Free The New Kid by Mavis Jukes Page B

trembled and shook.
    “I knocked on the door of the house and asked the owners to call the police, because the animal-control office was closed.
    “I carefully approached the dog and put my hat over him. My hat moved around in the grass, thenstopped. I peeked under. The dog was growling, and showing his gums and teeth at me. Actually, it sounded more like gargling than growling.
    “So I put the hat back down. A moment later, I heard a little whimper. A sad little, pitiful little mournful sound. Heartbreaking, really.”
    Mrs. Crabbly looked at the students. “Never touch a stray dog. You may get bitten. Ask an adult for assistance.”
    “Go
on
!” cried Wes. “So then what?”
    “Weston?” She peered over her glasses at Wes. “Let me pace my story the way I want.”
    Mrs. Crabbly was wearing her famous pooch brooch, a spotted flat puppy with an oversize head and a goofy expression. And a pointy tail that slowly wagged back and forth, back and forth, back and forth at the same time as its eyes slowly rolled back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
    “I carefully lifted the hat again. The Chihuahua had laid his ears back. His tail was tucked between little old legs. So I s-l-o-w-l-y picked up the hat completely and set it upside down on the lawn.
    “Then I c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y lifted the Chihuahua intomy hat, and he curled up, shivering and shuddering. And looked at me like this.”
    She made a sad, sad scared face.
    “A police officer showed up. The officer had no cage or box, and said he personally wasn’t enthusiastic about small dogs. He said he had a key to the Humane Society’s back entrance, and asked if I would be willing to drive there with the Chihuahua in my hat so we could put him in a cage overnight.”
    Mrs. Crabbly sighed. “It’s against the law for me to sit in the front seat of a patrol car. So guess where I sat.”
    Weston stood up, raised his fists in the air in a triumphant gesture, and slowly turned around.
    “Sit down, Weston. The dog was full of fleas. I just couldn’t believe how many fleas were on that little old guy. I offered him part of a
buñuelo
, but he was too scared to eat.
    “When I got home, I discovered several fleas hopping in my hat.”
    The children sat quietly. They were thinking about the little old dog in the cage. “What did you do with the fleas?” Shelly asked.
    “I threw the hat out the door onto the lawn.”
    “Oh.”
    “Poor thing. We put him in a cage with dry kibble and water. If the owners don’t come for him, the Humane Society will put him up for adoption. Hopefully, they’ll find a loving adoptive family.”
    “Did he have a bed in the cage?” Shelly asked.
    “No. I had to sacrifice my silk scarf from France.”
    “What color?” asked Eva.
    “Multicolored. With pictures of boats.”
    Eva stared at her. “
Boats?
What kind of boats?”
    “Sailboats. And if wearing a one hundred percent silk scarf made in Paris and silk-screened with Claude Monet sailboats is a fashion faux pas, then
ex-key-ooooose
me! I’m unfashionable. So what.”
    “I’m just making sure they weren’t paddleboats.”
    “Paddleboats, sailboats, why would this concern you, Eva? They were sailboats, heeling. Anyway, if anyone knows of anyone interested in a Chihuahua, you might tell them there’s a somewhat cute one at the Humane Society that could possibly come up for adoption in a week or less. Don’t say old—say ‘mature.’ And never mind about the fleas.”
    After school, Carson waited for his dad to pull into the parking lot. He threw his canvas lunch bag into the car, climbed into the back, and buckled up. “Look in the pine tree, Dad. See it? A great horned owl moved in.”
    “Where?”
    “Tricked you, Dad. It’s a decoy hired to scare Bob away. Well, borrowed, actually.”
    “Ah. How was the burrito?”
    “Fine. I only ate half of the half.”
    “Can I have the other half?”
    “It’s gone. Wes got it. He managed to somehow scramble up a white