Ziggy (3 page)

Ziggy was having the time of his life. He was free and on his own. He was seeing things he’d never seen before, smelling smells he’d never smelled before. What fun. After he chased the cat, he discovered the scent of another animal, something wild-smelling and exciting. He followed that trail to a garbage can that had been knocked over, and had a delicious snack of half a rotten banana and some burnt toast. Yum! A drink out of a nearby puddle topped it off, and he was ready for more action. Where to next? He trotted down the street, hardly noticing that the sun was fading, the air was growing cooler, and night was coming on….

When Ziggy did not turn up by the time it was dark, Charles called Aunt Amanda. She was upset to hear that Ziggy had escaped, but not exactly surprised. “That little dog is a real adventurer,” she said. “You must feel terrible, but remember, it’s not your fault. I suppose there’s not much we can do to find him now. I’d say there’s a good chance he’ll show up by tomorrow morning when he gets hungry. Let’s wait until then to call Rosie.”

By bedtime Charles’s voice was hoarse from calling Ziggy’s name and his eyes were scratchy and tired from crying. He did not sleep very well that night. First he was too hot, and he threw off all his covers. Then he was too cold. He kept getting up to go to the bathroom. Four times Charles thought he heard a puppy whimpering, but when he ran downstairs in his bare feet and pajamas and opened the door, Ziggy was nowhere in sight. Finally, he curled up with Buddy on the rug next to his bed and fell asleep on the floor.

When he woke up in the morning, he raced downstairs to look for Ziggy. The backyard was empty, and so was the front. No Ziggy. Charles stood at the door, picturing the puppy’s soft brown eyes and happy expression. Did Ziggy still look happy after a night on the streets all alone? Was he safe? Had he found a place to sleep? Something to eat? Charles’s heart ached when he thought about it.
Please, please be okay, Ziggy,
he thought. It was an awfully big world out there for such a little puppy.

He ate some cornflakes — not that he had much of an appetite — and got ready for school before he finally faced the fact that he had to call Rosie. Mom offered to do it for him, but Charles knew that he should be the one to tell Rosie that Ziggy had run off. After all, he had been watching Ziggy when it had happened.

Rosie gasped when Charles called to tell her. “Gone? Already?” she asked. “Oh, dear. Oh, Ziggy.” Charles thought he heard her sniff, as if
she were crying. “And I can’t even help. I have to leave town today to lead a training seminar.” Then she began to tell Charles everything he needed to do. “You’ll have to call the local animal control people, and the police, and the animal shelter. Let them know that Ziggy is lost in case someone finds him and turns him in. Make up some posters — there are examples online.” She rattled off the name of a website. “Post them all over the neighborhood, and make flyers to put in people’s mailboxes, and give them to the mailman and delivery people and anybody else you can think of. And —”

Charles gulped. How was he going to do all this? He had to go to school in about ten minutes. Mom took the phone from Charles. “Rosie?” she asked. “This is Betsy Peterson. Charles is leaving for school, but I’ll be home today. What can I do?” She waved Charles off as she sat at the kitchen table and began to write things down.

Charles and Sammy watched for Ziggy and called his name over and over as they rode their bikes to school, but there was no sign of the puppy. Charles’s cornflakes turned into a lump in his stomach. How could he have let Ziggy run off? How would he ever find him? Would anybody ever let his family foster another puppy after this?

At morning meeting Charles told the whole story, with help from Sammy and David. Somehow, Charles managed not to cry while he explained how Ziggy had run away. But his teacher, Mr. Mason, must have been able to tell how upset he was.

“Okay.” Mr. Mason clapped his hands as they finished their meeting. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make finding Ziggy our class project.”

“Really?” At first Charles didn’t understand what his teacher meant. But when Mr. Mason explained, Charles got it. And as the day went on,
the lump in Charles’s stomach began to get smaller.

First Mr. Mason found the website Rosie had mentioned, with the sample
LOST
posters on it. For language arts, he had the class decide what Ziggy’s poster should say. “Give me some adjectives, some words that describe Ziggy,” he said to Charles. He stood at the blackboard, ready to write them down.

“Curious?” Charles said.

“Black and tan,” Sammy shouted.

“Fast,” David added.

“Short!” yelled a girl named Lucy. That made Charles laugh.

For math, Mr. Mason had the class figure out how many weeks it would take Charles to save up the allowance money for the reward he wanted to offer.

He had the class make a map of Charles’s neighborhood, so they could begin to chart Ziggy’s movements. So far, there were only two red
pushpins in the map: Charles’s house and the Galluccis’ yard. Once the posters and flyers were printed up — with a picture they found online of a dachshund who looked just like Ziggy — Mr. Mason made dozens of copies and handed them out so everyone could color in the big LOST headline at the top. “That’ll get some attention,” he said.

By the end of the day, most of the kids in Charles’s class had volunteered to help search their neighborhoods for Ziggy, put up posters, and hand out flyers. They had researched what to do when your dog is lost, and they were ready to put the first steps into action.

By the time Charles and Sammy biked home, Charles had completely forgotten about the lump in his stomach. It felt good to be
doing
something. At home, he showed Mom and Lizzie the posters, and Mom told him about the calls she had made to animal shelters, vets, and the police. She had also put a special message on the answering
machine and her cell phone so that if anyone called to report seeing Ziggy, they would know that they had the right number.

“I’ll go out on my bike and put up posters,” Charles said after he’d had a quick snack. “Lizzie, you can walk Buddy around the neighborhood and call Ziggy. On the Internet it said that sometimes a runaway dog will come up to you if you’re with another dog he likes.”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “Look who’s bossy now,” she said. Usually
she
was the one who ordered people around. But she went and got Buddy’s leash.

While Lizzie walked Buddy, Charles and Sammy and David rode all over the neighborhood. They put a flyer in every mailbox and posters on every telephone pole. They talked to all the neighbors they saw, telling them about Ziggy. And they looked everywhere for the adventurous little wiener dog — but he was nowhere to be seen.

Charles was still glad to be taking action, but by the time he, Sammy, and David ran out of flyers and posters, he had begun to feel discouraged. Nobody had seen Ziggy anywhere, and it had now been almost twenty-four hours since he had run off. But when he got home, Mom met him at the door, all excited.

“We just got a call!” she said. She was still clutching the phone. “Somebody saw Ziggy, down by Fable Farm.”

Ziggy’s feet hurt, and he had to keep stopping to lick them. Licking his feet made him thirsty. Being thirsty reminded him how hungry he was; the only thing he had eaten all day was a dried-up old apple core he had found on the side of the road. He had something stuck in his fur that made his whole leg itchy, and a stupid cat had scratched him on the nose when he had tried to nibble just a tiny bite of food out of her bowl on someone’s back porch. He had a feeling it would get dark again soon, and he wanted to find a safe, quiet spot to sleep. He could sort of remember a place where a nice lady gave out lots of pats and good food, and where he could always find a soft bed and another
dog or two to curl up with. Maybe he would find a place like that again someday. But meanwhile, he was still having fun — wasn’t he?

Charles raced down the street on his bike, Mom’s cell phone tucked safely into his pocket. Ziggy! Finally, someone had seen the little pup. Charles couldn’t wait to gather him into his arms and give him a great big hug. He couldn’t wait to tell Rosie that Ziggy was okay. She would be so relieved.

Charles did not usually ride his bike all the way to the farm stand where his parents bought vegetables in the summer. Fable Farm was outside his normal territory, in an area he had been meaning to explore more. Mom and Dad had given him permission to ride there; Mom had even ridden with him one day the past fall so they could map out the safest roads. Sammy was allowed to ride there, too. But David did not have
permission yet, so the three of them had been sticking closer to home.

“I’ll come pick you and Ziggy up as soon as you call me,” Mom had said as she’d handed over her cell phone. “By the time you get there, your dad will be home to watch the Bean.” She had not wanted to take the time to get the Bean dressed and into his car seat. Lately the Bean had been very annoyed by his shoes, and every time she dressed him it turned into a big battle, complete with tantrums and tears.

Charles pedaled down the unfamiliar streets. At first it was exciting to ride in a whole new place. He wondered why Ziggy had wandered so far. What could that puppy be looking for? There wasn’t much out this way: there were no stores, no restaurants, and fewer houses.

Then, at a stop sign, Charles paused. Was he supposed to turn right or left here? Or maybe go straight? It had not seemed so confusing when he had biked here with Mom. Charles suddenly
wished he had just waited with her until Dad had come home.

He looked around until he caught sight of a church steeple ahead. The farm stand was right down the road from a church. Charles began to ride again, standing up to push hard on the pedals.

He was panting by the time he rode up to the farm stand. He got off his bike and leaned it against a fence. The farm stand’s bins were empty except for a few leftover corn husks and one soft, rotting pumpkin. It was almost hard to picture the way it looked in summer, when the bins overflowed with tomatoes, lettuce, and corn.

Charles walked around to the back of the stand. Where was Ziggy? Where was anybody? “Hello?” he called. A door banged open and a woman and a little blond girl appeared. Jesy and her daughter Meridian. Charles remembered them both from his summer visits to Fable Farm.

“Hi. We were just tidying up in there. Are you the one looking for a dog?” Jesy smiled at Charles while Meridian ducked behind her mom.

Charles nodded. “Ziggy. He’s a dachshund. Black and tan. About this big.” He held out his hands. “Did you catch him? Where is he?”

But Jesy shook her head. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I don’t think it was your dog after all. The one we saw was much bigger, maybe more like the size of a basset hound.” She held out
her
hands, much farther apart. “And it had big white spots.”

Charles stared at her. “A basset hound?” He took a step back. Not Ziggy. Not Ziggy after all. He wasn’t going to be picking Ziggy up and hugging him. He wasn’t going to be calling Rosie. Ziggy was still lost.

The phone rang in Charles’s pocket. “Do they have him?” Mom asked eagerly when he answered. “I can be there in five minutes.”

Once again, Charles felt like crying. “No,” he said.

“What?” Mom asked. “What did you say? I can hardly hear you.”

“No,” Charles said into the phone. “No, it wasn’t him.”

“Oh,” said Mom. “Oh.” She was quiet for a moment.

“Can you … can you come pick me up?” Charles asked. He just wanted to be home.

“Sure,” said Mom. “Stay right there.”

While he waited, Meridian told Charles about
her
puppy. “She’s black and white and her name’s Celina,” she said, looking up at Charles with big blue eyes as she scrunched the hem of her skirt. “She likes to herd the ducks, and she sleeps on my bed. Once she peed on the couch.”

Charles nodded and smiled, but he wasn’t really listening. The phone rang again in his pocket. “Hello?” He hoped it wasn’t Mom saying she would be late.

“Is this the person who’s looking for a dog?” asked a man.

Charles’s heart thumped. “A dachshund,” he said. “A puppy. Black and tan. Did you see him?”

“He’s in my front yard right now,” said the man.

Mom pulled up in the van as Charles was getting directions. “Let’s go,” Charles said to her. “Ziggy’s over on Gould Hill Road!”

Charles said good-bye to Jesy and Meridian while Mom put his bike in the van. “I hope you find your puppy,” said Jesy. “Good luck,” she called as they drove off.

Charles saw Ziggy the minute Mom pulled up in front of the house. The puppy was still in the yard, gobbling kibble out of a metal bowl. His coat did not look as shiny as it had the day before, and his tail was not wagging. But it was definitely Ziggy. Charles let out a big breath as he undid his seat belt.
Finally.

“Ziggy!” Charles leapt out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He ran toward Ziggy. He
could not wait to scoop that puppy up into his arms and take him home.

Ziggy raised his head, took one look at Charles, and zipped out of sight around the corner of the house.

Ziggy ran as fast as he could, scrambling around a corner and pushing through some bushes. That person’s voice was familiar, but why did he have to shout and run that way? That was scary! Lots of people had shouted at Ziggy lately — for example, when he’d cut across a field where boys and girls were kicking a ball — and some of them had even tried to grab him. Who knew where they would have taken him if they’d caught him? It could have been anywhere. And anywhere was not where Ziggy wanted to be. Ziggy was tired of adventuring. More than anything, he wanted to be at that place he remembered, the place with the nice lady and the other dogs. He wasn’t sure why
he’d had to leave in the first place, but now it was up to him to find his way home.

Charles stood with his hands helplessly at his sides as he watched Ziggy zip out of sight. What was the
matter
with that little pup? Didn’t he understand that Charles wanted to help him? To love him? To give him a safe, warm place to stay?

Mom came up behind Charles and put her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t worry. Now at least we know he’s still okay. We’ll keep driving around, and I bet we’ll get another call soon. Somebody’s bound to see him.”

Mom was right. The next call came before they’d even finished buckling their seat belts. It was Dad, reporting that someone had called their home phone. “She said Ziggy ran through her kids’ sandbox a minute ago,” he said, then gave Charles an address on Jacobs Road. “Also, Rosie
just called. She decided to cancel her workshop so she could help find Ziggy. I told her where you’re heading and she said she’ll meet you there.”

Charles did not look forward to facing Rosie. He felt terrible about letting Ziggy get away again. He knew how much she loved that puppy.

He and Mom got to Jacobs Road first. They drove slowly up a long hill, watching both sides of the road for Ziggy, but he was nowhere in sight. “I guess he’s still on the move,” Mom said. “Who knows which way he went this time?” She pulled into the driveway at the address Dad had given them, and a woman came to the door of the house, shaking her head.

“Gone,” she called. She pointed up the hill. “He went that way.”

Before Mom could back their van out of the driveway, another van pulled in behind them. Charles knew that it must be Rosie as soon as he saw the
I
MY DACHSHUND
bumper sticker
and the license plate that said
DOXIES
. Sure enough, the door opened and Rosie jumped out. “Is he here?” she asked hopefully. Then she must have seen the look on Mom’s face. “I guess not,” she said. She slumped against her van. “Poor little dude,” she said.

“It’s my fault,” Charles said. He couldn’t stop himself. “I let Ziggy get away in the first place, and then, when I had the chance to get him back, I just scared him off. He ran away from me so fast …” He knew it was silly to have his feelings hurt by a dog, but they were.

But Rosie shook her head. “Not your fault at all,” she said. “Even I didn’t know Ziggy could dig like that, or I would have warned you. And as for him running away from you, that happens all the time when people try to catch a lost dog. By the time they’ve been out on their own for a day or so, most dogs are pretty freaked out. Any fast movement scares them.” She reached into her van
and pulled out a folder. “This is my ‘What to Do When Your Dog Is Lost’ folder. I’ve been through this before, and I’ve found lots of good advice in books and online.”

Charles hung his head. “I should have known not to run toward Ziggy,” he said. “I was just so excited to see him. So how can you ever catch a dog if he runs away as soon as he sees you?” Charles asked.

“Well,” Rosie said, “for one thing, it’s a good idea to always have some treats in your pocket and a leash in your hand when you’re looking for a runaway dog. You want to be able to coax him toward you if you see him. Let the dog come to you, and act like you don’t even care. Stay very still, and just hold those treats out. Sometimes you can toss pieces of meat or cheese toward the dog, tempting him to come closer and closer.”

Charles remembered doing that with Lucky, a stray dog he and David had once tried to catch. “I

bet Ziggy’s pretty hungry by now.” Charles pictured the puppy gulping down the bowl of kibble in that man’s yard.

Rosie nodded. “Exactly. Some kind of special food will look and smell extra yummy to him.” She rummaged in her van again and brought out a package of hot dogs. “He will not be able to resist these, I guarantee.”

“But what if we don’t get another chance?” Charles asked.

“Well, there is one other way,” said Rosie. She pointed to the back of her van, where Charles saw a big metal box. It looked sort of like the dog crates his family used for training puppies. “That’s a humane trap,” said Rosie. “ ‘Humane’ means it won’t hurt a dog at all, but if he goes into it, he won’t be able to get out until a person lets him out. If we get some more sightings, we can set it up in the area where we think Ziggy is roaming. We bait it with these”— she
held up the hot dogs —“and wait for him to catch himself.”

At that moment, Mom’s phone rang. She answered it, talked for a minute, then hung up. “Another sighting.” She started up the car. “Let’s go.”

Rosie followed them to the next address, and the next, and the next. The calls kept coming in until it began to grow dark, but every time they got to a place where Ziggy had been seen, they were disappointed to find him already gone. They had driven farther and farther away from the Petersons’ house, and there was no sign anywhere of the little dachshund.

“We might as well call it a day,” said Rosie finally, once the calls had slowed down. “Most dogs out on their own will find a safe place to rest once it gets dark.”

They set up Rosie’s humane trap in the backyard of a nice man who had called to report seeing Ziggy drink out of his birdbath. After Rosie had
baited it with hot dogs, she gave Charles a hug. “Don’t worry,” she said. “My Ziggy is a scrappy little guy. And it’s a real good sign that he’s been seen so many times. We’ll find him, you wait and see.”