Shady

“It’s been three hours, so I’ll check the book drops again,” I called to Beverly later that day as I walked by her open office door.

“That would be great, Jamie. Thank you,” she responded without breaking the pace of her lightning-fast tapping on her keyboard.

I grabbed my water bottle and a library bag for the returned books and headed outside.

The bells clanged behind me as the library door closed and I immediately felt the harsh temperature change from the air-conditioned building to the steamy midday heat. It was so humid out it felt like there was no air in the air.

I walked around the building to the book-drop containers in back, sipping my water slowly, feeling the trickle of cold slide down my throat.

As I approached the two containers, the one for audio materials on the left and the larger one for books on the right, I stopped at the sight of a small brown mound squeezed between the two that hadn’t been there at my last visit. It looked like the overused mophead from the library storage closet. As I got closer, it looked more like some old Halloween wig that had been abandoned outside, left to collect dirt and twigs and dust.

But then it moved.

I stepped closer and dropped to my knees, then leaned forward into the small space. And then I knew for sure.

“Hiya, sweetie,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”

A head popped out from under the mound so suddenly I jumped. Two orange-brown eyes peered at me, while a small black nose wiggled frantically as it gathered my scent. I made a loose fist and stretched it in front of the little dog’s face so it could get an easy whiff.

“Who are you, little guy?” I asked in a voice about two octaves higher than my regular one. Aunt Julie always said to use a voice that was high-pitched and soft with a new animal, and it seemed to be working. The little dog uncurled itself and stood, did a downward-dog-like yoga stretch, and then padded over to sniff me more completely.

The dog was dirty, and I quickly discovered that it was a he. His fur felt cool to the touch, despite the heat outside.

“You’re a smart one, huh? You found some nice shade between these bins.” I ran my hand down his bony back and then scratched lightly under his chin. My hand came away a dark gray, as if I had rubbed the inside of a chimney instead of a sweet little dog. “Cool as a cucumber and super filthy.”

He licked my hand. His tongue was dry and rough.

“Oh, sweetie, you need a drink.” I quickly uncapped my water bottle.

I poured a bit of water into my hand and he stuck his whole small muzzle right in, lapping up every drop quickly and greedily. I poured more water into my palm, and then more, and he kept drinking. Soon his tongue felt as wet and slick as my palm, which was now dripping with water and dog saliva.

I poured a quickly dissolving ice cube into my hand and placed it in the shade back between the book-drop bins. The dog sauntered back to his shady, quiet spot and settled next to the ice cube. He sniffed it, pawed it, and then proceeded to lick it, delicately trapping it between his two front paws.

“So, no collar. And you look like a hot mess, no offense,” I told him. “You all on your own?”

He just looked at me as I spoke, licked his ice cube a few more times, and then sneezed.

“I have to actually do my job now,” I told him. As I punched in the code on the audio bin, the dog locked his eyes on me, watching my every move with his head cocked to the side. The ice cube was now down to the size of a green pea on the pavement in front of him. I reached into the drop, pulled out a small stack of DVDs, and then closed the door more gently than usual, trying not to jar the whole metal container and scare the dog. I emptied the book container the same way, stashing the dozen picture books into the library bag alongside the DVDs.

“All right, I have to go back inside now,” I told him, reaching my fist in front of his furry head again. He stood and leaned toward it, sniffed and licked me a few more times, then circled once and settled back in his perfect spot of shade. The ice cube was gone. He shut his eyes, sighed once heavily, and resumed his nap.

“I’ll bring you water again before I leave. And I’ll see if I can find you some food.”

I walked the bag of returns back into the library and unloaded them onto the circ desk for Sonia.

A patron walked up at the same time and dropped three books loudly onto the counter in front of Sonia.

“Ready to check out?” Sonia asked politely.

The patron didn’t answer, and he didn’t even glance at Sonia. He just tossed his card at her and started tapping his fingers against the counter impatiently.

Sonia had explained to me that there were two kinds of people in the world: those who handed you their card and those who counter-dropped it. The patrons who handed you their card were typically pleasant and respectful and polite. They said please and thank you and wished you well as they left. The patrons who dropped their cards didn’t bother to wish you a thing. They were usually curt and rude and wouldn’t even make eye contact.

Sonia scanned his card and books and neatly packed them into a bag for him. “Thank you very much, sir. Have a lovely day.” She smiled widely at him. She had also told me she liked to lay it on extra thick with the card-droppers. “Kill them with kindness,” she had said.

The rude guy swung his bag off the counter and quickly left.

“Classic card-dropper?” I asked.

“In the flesh,” she confirmed. “What a treat for me.”

I laughed. Then I said, “I need to wash my hands,” holding them up, fingers spread, as if I were contaminated with hazardous material.

“Yes, some of these books come back pretty funky,” Sonia responded.

“No, I was petting a dog, actually. I found a dog out back.”

“By the tree? A tall black dog? That’s Mrs. Shiu’s,” Sonia said.

“No, it wasn’t tied. It was just there. And it was small. It looked like a stray.”

“Ay, go wash up, mami. You don’t even know what you were touching.” Sonia made a face and backed away from me to make her point.

“All right, I’m going,” I laughed, and headed downstairs to the staff kitchen.

I poured a heaping glob of dish soap onto my hands and rubbed until it got foamy. The grime of the dog slid right off under the bubbles of soap. I imagined bringing the dog down to the sink—he would fit in it, no problem—and lathering him up the same way until all the matted dirt was out of his fur and he shone clean and smelled like lemons.

I wondered if I should call a shelter or animal control. The dog could be sick, or infested with some kind of worm or bug. Obviously no one was taking care of him. But what if the shelter decided to put him down because they didn’t have enough room for him, or enough money to feed one more animal? Was he better off on his own, the way I found him? I couldn’t tell how old he was, but he definitely wasn’t a puppy. My mom would kill me if I mentioned the dog to Aunt Julie. She always said Aunt Julie’s house was only two tails away from turning into a roadside zoo. My mom would also say the dog knew how to deal and was fine on his own. He was smart enough to nap in a safe, shady spot between the two bins, so maybe she was right.

That was a good name, actually: Shady.

I finished rinsing a second round of soap off my hands and wrists and dried myself on a paper towel that was rough as bark, absorbing pretty much no water at all, exactly like the sad paper towels at the middle school. I dried my hands the rest of the way on my shorts and climbed the steps back to the main floor of the library.