Copyright © 2008 Noelle Sterne
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
The high column of dog food boxes seemed to reach to the ceiling. How could a few dogs eat so much? He realized he'd better get moving. Each carton held twelve cans, and Casey knew he had to unload all the cans, before, as Mr. D'Agusto told him with his usual high-pitched exasperation and bad breath, "the cows came home." Casey wasn't quite sure what time that would be, or whether any cows lived anywhere in town. He only knew he wanted to finish before supper at six o'clock.
The job would go faster if he could listen to his CDs with the headphones his father got him for Christmas, but the store didn't allow them. So instead, unable to think about Angela all the time, Casey had devised a little game. He never did it with the first batch of cans he shelved, in case Mr. D'Agusto lurked nearby, ready to yell at him. With this second batch, he took a can out of the open carton. As he pushed the can in line into the shelf, he sang softly.
"Here you go, little can. You can, yes you can, yeah, yeah." Singing, Casey executed a little dance step.
He lined up each can as straight as possible, the label facing forward. "Yeah, yeah, little cans, all in a row, that's how you go, yeah, that's how you go." Casey smiled to himself. Maybe this job wasn't so bad.
The last can Casey positioned at the very front of the shelf. Usually, he didn't pay any attention to the labels, but this one caught his attention. A brown and white collie sat on a green rug, with one paw extended, in a hand-shaking gesture. Emblazoned against the blue background, thick red letters proclaimed the name of the dog food, "Snappy Pup Mealy Meat."
At first, Casey admired the bright colors and the dog's cute gesture. Then the picture pulled him. The dog's face--he couldn't believe his eyes--seemed to change. It got sadder.
The dog's mouth opened.
"Whoa!" Casey said.
The dog began whimpering and held out its front leg. Casey blinked hard, not believing what he saw. A big red gash appeared on its paw. The dog continued to cry, its neck writhing.
Casey's right hand hurt. The pain grew more intense. Where had he hurt it? A can had fallen on his foot, not his hand. He got scared. Could he dash to the medicines aisle before Mr. D'Agusto noticed? Ask a customer for help? He looked around. No shoppers bumped their way down the aisle. Even the blaring loudspeaker hawking the latest fish sale had paused.
The dog's face drew Casey again, its eyes riveted on his face. Suddenly, Casey heard a voice. Did it come from the store loudspeaker?
Talk to the dog. Tell him it's all right.
Without thinking, Casey obeyed. "It's okay, dog," he said in a monotone. Seeing the pain in the dog's eyes, he softened. Stupid as it sounded, something told him to sing. He obeyed. "It's okay-ay-ay, little doggie, your paw's not sore no more. It's okay-ay-ay."
He bent closer to the dog. A warmth spread through Casey. He no longer felt ashamed in front of his father or mad at his mother's frown, or annoyed at the store manager, or jealous of Clive. He didn't even pine for Angela. Nothing else existed but him and the dog.
"Hey, Carson, hurry it up!" Mr. D'Agusto's shrill voice jolted Casey back. The manager stood right next to Casey, peering at the still-full boxes, his breath terrible. "At this rate," he barked, "you'll be at it until the cows come home and go back out again. Move your butt!"
"Yes, Mr. D'Agusto," Casey mumbled. He tightened his apron, held up his right hand, and flexed his fingers. Nothing hurt. But with Mr. D'Agusto's angry voice in his ears, he didn't dare dwell on this marvel. Casey hurriedly loaded his arms with cans, juggling more than he could handle to get them to the shelf faster.
The dog, holding out its right paw, seemed to watch him. Casey swore the dog smiled.