Free The Pack by Dayna Lorentz Page B

crushed level.
    â€œA second exit,” woofed Blaze.
    â€œA second entry to defend,” grumbled Shep.
    The other staircase led deeper into the boat, to the curved beetle-bottom of the hull.
    The bottom level of the boat was dark as the Black Dog’s hide. Shep and Blaze pushed open the door from the stairwell and hooked their paws onto the wall, which was now the floor. Shep’s claws scraped one of Higgins’s plastic strips. When clicked, the lights illuminated a narrow hall lined with three doors each in the ceiling and floor, and one door in the wall at the back end of the boat. That door opened into a huge, dark room crowded with pipes and smelling of chemicals and grease, like a pack of Cars was huddled inside. The other rooms — some a few stretches long, others barely a stretch — contained human bed-cushions and little Bath rooms, also with functioning water paws. Each room had one or two small, Higgins-sized windows.
    Higgins decided that one of the small rooms near the front of the boat on the bottom level would be good as a kibble storage room. “I’ll be able to keep better track of what’s going in and out if I’m not amidst the hubbub of the main den.” Shep, Callie, and Blaze helped him to drag the kibble from the boat’s food room to the designated storage room.
    When they had finished moving the food, Callie gave the bottom deck of the boat a once-over sniff. “The big dogs will stay on this level,” she woofed. “The small on the main level, in that big fancy room.”
    â€œNo good,” barked Blaze. “Then you yappers will be exposed to attack. I say we build ramps into and out of the dens on the lower level for the small and sick and old, and keep the working and fighting dogs closer to the entry points.”
    Callie glared at Shep. “I thought you were going to woof with her about the whole ‘yapper’ issue?”
    Shep sighed. “Blaze, Callie doesn’t like the word ‘yapper.’ Please don’t bark it anymore.”
    â€œFine,” yipped Blaze, like this was a ridiculous request. “What do you want to be called?”
    Callie seemed flustered by Blaze’s reaction. “Well, small dogs, or just dogs.” Callie regained her defensive stance. “And what’s this about working dogs? You don’t think small dogs can work?”
    Shep stuck his nose between the two girldogs. “Do we have to get our hackles up about every thing?” he woofed. “Can’t we just take each other’s barks with a bite of kibble? At least pretend to get along? For this sun?”
    Both the girldogs dropped their tails and smoothed their hackles.
    â€œYou’re right,” yipped Callie. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œWell,” barked Blaze. “So long as that’s settled. Let’s build some ramps.”
    â€œShep!” whined Callie.
    Shep sighed. This was not going to work, having to negotiate every woof between Blaze and Callie. “Why don’t I go back and get the rest of the pack? You two stay here and sort yourselves out.”
    He turned tail and navigated the maze of holes through the boat before either of them could argue with him. As he stepped Out from the main den onto the crushed floor, he saw Blaze emerge from the stairwell’s exit. She picked her way across the debris; Shep waited.
    â€œI told the yapper — Callie — that she could organize the den however she wanted,” Blaze woofed. “I don’t want to push you away.” She touched her nose to Shep’s, and he felt that tingle ripple under his fur.
    â€œCallie has good ideas,” Shep said, trying to stay focused. “You said so yourself.”
    Blaze stepped over a piece of plastic that separated her from Shep. “You’re right,” she yipped. “And she is smart.” Her mismatched eyes sparkled in the golden, late midsun light. “I sense