That would make me an uncle. A dog uncle, on top of being an honorary elephant uncle.

“Had the last batch seven, maybe eight weeks ago.” She scratches at a flea.

“Last batch?” I repeat. “You mean you’ve had others?”

“Yep.”

“What happened to them?”

“Dunno. It’s not like they come home for the holidays, Bob.” Boss lies down on the old towel lining our cage. “Or should I call you Rowdy?” She considers. “Nope. No, I like the sound of Bob.”

“Me too.”

“Anyway,” Boss says, “mostly they’re dead, I’d guess. You never know, though. Maybe a few got rescued.”

She’s so matter-of-fact. So resigned.

“This last litter, well, I thought I was onto something. Found this little car, you know those ones that look like a big ol’ bug? Abandoned. Right down by the creek, near that bridge. Easy access through a hole in the floorboard. Blanket in the back seat.” She pauses. “All the amenities.”

“How many puppies?” I ask.

“Three. But only one survived, a male. The other two were pretty sickly, and, well . . . you know.”

Something crashes into the front office. Sounds like a window has broken.

“We gotta get outa here!” an orange-striped cat howls. He throws himself against the front of his cage, then pokes out his paw, grabbing for the latch. “I’m too young to die!”

“When they caught me,” Boss continues, ignoring the cat, “I barked for the puppy to sit tight, wait. Told him I’d be right back.” She sighs. “Nice. Last thing he’ll ever hear was a lie.”

“What’s his name? The puppy?”

She looks at me like I asked her if she’s ever been to the moon. “I don’t name them, Bob. Just makes it harder.”

Below us, the water’s slowly rising, filling the empty lower cages. We watch the humans rush back and forth, carrying buckets, as if they can stem the tide.

There’s nothing to do. Nothing to say. And nowhere to go.

not right

I stare at my sister and try to imagine all the pain she’s endured.

And here I thought I’d gotten the raw deal.

To lose your pups. To wander alone. To struggle for every drop of water, every crumb of food.

I mean, I experienced a little of that. But Ivan and Stella kept me going. And then Julia and her family.

Why me? What’s so special about me?

Is it really that I’m more resilient? That I’ve made my own luck?

Am I somehow better than Boss? More deserving?

“It’s not right,” I blurt. “Not right you shoulda had it worse than me.”

“Well, if you want to talk about ‘not right,’ you and I both had it a whole lot better than our siblings,” Boss says.

“I will never forgive those people for what they did to us,” I say through clenched jaws.