Free Fight for Life by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

They are pained, sad barks.
    A man runs out of the house without a coat on. He must be the owner. Mrs. Nestor was right—he is skinny. Mean-tempered, too.
    “What do you people think you’re doing?” he screams as he bangs on my side of the van. “Get off my property. I don’t want you here!”
    “Do you think he has a gun?” Sunita whispers.
    “I don’t care,” says Brenna boldly.
    “I care,” David says. “I care a lot.”
    “David’s right,” says Gran as she turns off the engine. “You should care. Wait here, kids, until I make sure it’s safe for you to get out.”
    The sheriff and Gran talk briefly, then she knocks on my window.
    “You can come out if you want.”
    The puppy mill owner shakes his finger in the sheriff’s face as we all get out of the van.
    “Sheriff, I want these people arrested right now,” he demands, shaking with anger.
    The sheriff crosses his arms over his chest. Rain drips from the front of his hat and makes a puddle at his feet. “They made me get a warrent, Larry. It’s about your dogs. Bunch of people filed complaints. We need to take a look at them now. If they’re in bad shape, the doc here can take them away.”
    Larry, the puppy mill owner, looks behind him, toward the sound of barking, howling dogs. “I haven’t had a chance to clean ’em up today. The rain and all, you know,” he says. “Come back tomorrow.”
    The sheriff looks at Gran. “It would be nicer to do this in better weather,” he comments.
    “Then he’ll fix everything up,” I interrupt. “That’s not fair. We—I mean Gran—has to inspect the dogs now!”
    “She’s right,” Gran says.
    “I’m calling my lawyer!” Larry yells. He turns around and stomps toward the house.
    “Let’s get this over with,” says the sheriff.
    Captain Thompson and his volunteers walk toward the front of the barn. Gran heads the other way, around the back of it. Brenna and I follow Gran. Sunita, David, and Zoe follow Captain Thompson.
    From the sound of the barking, I figure there will be four dogs, maybe five, plus a few puppies. I am completely unprepared for what we see as we turn the corner.
    It looks like a jail, a horrible jail for dogs. Dogs are crammed into small wire kennels, two rows of them. I count ten kennels per row. Brenna and I walk down the middle of the aisle, speechless. This guy has been breeding chocolate and yellow Labs, collies, and a few terriers. There are so many animals that look hungry and dirty, I don’t know where we should start.
    The kennels are awful. There is nothing protecting the animals from the rain. The dogs are crowded into the wire cages and have to go to the bathroom right where they sit. The stench is horrifying. Their food bowls are disgusting. I see worms everywhere. A scrawny Lab is struggling to lap up water from a puddle.
    A few dogs bark wildly at us. The rest look too malnourished to make any noise. Some have open sores where their fur has been rubbed away, probably from rubbing up against the cages, trying to get out.
    I blink fast to get rid of the tears in my eyes. How could anyone treat animals this way?
    “I wonder how he’d feel if we locked him up in a cage,” Brenna growls.
    “He doesn’t have feelings,” Gran mutters.
    David runs around the corner of the barn. “We found puppies in the barn!” Sunita and Zoe follow, each cradling a terrier puppy in her jacket.
    “Oh, my gosh.” Zoe is stunned at the sight of the kennels.
    “Are those... ?” begins Sunita. She covers her mouth with her hand.
    David can’t say anything. He’s speechless.
    “The owner must keep puppies in the barn for a few days to clean them up and put some weight on them before he sells them,” Gran says.
    “Let’s get them out of here,” I say. “Let’s get them home.”

    It takes more than an hour for Captain Thompson’s volunteers to remove the dogs from the kennels. Gran does a quick examination and decides who is healthy enough to go to the shelter,