CHAPTER 3

Tasha walked up and down the walkway outside the kennels, looking at all the dogs, reading their descriptions:

7-year-old Shih Tzu-ish looking for a single adult to snuggle with.
Not interested in kids or cats.

4-year-old Mighty Mix looking for a sofa to sleep on.
Good with cats, other dogs, and older kids.

She stopped by me once. I sat my Good Dog Sit for her. I even stopped barking. Then I swished my tail to show her how good at sweeping I was. Tasha smiled, and I knew she was the human for me. And not just because her smile smelled like pizza. (But it did.)

Tasha had pulled her hair into a tail that day. It stuck straight out the back of her head. She carried a clipboard and took notes as she read my card:

9-month-old high-energy Border Collie mix looking for dedicated person.
Happy to spend the day working, playing with kids, or training for agility.
No cats need apply.

I could tell this woman meant business. I like business. It means work.

When Tasha walked on to the kennel next to me—where that Corker the Cocker Spaniel was always soaking her ears in her water bowl—
I had to act. I couldn’t let this one get away.

I barked. And barked and barked. If sitting nicely and sweeping handily wasn’t going to do it for her, maybe a little noise would.

“You have something more to say there, umm, Sparkplug, is it?”

Tasha came back!

I did! I did! I barked again and spun to the back end of my kennel to get my blue barbell.

“You like to play, do you?” Tasha asked.

I barked and dropped the barbell. Holy cow! You bet I did.

Tasha looked from side to side. I knew what she was doing. People weren’t supposed to reach their hands into our cages, but they always did if no workers were around.

Then she reached under the cage and grabbed my barbell. I sat up straight, tongue out, eyes on the barbell. Tasha stood up, reached her arm over the kennel gate, and flung it to the back of my kennel.

I spun around, jumped, and grabbed it. I trotted back and dropped my barbell at the kennel gate.

“You’ve got a good play drive,” Tasha said. I didn’t know what that was. But I barked. I’m sure I did. “I better see if I can get you outside.”

Tasha bent down to rub my nose. I noticed her name tag: Helper Hounds, it said. It had her picture on it—along with another dog. The dog in the picture—all muscle and boxy-headed and short-haired—wore a red vest that said Helper Hounds on it.

I didn’t know what a Helper Hound was. But I wanted in. It sounded like just the job for me. Sometimes people called me “hound dog,” and I do like to help. (Remember my big brain?)

Anyway, Tasha took me outside and walked me. I lifted my leg and peed on my favorite oak, just so Tasha would see how good I was at going to the bathroom outside. Tasha laughed and said something about my impressive leg flexibility.

Then, Tasha ran me through all kinds of games of fetch. I don’t mean to brag, but I was amazing. Not only can I catch anything you throw at me, but I can get it back to you faster than you can say, “Get it, Sparkplug.”

Tasha “taught” me some tricks. (Full disclosure: I’ve always known how to sit, lie down, roll over, and sit pretty. But I let her think she was teaching me how to do it. I get better treats that way.) Then she introduced me to her niece and nephew. They walked me and pet me and asked me to sit too. I liked those kids. And they liked me. All the while, Tasha would write down stuff on her paper. She smiled the whole time. So did I.

Before I knew it, Tasha was taking me home. OK, OK, I was so excited that I peed on the floor a little bit. Right there in the lobby of the shelter. And then my tail flicked the puddle on Robin, my favorite friend there. But everyone just laughed and came out to hug and kiss and pet me goodbye. I’d made lots of friends at the shelter. They loved me. What can I say? I’m a very good boy and, as I mentioned, quite handsome.

Tasha took me to those obedience classes I’d heard so much about. No surprise: I was the best dog in my class. I could do everything and anything. Sit. Stay. Sit-stay. Sit pretty. Heel. Here. Come. Down. Speak. Settle. Easy. Leave it. And I could do them all while also giving Fluffernutter the Chihuahua my world-class stink eye. I knew how badly she wanted my jerky treats.

I graduated and went on to Canine Good Citizen classes. I was the best student there too. I got an award. After that, Tasha sent in my application—complete with a link to my Dog Tube account, which features videos of my skills—to Helper Hounds University.

A few weeks later, Tasha’s computer binged. Tasha read me an email that told me I got in. No surprise there. But Tasha cried and hugged me. She was so proud.

“Helper Hounds U is where dogs get their Helper Hounds magic,” Tasha said.

I was pretty sure I already had magic. But I couldn’t wait to start.