Free Buddy by Ellen Miles Page B

looked sleepy and cozy, curled up near their mother. One of them yawned as Lizzie was watching, and she could see its curly pink tongue. Another one got up and tottered away from its mother on unsteady legs. Its tiny tail stuck straight up in the air. Lizzie knew her brother Charles would
love
these puppies.
    “The two bigger ones are girls,” said Ms. Dobbins. “And the little tan one is a boy. See the heart on his chest?”
    Just then, the tan pup climbed over one of his sisters, and Lizzie spotted the white marking Ms. Dobbins was talking about. “They look like they might be part German shepherd,” she said. “Or maybe chow?”
    Lizzie had a “Dog Breeds of the World” poster in her room at home. She loved to study it and learn about every kind of dog. Usually she could tell right away what breed of dog she was looking at, but Skipper and her puppies looked like they were a mix of breeds. “All-American dogs,” her poster called them. “Mutts,” her dad always said. He said mixed-breed dogs were the best.
    Ms. Dobbins agreed. She had told Lizzie that mutts often combined the best things about each breed, creating a new kind of dog that was good-looking, healthy, and strong. For example, if a dog’s father was a Labrador retriever and itsmother was a collie, you might get a puppy that was great with kids and liked to fetch balls (like a Lab) and was also loyal and had a soft, silky coat (like a collie).
    “We haven’t quite figured out
what
mix these puppies are,” said Ms. Dobbins. “They may have some golden retriever in them, too. They’re so friendly and sweet!”
    “What are their names?” asked Lizzie.
    Ms. Dobbins shrugged. “It’s been so crazy around here, I haven’t had a chance to name the puppies,” she answered. “Julie named the mother Skipper, but we figured that whoever adopts the pups should get to name them.”
    Lizzie liked Julie. She was a senior in high school who worked at the shelter. Lizzie thought Julie was the coolest. She seemed to know
everything
about dogs and cats. Plus, she was always coming up with great ideas for making the shelter work better — like the color-coded wipe-off board.
    Lizzie stared at Skipper’s family. The puppies were making soft whimpering and snuffling noises as they pushed toward their mother, getting ready to nurse. “How old are they?” she asked.
    “We think they’re four or five weeks old,” said Ms. Dobbins. “They have their eyes open, and they can walk and even run around a bit. So they aren’t too young. But they still need their mother. They’re just about ready to start eating solid food, but they’re not quite ready to be on their own.”
    “So that means —” Lizzie was just beginning to figure it out.
    Ms. Dobbins nodded. “I think you get the picture,” she said. “Whoever fosters Skipper takes the puppies, too. The whole litter. It’s a package deal. And not one that everybody is ready for. It’s a lot of responsibility.”
    “I know,” Lizzie said. “Charles and I have taken care of lots of puppies. One puppy at a time is plenty. Three puppies and a mom . . . wow.”
    “Not only that,” said Ms. Dobbins, “but there’s a time commitment, too. If someone takes these puppies, they’re going to have to keep them until they’re old enough to go to their real homes.”
    “Like, until they’re eight weeks old?” Lizzie asked. She had learned a lot about puppies.
    “That’s right,” said Ms. Dobbins.
    Lizzie nodded. It wouldn’t be easy to talk her mother into fostering Skipper and the puppies, especially for three or four whole weeks. But Lizzie was sure that the Petersons were the perfect family to take them in. She had already fallen completely in love with the puppies, and she knew she and her family could give them all the care they needed. “Where did they come from?” she asked.
    Ms. Dobbins sighed. “A policeman found them living in back of the supermarket, near the Dumpsters. Skipper had