I bark, bark with all I’ve got. But I might as well be voiceless, between the wind and the rain and the howling animals begging for escape.

inside

I pause to listen. I hear humans shouting, and I can make out what sounds like police radio chatter.

But I don’t hear Boss. I’m right here, right at the source. Nothing.

It wasn’t her bark I heard.

She’s dead and I’m crazy and hearing things and drenched and shivering and where is Julia, where is George—

“Hey, little guy.” The door eases open, just a crack.

Every bone in my body, every smart part of my doggie brain, says RUN.

This is an animal shelter. A flooding one, apparently. My sister isn’t here. And I still have to find George and Julia.

The door moves.

Swoop.

The loop comes down around my neck so fast that for a moment I don’t know what it is. It’s like a cowboy’s lasso, the kind in old Western movies I used to watch with Ivan.

But this lasso is at the end of a long metal handle.

And at the end of the long metal handle is a man.

“Stay calm, buddy.” The man eases me, gently but firmly, off the sandbags and through the door.

I’m inside the bow-wow big house.

The hound pound.

The pet pokey.

Oops.

the return of snickers

The man pulls me along with his lasso. I decide not to argue.

We enter a small room stacked with animal-filled metal cages, and I’m assaulted by howls and hisses. The cold water on the floor sloshes as we walk, just skimming my belly.

As bad as my smeller is, I instantly pick up on one distinctive odor.

It’s like the world’s worst perfume, the kind old ladies emit. The kind people spray on their dogs to camouflage their lovely dog stink. The kind—

The kind Snickers wears.

I catch a glimpse of her in an upper cage. Bedraggled bow in her droopy hair.

“Snick baby, fancy meeting you here,” I say. “You look good behind bars.”

“Harebrain,” she replies.

“Hey,” calls a rabbit two cages down. “Watch your language.”

“Mack couldn’t deal with you?” I ask Snickers.

“He brought me here because he thought it would be safer.”

“Seems he may have been mistaken,” I say.

Carefully grabbing my scruff, Cowboy lifts me into an upper cage. He pulls the lasso loose and shuts the barred door. I’m not happy. But it’s a relief to be out of my noose.

“Oh, great, another one?” calls a woman wearing tall rubber boots. She pauses in the doorway. “I thought we were turning people away.”

“People, yes,” says Cowboy. “But this pup came solo.”

“Tick-tock, folks,” says an older, ruddy-faced officer. He’s holding a radio in one hand and a flashlight in the other. “You are running out of time.”