Free Muttley by Ellen Miles Page B

look at Daphne. Then he sighed, stretched out his legs, and went back to sleep.
    “What breed is he?” asked Daphne.
    “He’s a mix,” said Lizzie. “He’s part German shepherd and part Walker hound. I knew it thesecond I saw him.” Lizzie had practically memorized the “Dog Breeds of the World” poster on her bedroom wall. “He’s only about six months old. He’ll be a medium-sized dog when he grows up.”
    “Hey, cutie,” said Daphne.
    Muttley’s eyebrows twitched, but he did not wake up.
    Muttley loved to sleep. Every single time Lizzie came to the shelter, Muttley was asleep. He did not jump up like the other dogs. He did not put his paws on the wire door of his kennel and beg for treats. He did not play with any of the toys in his kennel. He just lay on his green bed, snoozing. He wasn’t a sad dog; his tail would thump on the floor when anybody came by, and he was always happy to see Lizzie. He just liked to sleep. Sometimes he snored a little. Once in a great while, he would sit up, look around, and let out a deep, hoarse bark that trailed off into the low, mournful
aaaooooowww
of a hound howl. Then he would circle his bed three or four times and settle back in for a nap.
    “He’s not very lively, is he?” Daphne stared into Muttley’s kennel.
    Lizzie shook her head.
    “Is something wrong with him?” Daphne asked. “I mean, is he sick?”
    Lizzie shook her head again. “The vet checked him out when he first came. And she looked him over again last week, because we all wondered why he’s so sleepy. But she says he’s completely healthy.”
    “How long has he been here?” Daphne bent down and stuck a finger through the wire mesh to scratch Muttley’s head. Muttley shifted in his sleep but he did not open his eyes.
    “About three weeks,” Lizzie said. She felt bad for Muttley. When people came to look for a dog to adopt, they liked to see one who sat up and looked back at them. Nobody liked the dogs whojumped and barked their heads off, but nobody seemed to like this quiet puppy, either. Lizzie could sort of understand that. What was the point of adopting a puppy who was going to do nothing but sleep, sleep, sleep? “Anyway, want to walk him? He definitely needs to get outside.”
    “Sure.” Daphne unhooked the blue leash from Muttley’s kennel door, flipped up the latch, and stepped inside to clip the leash onto his collar. Muttley didn’t get up. He rolled over with a groan. “Come on, Muttley,” said Daphne. “Don’t you want to go for a walk?” She tugged on the leash, and Muttley groaned again and put a paw over his head.
    Leave me alone, I
‘
m sleepy.
    Lizzie giggled. She could just imagine what Muttley was thinking.
    Daphne frowned. “How can I get him going? Maybe if —”
    Lizzie interrupted. “Sometimes if you have a treat, he gets interested.” She reached into her pocket for one of the mini-biscuits she always carried when she was at the shelter, and handed it to Daphne.
    “That’s what I was about to say.” Daphne tossed her head. “How about a cookie, Muttley?” Daphne said in an encouraging way. “Want a biscuit?” She held it to his nose. Muttley took the biscuit very gently from her hand, crunched it up, and swallowed. Then he sighed, tucked his legs in more comfortably, and settled back in for more napping. Daphne blew a breath up toward her bangs.
    “Just pick him up,” Lizzie said.
    Daphne frowned at Lizzie. “I was going to.” She knelt down and pulled the lazy little puppy into her arms.
    “Not like that!” Lizzie said. “Hold him underneath his tummy.”
    Daphne glared. “My cousin is a vet, and she showed me how to hold a puppy. She said this way is fine.” But she shifted the puppy in her arms. “Okay, Muttley. I guess I’m going to have to carry you out.” Muttley barely opened his eyes as she carried him down the aisle and out the door.
    Brianna and Maria were done walking dogs, so while Daphne walked Muttley, Lizzie showed