“Daddy,” I say, “they’ve just hit a rough patch, like us. The difference is they can’t come into the shelter because of their animals.”

“And,” I push on, “Baby’s all on his own. I mean, the others are looking after him too, but . . .” My voice trails off into a watery sniff. A tear plops onto the table. I quickly wipe it away with my sweatshirt sleeve.

Daddy nods. “That is a problem, especially in this storm.”

“Daddy,” I say, putting on my best pleading voice, “can we please, please go check on Baby? He’s just a dog and he’s all alone.”

Daddy gets up and fills two Styrofoam cups with coffee. I watch his broad back as he snaps lids onto the cups. I hope I didn’t lay it on too thick.

“Let’s take these up to your mama and let her know school’s canceled, then we’ll go to the park.”

On the elevator ride back up to our room, I rerun the movie I played in my head last night when I couldn’t get to sleep. I imagined Daddy or Mama meeting Baby and falling in love with him just like I have. I imagined them saying, “Oh, Piper, he’s so sweet! You’re right, he needs to come live with us, at least until Jewel gets out of the hospital.” Or maybe she wouldn’t come back to the park. Not that she’d die or anything really bad. But somehow, maybe Baby would become my dog, forever.

Daddy takes my hand in his as we cross to the park. The snow comes almost to the top of my boots. I can feel how cold his hand is even through my gloves. Daddy refuses to wear gloves. He says he needs to feel things in order to understand them.

I stop when we get to the edge of the park. Nothing looks familiar. The picnic benches and swings are all white. The big grassy areas where Gabby and I picked up leaves are white. My heart aches just a bit. I still miss Gabby.

“I don’t see how anyone could live here,” Daddy says.

I shake my head. I know the nooks and crannies where they sleep, but I don’t see how they could be there now, in all this snow. Especially Baby.

I tug on Daddy’s hand and point over to the bathrooms. “That’s where Baby lives,” I say.

As we walk through the snow, my heart pounds. What if Baby froze to death? What if he got buried in the snow? After all, he’s such a little dog. How could I have not checked on him yesterday? He must think I’ve forgotten all about him.

I run the last few feet, calling out his name. “Baby! Baby!”