Between the Stacks

Chapter 22

I stood in the pet food aisle of a grocery store, scanning the flavors of dog treats: filet mignon, charbroiled steak, double-cooked bacon. The dogs of Cherryhill were clearly eating better than me. For two nights in a row my dinner had been Oreos and popcorn, which may or may not have counted for a vegetable.

The dog treats were essential to my plan: I would show up to the therapy dog session with some sneaky biscuits in my pockets, and bribe the dogs with the treats.

I had once gone to a therapy dog session at university, and people flocked to wherever the dogs were. My hope would be to start a discussion with everyone around me. I had printed cards advertising the Northern Ridge adult summer reading program, and I was ready to liberally hand them out. No one would be able to tell that I was trying to swipe clients for my own branch; most people would probably think that the library was one big, happy family.

It was an awkward and clumsy plan, and a tad mean-spirited, but I needed to find a way to one-up Wesley.

As I stood in the aisle, weighing whether Nugget the dog would prefer pork or beef treats, I was struck by a thought: was I only doing this to see Wesley? Was this the equivalent of pulling on someone's pigtails, just to get their attention?

No. Absolutely not.

I decided to go with the filet mignon flavor - it was an extra fifty cents, Nugget deserved to be spoiled - and immediately realized my problem once I stood on the sidewalk. There were far too many treats for my pockets. I was thinking that the bag of biscuits would kind of be like opening a bag of chips, where there's a whole lot of air.

And instead, when I opened the bag, I was greeted with dozens of tiny steak-shaped treats.

They were adorable. I always liked mini-sized things, whether it was teacups for dolls or shoes for dogs. But my problem was that I had way too many, and I didn't want to throw any out. Mom and Dad were always careful about not wasting food. And I couldn't just walk into the therapy dogs event with a bag of treats - my plan would be busted wide open.

"Fine," I muttered to myself. I ripped open the bag and shoved the treats where I could. Most ended up in my suspiciously-bulging purse, but a few went in the front and back pockets of my jeans.

I probably looked like a robber, if a robber were to stick tiny dog snacks down their clothes.

At that exact moment, standing in the heat of the afternoon sun, I had my first pang of regret. I smelled like fake steak and I could start to feel some of them melt, which I was sure would be a pain to wash out of my clothes. But it was too late to back out - I was already near Riverside, and it was only a short walk to the library.

Maybe, just maybe, I could make this work.

---

It wasn't hard to find the area that had been set up for the event: I just had to follow the sounds of the laughing children and the occasional soft woof.

At the back of the library, near a soccer field with overgrown grass, I found a few scattered groups that clustered around individual dogs. There were maybe thirty people in total. Most were kids with their parents or stressed-out students. It seemed like one group of middle schoolers was obsessed with the idea of trying to get a dog to eat their homework. A girl with a long auburn ponytail put a piece of paper in front of the nose of a black Labrador, begging him to take a chomp, but the dog just sniffed it.

"Sorry, Amy," a too-familiar voice said. Wesley crouched down next to the girl. "Looks like you're going to have to do your math sheet."

"Fractions are hard," the girl said, staring morosely at the paper that the dog had failed to eat.