Free Sable by Karen Hesse Page B

string, a family of spool dolls.
    Digging around in the treasure box, I uncovered a ball of twine.
    â€œHow about I make you a collar, Sable?” I asked. “Think you’d like that?”
    Sable sniffed the twine in my hands, then lay down in the leaves at my feet.
    I measured and cut three long strands and started braiding them. Holding the plaited twine against Sable’s neck every now and then, I tested until I had a piece long enough. Sable sat patiently as I tightened the ends around her neck into a square knot.
    Next, I pulled out my old hairbrush and plucked the bristles clean. Sable sniffed the honey-colored cloud of my hair. She tried eating it.
    â€œDon’t eat that, Sable!” I cried. “It’ll make you sick.”
    I blew the hair cloud away, into the chilly afternoon. “Maybe some mouse will use it,” I said. “To make a nest.”
    Gently, I dragged my hairbrush through Sable’s matted fur, careful not to pull. I worked at her tangles, the way Pap worked at mine, until I’d eased them all out.

    â€œYou sure look pretty, Sable,” I said when I finished. Sable wagged her tail in a tired circle. All groomed, with a collar on, she really looked like she belonged to somebody.
    In the worst way, I wanted her to belong to me. But where could I keep her? Mam wouldn’t let her in the house, not if she was scared of dogs.
    And I couldn’t leave her outside, what with the nights so cold and Sable so weak and skinny. And what if she ran away?
    I decided I’d build a doghouse. If Pap would let me.

3 / The Bed
    â€œPap?” I called, poking my head inside the shop. Pap stood at his bench, gluing up boards. “Pap, can I use some of your wood to build a house for Sable?”
    â€œSorry, Tate,” Pap said, shaking his head. “This wood’s too good for any doghouse.”
    I guess I knew he wouldn’t let me. About all Pap ever lets me use are his stickers. Those are the strips he puts between planks when he’s drying wood. He’s got a lot of stickers, but I couldn’t figure how to build a doghouse out of them.
    â€œCome on, girl,” I called to Sable.
    We hunted in the shed behind Pap’s shop. Dressers, and bed frames, and boxes of canning jars leaned against the rough pine walls. I swiped at spiderwebs. “There must be something in here we can use for you,” I told Sable.
    She turned her head in my direction. I wiped my dusty hands on the seat of my pants and stooped down. Holding Sable’s brown jaw in one hand, I stroked the top of her bony head with the other. She still wouldn’t look right at me.
    â€œI’ll figure out something for you, girl,” I whispered. “Don’t worry.”
    I’d hoped to find a big empty carton I could maybe cut a door into. Or a wooden crate. All I found was a worn-out cardboard box; it didn’t even have the flaps that make the top.
    â€œWell, this will have to do,” I said. “It’ll make a good bed at least, Sable. Hold on. I’ll clean it up for you.”
    I knocked the dried leaves and dead bugs out of the corners. Then I turned the box upside down and banged on the bottom, raising a puff of dust.
    Sable sneezed. I sneezed, too.
    â€œWe need something soft to put in here, don’t we, girl?” I asked. “It’s not really a bed until it’s soft.”
    I thought Pap’s sawdust might work as bedding. I led Sable back around to the shop.
    Pap’s piles of sawdust were stacked up like fine raked leaves. I wished I could jump in those piles, but Pap’s broom was always leaning over them, just daring me to try.
    â€œWhat you doing out there in the shed, Tate?” Pap asked.
    â€œJust looking around,” I said.
    â€œDon’t be making a mess, girl,” Pap warned.
    â€œNo, sir.”
    I stood, staring at Pap’s back. His dark hair poked through the hole above the plastic snaps in his