Free Runt by Nora Raleigh Baskin

he was certain. She seemed kind, though Junior could sense a tension about her, an uncertainty. She was worried about something.
    â€œHi, Junior.” She bent down beside him. “Why are you hiding in the corner?”
    She put her hand out, palm flat, a foot or two away from him. She smelled of soap, maybe maple syrup, but that was older, metal, the handle of a door. She smelled strongly of the dog she had just been rubbing and that dog smelled of grass, the inside of a car, fresh meat of some kind, a much older odor from another human altogether. Junior tipped his head down and looked away.
    The girl understood this to be a friendly sign; she reached over and scratched him behind his ears, in just that, oh, wonderful, spot, yes, just hard enough to feel so good.
    â€œI know you’re sad, but you’re lucky you’re here,” the human girl said. “Most everyone else in town has no power, no water. No heat. At least we can cook food here.”
    Junior cocked his head, lifted his ear, and listened. A word or two made sense: Water. Food.
    At the same time he kept an eye and his nose primed for movement behind her. The other dogs were watching too, listening. Whenever a new dog enters the pack, everything is up for grabs. All systems were tensed for change and rearranging.
    â€œBut we don’t have Internet or TV,” the girl went on. She made herself comfortable on the floor beside him. Junior might have gotten up and moved away. He didn’t want to show his colors yet, he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to look like he was taking the human girl for himself. That might make the others worried or even angry. But she was stroking him, his belly now, and he couldn’t move if he wanted. His eyes lowered involuntarily and his throat generated a low, pleased rumble of sound.
    â€œOh, you like this, do you? Well, I can’t stay long, you know. My mother is taking me to the library in town. They are the only ones with Internet, and I’ve got to check my e-mail.”
    Junior felt her heartbeat quicken when she spoke those words. Though he didn’t know what she said, he knew it was important to her.
    â€œI know you know we don’t have electricity because of the hurricane. We are lucky to have a wood-burning stove, so that’s why you are warm. My mother promised me she’d take me to the library today because they have Internet there, for some reason. But it’s probably going to be crowded, so I want to get there soon.”
    None of the sounds that were coming from her mouth were comprehensible to him, but a distinct scent rose from her body, from her skin: fear? anxiety? excitement? Junior couldn’t precisely tell.
    One of the dogs had stepped toward them. He, it was he. Junior could smell his maleness in the air before him. But he wasn’t aggressive. He was curious. The way he looked away, the way his tail moved slowly back and forth low to his body but not between his legs. Junior had to look away. It was respectful. This dog had been here first.
    â€œOh, Poppy. You came over. Poppy, this is Junior. Junior, Poppy. You’re both here for a week, so make friends and play nice.”
    The human girl was smart. She stood up and movedout of the way. She allowed the two dogs space to move around each other, sucking in air, poking their noses as close to the source as the other would allow. There was so much to know about a new friend, so much history and so much potential.
    â€œElizabeth,” the other human, the older one, called out. “Time to go. You ready?”
    The girl gave each of the dogs a rub on the top of their heads. Junior liked it. They both did.
    â€œOff to the library.”
    She sounded cheerful, but there was something here to be wary of. It wasn’t a smell or a movement Junior could see outside. It wasn’t a sound he could hear. It was just a sense, the way he knew when his own human was on his way home, long