Read Online Ghost Dog Secrets by Peg Kehret - Free Book Online Page B

the cookies.
    Andrew and I had made twelve dozen cookies. “That should bring in a lot of money to help the dogs,” he said as we looked at the plates lined up on Andrew’s kitchen counter.
    â€œA copious cookie contribution,” I said.
    â€œCopious minus two,” Andrew said as he handed me a cookie and bit into another one himself.
    We had sturdy paper plates and put a dozen cookies on each, then covered them with plastic wrap.
    We beamed at each other, feeling good about our afternoon’s work. We even remembered to thank his mom for contributing all the ingredients and letting us use her kitchen.
    â€œI’ll drive you to school tomorrow,” Mrs. Pinella said. “We’ll pick you up, Rusty, so you can help carry the cookies.”
    Â 
    The bake sale was a success. Parents and grandparents stopped to purchase goodies. Mom gave me five dollars that morning and told me I could choose something to put in the freezer to have for my lunches. I bought two dozen of the cookies that Andrew and I had baked.
    Mrs. Webster bought a cake, and most of the other teachers bought baked goods, too. By the time I got on the bus to go home that day, everything had been sold. Before we left for the Humane Society field trip the next morning, Mrs. Webster announced that the bake sale had raised one hundred eighty-six dollars. When we added the cash donations to the place mat and bake sale money, our class had a total of five hundred eighteen dollars to help the dogs!
    When we got to the Humane Society, we each carried in a box or bag filled with food, towels, or blankets. The parents who had come along carried in the rest of our donations. Mrs. Webster introduced Mr. Buckingham, the director of the Humane Society, and presented him with a check for five hundred eighteen dollars. We posed for a picture with Mr. Buckingham, and then he and two volunteers gave us a tour of the shelter.
    First we walked down a long hallway that had glass along one side. On the other side of the glass, cats of all sizes and colors awaited adoption, in individual cages. Each had a dish of food and water and a small box of cat litter. Some of the cats used their litter boxes as beds. A few cats had red-and-blue knit blankets, just the right size for a cat to curl up on.
    Several put their noses to the glass, as curious about us as we were about them. Others eyed us cautiously. Some slept through our visit. Each cat’s window had a number on it. Pieces of paper with corresponding numbers were pinned to the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Those papers told how old the cat was, its name, and anything known about its background.
    I saw a particularly cute calico and wished the glass wasn’t there so I could pet it. The paper for that number said, “Buttons. Spayed calico female, approximately three years old. Good with dogs, other cats, and kids. Family is moving and can’t take her.”
    When Mr. Buckingham asked if there were any questions about the cats, I raised my hand. “Buttons seems like a great cat, but it says her family is moving and can’t take her,” I said. “Why wouldn’t they take her?”
    One of the volunteers muttered, “Good question,” as if she had wondered the same thing herself.
    â€œPeople have many reasons for leaving a cat with us,” Mr. Buckingham said. “Even when their reason doesn’t seem very good to me, I’d still rather they brought the animal here than to dump it somewhere. At least here Buttons is safe and has food and will have a chance to get a permanent home.”
    He had not actually answered my question, but I didn’t say anything else. It must be really hard to work in a place like this and stay patient with the reasons people give for not keeping their pets.
    Next we went to the dog area. It was a huge room containing several rows of kennels, each about six by eight feet big with a heavy wire gate across the