like dog poo stew. Most of the humans’ voices change to the color of a sunny sky when they visit us, their words rays of sun.

  But these humans are different.

  Even the boy. He doesn’t reach inside the cages; he doesn’t coo. But his eyes smile. He has a soft glow of hope inside, too. He has fireflies in his heart, like me.

  “So, what are we looking for, exactly?” he says.

  The Biggest Adult turns. He’s standing apart from the other two. He walks with a limp and a stick. “A dog. You know: Four legs? Fuzzy? Preferably no fleas?” he says, and tries a laugh. No one laughs with him. The statement falls short, like an underthrown tennis ball.

  The Biggest Adult sighs. “They tell me it will help, Micah.” He talks like snapping twigs.

  The third person is awkward. The Awkward One is not part of their pack. I can tell by his smell; he smells like wild onions, while the other two smell of the same soap. The Awkward One clears his throat. “It will, Victor.” Ugh. His voice is a pinched paw. “And I think this dog looks like a good possibility.” The Awkward One reaches in to Snuffles’s cage. Snuffles is a bulldog mix. He grunts a loud howdy-do.

  The Biggest Adult shrugs.

  Snuffles turns and farts. So much for you, too, fella.

  The humans pass several more cages. They don’t reach in. The colors that swirl over their voices remind me of a storm cloud. It’s all very confusing.

  One of the puppies above me will be chosen. Last sunrise, there were nine puppies. This sunrise, there are five. The puppies go through the Good Side door quickly. I think it’s because humans like to watch them grow. Humans place a lot of importance on growth, even when they have nothing to do with it.

  The Biggest Adult, whose tag is Victor, I now know, stops and looks at them. Hi, hi, hi! The puppies yip. The Biggest Adult’s mouth ticks up a tad, but the shadows on his face don’t change. Interesting. This fellow doesn’t like the taste of false enthusiasm, either.

  I’m looking at his boots. Victor’s boots. They are muddy and sturdy. I like hard work. Hard work is useful. Hard work is a full, round belly.

  Victor squats. He groans as he does, a creaky old door. But he’s not old in his skin. His eyes narrow. He sees my torn left ear. No one wants me after they see my torn left ear. I tuck my head sideways so he doesn’t have to look at it.

  “That’s Daisy,” Janie says from behind her desk. Janie sits a lot. “She’s a sweet thing, isn’t she? About two years old, we think.”

  The boy, the one they labeled with the tag Micah, tilts his head at me. I know head tilts. Head tilts mean difficulties. “Her, Dad? I thought we were looking for a puppy.”

  Victor’s eyes are deep like puddles. Puddles of sadness, not playful puddles. Tricky puddles, deep enough to drown in.

  “That white spot around her eye looks like a daisy, see?” Janie says. “That’s why we call her that. She’s not the prettiest dog or the smartest dog, but she seems sweet.”

  Goodness, Janie. Manners? I am right here.

  Victor slowly reaches in an
d scratches my jaw. “Hello, Miss Daisy.”

  Miss Daisy.

  Miss.

  I sit up.

  At last, a human who understands the need for respect.

  “Can I see her?” Mr. Victor asks. I decide to call him Mr. Victor, since he affords me the same respect.

  The Awkward One steps forward. “I don’t know, Victor,” he says, lemon-sour words. “She’s injured, and it looks like she’s recently had pups. And don’t forget, we only have ten weeks of training under the VA funding. If she can’t be trained in two and a half months, well . . . she might not be our best choice.”

  “Dad, did you see these puppies?” Micah says.

  Mr. Victor stands abruptly. “Her, please.” His voice has snap, a flapping flag. “Can I see her?”

  Janie unlocks my cage. Swings open the door.

  I don’t exit.

  “See, Victor?” The Awkward One says. “I don’t think she’s right for you.”

  “Come, Miss Daisy,” Mr. Victor says sternly. He pats his leg. His voice is full of pride, like a raw T-bone steak.

  I walk out of the cage. Sit next to his sturdy, muddy boots. Watch to see what he wants me to do next.

  Mr. Victor scratches me under the chin. I look up at him.

  His smell is clean but bold, like fear and sweat. And his voice is difficult to read. It’s a mixture of sunset and ghosts and blood. Something is missing from it, too. Something important.

  I understand then.

  This human doesn’t want me.

  This human needs me.

  This is where I can prove how useful I am.

  “We’ll take her,” Mr. Victor says.

  Micah crams his hands in his pockets. He kicks the metal door on my cage, and it swings shut with a purple-bruise clang. “You said I could help pick! You never listen to what I want!”

  Micah storms out the Good Side door. This time, the bell above it sounds red, like a warning.

  2

  LEASHES AND OTHER INDIGNITIES

  When the humans—my new pack members, it seems—open the car door, I jump in and sit in the seat next to Mr. Victor. I understand that he is the one who needs me, not Micah. But Micah frowns and says, “Nope. Into the backseat, Daisy.” I hang my head and crawl into the cramped, dark back of the car. It smells like old milk.

  Luckily, the journey home is glorious. The humans, Mr. Victor and Micah, open up the glass on the car as we ride in it. The air is spiced with autumn leaves and rain. It is such a different scent from the desperation and loneliness I was used to smelling at the shelter. I can’t resist sticking my head outside as we speed along, even though it isn’t very dignified of me. I even allow my tongue to loll about a time or two, when the humans aren’t looking. Lollolllllollllolll. Slobber isn’t respectable, but it usually signals fun.

  Micah sees me. Grins. Sticks his head out the window, too.

  Is he making fun of me? I pull my head inside. He pouts like a lemon and does, too.

  When we reach the humans’ home, Mr. Victor tugs on the leash that the Awkward One, tagged Alex, hung around my neck. I follow Mr. Victor inside. I have no choice, because I AM ON A GODFORSAKEN LEASH.

  Leashes. They go against everything a civilized dog stands for. They are an indignity.

  Inside, an Adult Female with a Crying Baby on her hip stubs out a cigarette. “Oh! You’re home already! That was fast.” The smell of cigarettes feels like long-ago burns on my skin from a horrible human. I decide to withhold judgment on this person, but it’s not looking good. I hope she’s not like my first pack.

  “Anna,” Mr. Victor says, his voice sharp knives. “You were smoking around the baby again.”

  Anna tosses her hair. The shadows on her face shift into defiance. She leans toward Mr. Victor to give him a kiss. He turns away.

  Anna sighs. Stoops over me. “And you are?” Her voice is hard to picture. It disappears quickly.

  “This is Miss Daisy,” Mr. Victor says. I sit a little taller, because one should always strive to make a good first impression. Even if Anna’s was less than stellar.

  The Baby cries like metal cars crunching together. It is hard to listen to anything other than that.

  Mr. Victor’s face twitches. He notices, too.

  “You’re a gator pit,” Anna says to me over the crying. Her face softens a bit. And her voice. Anna’s. It’s steam. There and gone.

  “A what?” Micah asks. He looks at me as if I’m a surprise slice of bacon.

  “A gator pit. A pit bull mix. My abuelo used to raise them. The brindle color, the bow legs, the pointed jaw, the big head . . .”

  Pardon me?

  “. . . she’s a prize one, this girl. My grandfather would’ve loved her.”

  The thing about steam? It’s warm and clean, if temporary. I lift my nose. Prize. I like that.

  Mr. Victor drops the leash. I take this as my invitation to explore.

  There are cardboard boxes everywhere. They smell like another place, one far from here, with different trees and foreign dirt. I wonder if one of the boxes will be my bed. Cardboard isn’t very comfortable, but with the right garbage inside, a box can be pleasant.

  The one tagged Anna watches me, her face shadows shifting into worry. Worry smells like too-old meat. “I just don’t know, Victor,” she says, bouncing the crying baby on her hip. “One more thing to take care of? And the money . . .”

  “The dog is paid for by the VA. I told you. Training for ten weeks, then everything else after that, if she passes her tests.”

  That sounds horrible: tests. It sounds like poking and prodding.

  “If she passes?” Anna looks at me like I’m a floating fish.

  “She’ll pass.”

  “Yeah, but the food and the vet bills.”

  “Anna, my therapist says this is the best thing for PTSD.” Mr. Victor’s voice sounds growly, and my own neck hairs prickle at it. If he’s on the defense, so am I. I know to protect the alpha dog. “Do you want me to work on this or not?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Micah’s face shadows shift into worry, too. He looks at me like a small green bud poking through the soil in spring.

  I lower my nose to the worn, stained carpet and sniff deeply.

  It doesn’t smell like these humans. This pack. My pack.

  I sniff around some more. No, these humans are definitely new here. In this den.

  There is also . . . something. A fishy, scaly something nearby. Perhaps these humans had tuna for dinner.

  A few more sniffs and, yep! Just as I suspected. The other humans who were here before had a dog. A dachshund. Twelve years old. With a bladder infection.

  This pack doesn’t seem at all concerned that the other pack could return, try to reclaim this den. I need to make certain that dachshund knows my pack lives here now.

  I know what needs to be done. I need to take drastic measures. I wouldn’t normally do this, here, but pack dynamics are everything. And I need to prove myself useful to this new pack.

  I squat.

  I mark our territory. My new pack will be so happy to know I’m protecting us right away!

  “Gross! Miss Daisy’s peeing!” Micah yells, his voice like a whack from a broomstick. He points at me. I’m embarrassed. Embarrassment tastes like raisins on an otherwise great pizza.

  “Daisy!” Anna snaps. Her face shadows fall into a scowl. She doesn’t call me Miss. I tuck my tail.

  Mr. Victor droops into a chair with a heavy sigh. His scent and his colors confuse me.

  “We’ll see, okay, guys?” he says. “We’ll see. And if she doesn’t work out, we’ll find a different dog.”

  A different dog.

  He didn’t say another dog.

  He said a different dog.

  I understand the difference.

  Mr. Victor and Anna and Micah forget I’m here. They go away separately. I decide to work on freeing myself from the leash, because I cannot tolerate such tyranny. The leash is leather, so not unple
asant to chew. It’s nice and gummy when Anna spots me.

  “Daisy! Don’t chew your leash. Do you want me to take it off?” She crosses to me. My tail thumps. I’m usually not so dependent on humans, but leashes are an evil that requires thumbed assistance.

  Mr. Victor snaps awake from his chair. “Don’t do that, Anna.” He groans to standing and grabs the stick he uses to walk. I don’t like sticks, but Mr. Victor doesn’t swing this one like some other sticks I’ve seen.

  “Do what?” Anna says, her voice melting away.

  “Take the leash off,” Micah yells from the other room. I can’t see him, but I can hear the shade in his voice. It’s anger, like red poison berries. Red is the color of things that burn and scar. Janie at the shelter used to tell people that dogs can’t see colors, but that’s not true. Colors are the tint of your instincts.

  Micah appears in the doorway. “Alex says the leash has to stay on for thirty days,” he continues. “And no one but Dad can walk the dog, or let the dog out, or feed the dog, or even pet the thing.”

  Thing? I sniff.

  “What?” Anna says with a snort-laugh. “She has to wear a leash all the time?”

  My heartbeat speeds. I look to Mr. Victor for confirmation of this horrible news.

  “It’s only for thirty days.” This statement is a thorn.

  “And we can’t pet her?” Anna looks at me with so much pity, I begin to wonder what I’ve gotten myself into with this pack.

  “Alex says it will build a bond between us,” Mr. Victor says, “if I’m the only one who interacts with her.”

  Micah rolls his eyes. “Only the handler—that’s Dad—can do those things. All good things must come from the handler. Alex the dog trainer said that. So much for getting a pet.” He sighs, and it feels like a knife slice.

  If I’m not a pet, what am I?

  “C’mon, Miss Daisy.” Mr. Victor says. “I’ll take you for a—ew. Gross,” he says, grabbing my slobbery leash. “Anna, will you hand me a—”

  But Anna has already walked away. She is steam.

  Mr. Victor sighs and grabs a paper towel. He also plucks a bright red fruit off a small tree in the kitchen.

  When we get outside, I want to run, but I can’t, because I AM ATTACHED TO A GODFORSAKEN LEASH. I pull against it. My muscles are strong and I think I can break it if I keep trying. Mr. Victor will be proud of my strength if I can break through this thing.