9780008390662

my paddles
As I run from the park, I keep hearing my sister’s yelp in my head. Still, with
every step, my doubts grow.
Sometimes we hear what we want to hear.
The animal shelter is close, just down the street, but there’s nothing quick
about the trip. Water rushes past like a raging river. The sun’s been
swallowed by black clouds.
I pick my way through muddy front yards, avoiding the worst of the water.
I ain’t much of a swimmer. Doesn’t come up much in my line of work,
though I do a passable dog paddle.
The problem is my paddles. My paws are tiny. Not much to work with when
you’re fighting a flood.
I see a couple humans with flashlights, carving tunnels in the sheeting rain.
But mostly the street seems eerily abandoned, especially after the chaos of
the park.
The shelter is at the bottom of a slight hill. Rain’s pooled outside the front
door, despite a pile of sodden sandbags. A police car is out front, parked at an
odd angle.
I find some footing on a large rock near the door. Takes me three slippery
tries, but I manage to leap onto the topmost sandbag.
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.