The next day, Dad and I entered the back of the dog pound, where all the cages sat. A single dog barked, sounding the alarm; then the other dogs joined in, barking and jumping, and it seemed they were all saying Pick me! Pick me! I’m the best! The barking made it feel exciting, like this was a happy place, but when I saw the rows of cages lined up and stacked, it looked like dog prison. I wished I could take them all home.
“What kind of dog did you have in mind?” The worker had to talk loudly to be heard over all that barking. He stuck his finger into a cage and scratched a little brown dog’s ears.
“A watchdog,” Dad said. “One to watch over the house and my boy while I’m at work.”
“I’ve got just the dog for you. Picked him up yesterday.” We followed the guy down the row to a large cage. “German shepherd. About five years old. He’ll do the job.”
I looked at the German shepherd. He seemed all right, brown and black fur, dark brown eyes. He thrashed in his cage but kept his eyes on me, barking the whole time. His teeth looked sharp.
“I like him,” Dad said. “What do you think, kiddo?”
I shrugged. “He’s okay.”
The pound worker told Dad more about German shepherds. I drifted down the row of cages and saw lots of mutts, a couple of poodles. I’d almost worked my way to the end when I spotted a dog standing at the back of his cage on the bottom row. I crouched to get a better look at him.
The dog stepped forward a bit and stopped. He didn’t jump and bark like all the other dogs; he just held my gaze. His eyes were the color of caramel. A patch of white covered most of his chest, and a star appeared on his snout between his eyes. His ears stood straight up, like a rabbit’s, and they were glowing red.
“Dad!” I yelled. “How about this one?”
Dad and the worker walked over. The dog backed up in his cage when they bent down to it.
Dad pointed at the dog’s ears. “Kind of strange-looking, isn’t he?”
I frowned. The dog rested his eyes on me openly, as if he knew me, as if he trusted me. Staring back, I felt the same way.
“I like him,” I said.
Dad stared at the dog and nodded. “He does look very intelligent. What breed is he?”
“I don’t know. Just found him in a fancy cage outside one morning.” The worker straightened up. “He’s been passed over a lot; most people say he doesn’t seem friendly.”
“He’s friendly,” I said. “He just likes to think about it.” Same as I did.
“Today’s his last day here, if you know what I mean.” The worker looked at Dad.
Dad frowned and glanced toward the German shepherd. “I don’t know. The other one seems a bit more—”
“This is the right dog,” I said and stood up. “This one.”
The ride home was short but took forever. The dog pushed against my arms, straining to stick not just his head but his whole body out the window. His nose twitched wildly and his skinny tail slapped my face.
When we got home, he darted from window to window, pressing his nose against the screens. I ran after him, but he ducked my every move like a basketball player. He pressed one screen so hard that it fell out and he coiled to spring after it, but Dad grabbed him.
“Shut that window!” he yelled. The dog squirmed in his arms, licking him and trying to escape at the same time.
I slammed the window shut and sat by Dad on the floor. “He likes you!” I said.
Dad smirked, pushing the dog off his lap. He wiped the slobber off his face. “I think this dog is going to be trouble.”
The dog and I sat on the floor at the foot of my bed. One thin branch scratched at the window screen and the dog kept putting his paws on the sill to see what was going on. I was glad he was the kind of dog who liked to explore, because that’s exactly what I liked to do. But first, he needed a name.
“What about ‘Buddy’?” I asked. The dog did not lift his head. Buddy was not a good name. Not Rusty, either, or Lucky. “What about ‘Rex’?” The dog huffed and gave a big sigh. I stroked his back. His fur was smooth like velvet when I rubbed it the right way, but it prickled like bristles when I rubbed it the wrong way. So far, I hadn’t been able to come up with the right name for him. He was lean and strong, and that’s the kind of name he needed.
I pulled a shoe box out from under my bed and showed it to him. “These are all my treasures from New Jersey.” The dog snuffled into the box. A piece of paper stuck to his nose. I laughed and pulled off the paper. It was Scott’s address, my best friend from New Jersey. He was the fastest runner in school. Reaching into the box, I grabbed a baseball. “This is from my Little League team. Everyone signed it.” The dog inspected each signature and licked the ball like he knew we had been a good team.
I put the baseball back into the box. The best box I’d saved for last. Mom’s locket was on top, a long chain with a big heart on the end of it. When you pop the heart open, there’s a picture of me and Mom. She’s holding me tight and laughing with her head thrown back.
“This is my mom.” I held the heart open to where the dog could see it. Everyone always said I got my hazel eyes from her. I got my brown hair from Dad.
The dog looked at the locket and then looked at me. His eyes looked sad.
“She died when I was in fourth grade.” My eyes got that achy feeling, but I held them open to make it go away.
The dog licked my cheek and pressed into me, laying his head and chest on my lap. That almost broke me, him nuzzling me like that. I put the necklace down and scratched his ears.
I dug through the box and found a cardboard coaster from when Mom and Dad first met. On the front it said “Jack Daniel’s Old Time Tennessee Whiskey.” Written in lipstick on the back was Mom’s phone number from when she still lived with her mom and dad.
“See that?” I showed the dog. He lifted his gaze to the coaster and then looked at me like he wanted to hear more. “They met at a dance,” I began. “When he asked for her phone number, she didn’t have a pen. So she used her lipstick.” I looked at him and he pawed the coaster.
“Jack Daniel,” I said. When the dog heard that, he popped his head up and stood. We looked eye-to-eye at each other. “Jack Daniel,” I repeated. Jack barked. I got up and jumped onto the bed. “Jack! Jack!”
Jack jumped around the bed barking and I jumped up and down whooping until we heard Dad holler, “Stop it! You sound like a bunch of wild banshees!”
I leaped off the bed. “C’mon, Jack! Let’s go outside!”
We burst out of my room and raced downstairs to the back of the house, passing Dad in the living room. “Later! Me and Jack are going out!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dad shouted. Piles of paper covered the coffee table. The scrapbook Mom had started for Dad was on top; every time he made the newspaper, Mom would clip the article or photo and tape it into the scrapbook. Dad stood and stretched his back. “Jack, huh? Is that what you named him?”
I nodded. “He likes it.”
Dad clicked his tongue. “C’mere, boy.”
Jack’s whip of a tail wagged as he loped over to Dad. Dad tousled Jack’s ears. “You know, I’ve missed having a dog around. I always had a dog growing up.” His face gladdened as he roughhoused with Jack. “I like his name,” he said. “It suits him.” He glanced over the stacks on the table. “I’m going to need more coffee if I’m ever going to finish going through all these papers.”
Jack and I followed him into the kitchen. I pulled my shoes on. I never untie them; I just pull them on or push them off with my other foot.
“Put that collar on him, and the leash,” Dad said. “And stay out of trouble!”
“I will!” I said and barreled out the door with Jack close at my heels.