Hotel for Dogs by Lois Duncan ch 6
CHAPTER SIX Sundays in Elmwood were far from Bruce's favorite days. Except for the fact that there was no cleaning to do, they were almost as bad as Saturdays.
It wasn't that he minded going to services. Church had been part of Sunday for as far back as he could remember. It was just that, back in Albuquerque, church had been the beginning of the day, like an introduction. The family had gotten up early and gone and come home again, with the rest of Sunday still ahead of them waiting to be used.
In Elmwood, church and preparing for it consumed most of the day. Aunt Alice liked to rise late, so breakfast didn't start until the middle of the morning. Then, there was getting ready, which was a stressful experience. Because there were so many of them in such a small amount of space, there weren't enough closets and bureaus, and people were seldom able to find the things they needed. “I'll sure be glad to get into our own place,” Bruce grumbled as he plowed through the pile of laundry stacked in the sewing room closet. His own bed was the sofa in the den, and he was supposed to keep his clothes in the same chest of drawers as his sister. “You've got those drawers so crammed with your writing junk there's no room for anything. Why don't you throw out some of those notebooks when you're through with them?” “Those poems may be valuable someday,” Andi said practically. “Imagine if Shakespeare had saved the things he wrote when he was ten!” “You can't compare yourself to Shakespeare,” Bruce said. “He was a genius. He sold every single thing he wrote, and you can't sell a thing.” “I may sell something this week,” Andi said pleasantly. “I mailed a poem to Ladies' Home Journal two whole weeks ago, and they haven't sent it back. Besides, how do you know that Shakespeare sold everything? He probably just didn't let people know when he didn't.” Andi was in an unusually sunny mood. She had slipped over to the hotel early that morning to give Friday a bath and her breakfast and was anticipating another long visit with the puppies — which she had named Tom, Dick, and Hairy — in the late afternoon. There had been sweet rolls for breakfast, and she had managed to grab two of them, and it was quite possible that she might become a famous author with the arrival of tomorrow's mail. In contrast to such cheeriness, Bruce's mood grew darker and darker. He could not find a clean shirt, and his good shoes were missing, and the resulting search took so much time that they were all late to church. Then it turned out to be Communion Sunday, which took an extra half hour, and afterward Aunt Alice ran into some friends and had spent at least twenty minutes chatting with them. By the time they were home and at the dinner table, the whole day seemed to have dissolved with nothing to show for it.
Actually, these new irritations were only partly responsible for Bruce's depression. It had started yesterday with his battle with Jerry. Every time he thought back to the boy's cocky grin and his own undignified ride in the wagon and the sight of the frightened dog cringing between the traces, anger rose within him until it nearly choked him. “That creep shouldn't be allowed to own a pet,” he told Andi afterward. “You should have seen him after that car hit the wagon. Red Rover could have been killed, but that didn't worry him. He was mad because his wagon was broken and the driver of the car wouldn't pay for it.” “He's the meanest person I know,” Andi had agreed readily. Still, she hadn't been as upset as she should have been. “How old are puppies when their eyes open?” she had asked a moment later, and Bruce had been disgusted. What use was a sister with a temper if she didn't lose it about things that were important? Sunday dinner was finally reaching its end when the phone rang. Aunt Alice rushed to answer it. A few moments later she returned to the table, shaking her white head regretfully.
“The saddest thing has happened,” she said. “That was Mrs. Gordon on the phone. She called to tell us that Jerry's dog is missing.” “That big red setter?” Mr. Walker looked up in surprise. “Why, I thought I saw the kids out playing with him yesterday.” “They're afraid the dog may have been stolen,” Aunt Alice said. “He's quite valuable, you know. Either that or he's run off somewhere. Children, be sure to keep your eyes open for him when you're outside playing.” “If he's run off, he'll be back,” Mr. Walker said. “When a pet gets hungry enough, it comes home.” “I hope he doesn't,” Bruce said. “I hope he finds himself another home and never shows up around here again.” “Why, Bruce!” His mother turned to him in amazement. “What a terrible thing to say!” “I can't believe that of our sweet, kind Bruce!” Aunt Alice looked shocked. “Even if you and Jerry have had a spat, dear, you can't wish for something awful like that. Why, think how heartbroken he must be!” “If he is,” Bruce said, “it's because he's lost something that belongs to him, not because he loves Red Rover. He's so used to having everything just how he wants it that he's mad now because it isn't, that's all.” “Bruce, dear —” His mother caught his eye and raised her brows in a little that's-enough-for-now expression. “May I be excused, please?” Andi asked.
From her face, Bruce could tell that she had not been listening to any part of the conversation. Her whole mind was at the dog hotel with Friday and the puppies.
“Don't bother with clearing or anything,” she said sweetly to her mother and Aunt Alice. “I'll do the cleanup.” “Why, Andi, that's three dinners in a row!” Aunt Alice beamed at her great-niece. “What a thoughtful little girl you are! Your mother is so lucky to have such a helper in the family!” “Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Walker said doubtfully. Both her parents were looking at Andi in a funny way.
“I like to help,” Andi said. “It's practice for when I'm grown and have my own kitchen.” Hopping up from her chair, she began to carry out the dishes. When Bruce came out to the kitchen a few minutes later, Andi was standing with her back toward him. When the door swung open, she bent over to conceal what she was doing.
“It's just me.” Bruce let the door swing closed behind him. “What are you trying to do, make the whole family suspicious? All that ‘I like to help' business. Couldn't you see Mom looking at you like she thought you were sick or something?” “Well, it wasn't all a lie,” Andi said defensively. “I will have a kitchen of my own someday. Of course, by that time I expect to be rich and famous enough to hire maids to take care of it.” “You'd better start wishing yourself rich right now,” Bruce said. “At least, rich enough to buy some dog food. You know you're not going to get away with this for long.” He gestured toward the bowl of chicken and vegetables that his sister had been filling when he entered. “I don't know about that. It's worked pretty well so far. Mom thinks Aunt Alice eats up the leftovers for a bedtime snack, and Aunt Alice thinks Dad does, and they're all too polite to say anything.” Andi picked up the bowl from the counter. “I'm going to take this over to Friday.” “Load the dishwasher first,” Bruce advised her. “Somebody might come out here to check on how you're doing.” “I'm just going to be a minute!” Andi opened the door and, holding the bowl carefully so the gravy wouldn't spill, started out into the yard. A moment later she was back.
“Bruce, he's out there!” “Who?” Bruce regarded her blankly. “Jerry Gordon's dog! He's over in the corner of the yard. He's dug a hole under a bush and he's lying in it, and he looks awful.” “Red's here!” Pushing past his sister, Bruce hurried out the door. There was a dog, all right, under a bush as Andi had described. For a moment he could not believe that the dog was Red Rover.
Gone was the shiny coat, the proud lift of the head, the gaily waving plume of a tail. This dog's hair was dull and lusterless, matted with mud and burrs. His tail was curled under him, and his head was pressed against the ground. He did not lift it when Bruce approached or even when he spoke to him. A frayed rope circled his neck.
“It's the harness. He must have tried rubbing it off and got it pushed up around his neck.” Bruce knelt on the ground and began to work on the knot. It was like a lump of steel beneath his fingers. The rope itself was so tight that he could not get so much as a fingernail beneath it.
Andi, who had been watching in horror, ran back to the kitchen. When she returned, she was carrying a paring knife.
“Will this help? Maybe you can cut it.” “I hope I can do that without cutting Red.” Bruce took the knife and began sawing nervously against the thinnest part of the rope. The dog slumped beside him, too miserable to care what was being done to him. When the rope gave way at last, he drew a long rasping breath and looked up gratefully into Bruce's face, but still he didn't try to move. “He could have been strangled.” Bruce ran his fingers gently along the dog's throat. There was a raw, hairless circle where the rope had cut into the tender skin. “He couldn't have lived that way much longer. If you hadn't found him and we hadn't gotten that rope off, he would have died.” “Right next door to his own home!” Andi's voice was low and shaken. “He'd rather dig a hole and die in it than go back to Jerry. Oh, Bruce, imagine how scared he must be of him if he would do that!” “Don't worry, old fellow.” Bruce caressed the drooping head. “I'll take care of you. Nobody's ever going to hurt you again.” “But if we take him back —” Andi began. “We're not going to,” Bruce said quietly. “We've got a new tenant for our hotel.”
