Storm Watcher (3 page)

“Better get moving, Pooper Scooper,” Jacob said. “You don’t want to be late on your first day. There’re steaming piles just waiting for you to clean up.”

Here we go
. Luke kept his gaze on his bowl, knowing the smartest thing to do was to ignore Jacob. Mom would have stopped the teasing right away, but since March the twins had been hammering on him at any opportunity. And for them, anything he said or did was an opportunity.

“Some advice for the working boy – hold the pan steady and move the poop into the pan with the scraper, instead of trying to scoop it up with the pan.” Scott teased. “It’s a bone-a-fide technique that’ll get you promoted to dog bather within weeks.”

“You should know, Scottie,” Luke countered, rising to the bait. “Based on the amount of time you spend in the bathroom, I would say you’re an expert in poop management.”

Scott drew breath to reply, but Dad interrupted with a stern, “That’s enough, boys.”

Finally.

As Luke biked to Willajean’s farm, he thought about his brothers. He hated arguing with them, but lately they never gave him a break. They teased him about watching the Weather Channel all the time, about having no friends – not like Luke could change that, his best friend had gotten really weird after Mom died and stopped hanging out with him. Jacob and Scott treated him like he was a scab that needed to be picked.

Apprehension tugged his guts when his suburban neighborhood turned into wide fields of soybeans, corn, and tobacco. Willajean’s entrance was between two fenced fields.
Storm Watcher Kennel
was etched in gold on a wooden sign at the top of the gravel driveway. Luke skidded to a stop. He reread the kennel’s name. A practical joke? He expected his brothers to jump out from behind the sign and yell
gotcha
.

Luke scanned the skies, seeking ominous clouds despite the Weather Channel’s forecast that a high-pressure system would dominate the region, causing an uneventful, sunny day. Sometimes the Weather Channel was wrong, but not usually for the short-term forecast. And Luke had watched for a full hour last night just to be sure.

Satisfied that no dark clouds threatened, Luke coasted down the long driveway. Small corn plants grew in neat rows on the left side, and a pasture of cows grazed on the right. At the bottom several buildings, an old two-story barn, and a massive stone house sat on a grassy hill.

Deep barks, woofs, and high-pitched yips all emanated from a long, thin structure with wire-fenced kennel runs behind it. Parking his bike against the wall, Luke opened the screen door and entered a kitchen. He stopped short. The sound of sizzling meat mixed with the aroma of hamburgers. Amazed to find a kitchen inside a dog kennel, he gazed at the refrigerator, freezer, microwave, stove, dishwasher, and a sink.

Willajean stood next to the stove. She dumped a pan full of cooked ground beef into a huge mixing bowl held by a young girl with short brown hair.

“Good. You’re just in time.” Willajean wiped her hands on her apron.

Luke gawked when Willajean and the girl added ground eggshells, cooked eggs, carrot slices, chopped onions, cooked rice, oatmeal, vinegar, oil, and some funky-looking fatty globs into the bowl. His stomach flip-flopped between craving the delicious-smelling mixture and being nauseated by it.

Once Willajean combined the assortment, she spooned portions into metal bowls that were weighed on a scale.

“Roulette,” she said, handing the bowl to the girl. After stuffing various pills deep into the food, the girl hurried around the corner.

“The Emperor,” she ordered, thrusting the next bowl at Luke. At his confused expression she said, “Put one vitamin from each pile into the food, then follow Megan. The dogs’ names are on their doors.”

Luke mashed the pills into the food and ran after Megan. Turning the corner, he almost tripped over his own feet. The room was longer than his house. Along the left wall, metal crates were stacked two high with one dog inside each. On the right, doors led out to the kennel runs.

The dogs’ barking intensified as he slowly moved down the row, reading names and counting – thirty dogs in all. Willajean owned and bred bloodhounds, papillons, and German shepherds.
Wow
. Luke was impressed and a little jealous. Near the end of the row, he found the crate marked
Emperor
. A papillon peered at him through the bars, then stepped back, giving Luke room to put the bowl down.

True to his name, Emperor took small bites and regarded Luke with regal disdain. The complete opposite of Hounddog, who devoured his dry generic food in seconds.

“Luke, hurry up,” Willajean called.

He raced back to the kitchen, and soon the ordered chaos of feeding time consumed him. Bowl after bowl went to dogs named, Jackson, Ike, Sarah, Libby, Black Jack, Shasta, Maggie, Tanner, Hazel. All the names blended together, and Luke puffed with the effort of delivering food. His brothers would never believe him about the number of dogs or the incredible food – not what he’d imagined his first day would be like at all.

After breakfast, the dogs were let out of their crates and guided to their runs to do their business. Once finished they were taken to fenced fields. Luke leaned on the gate. The dogs chased each other with boundless energy.

“Luke, this is my daughter, Megan,” Willajean said, hooking her thumb at the girl.

A couple inches taller than Luke, Megan had dark brown eyes with thick eyebrows. She wore a stained yellow T-shirt, cut-off jeans, and boots. Crossing her arms, she studied him. He wondered if she was angry that her mom hired him.

“She’s going to your school this September, starting eighth grade. Same as you, right?”

“Yeah,” he said.

Megan shot her mom a look. Luke wasn’t sure what it meant, but Willajean ignored it.

“Megan, clean up the runs, show Luke around, and then take Bonnie and Clyde over to the tracking course,” Willajean instructed. With a wave, she strode toward the house.

Megan handed Luke a metal pan and scraper. Ugh. He crinkled his nose, thinking about Scott’s unwelcome advice that morning.

She laughed. “Better get used to it. We clean up twice a day.” Megan opened the closest run. She picked up a pile with one quick stroke of the scraper, then moved on. “Besides, it’s way better than changing diapers.”

“What?” Luke fumbled at the catch on the next run.

“My older sister.” Now it was Megan’s turn to make an
ugh
face. “Babysitter extraordinaire. The reason Mom needed extra help. Alayna would rather wipe noses and butts, and deal with whiny ankle biters all day than work here.” Megan emptied her pan into a bucket. “I’ll take being with dogs over kids any time.”

They worked in silence until the runs were clean.

“Now comes the fun part.” Megan leaned over one of the gates and yelled for Bonnie and Clyde.

Luke glanced around. Written onto the gate for each field were the names of the dogs that went into that field.

“Why four separate fields? And what’s with the names everywhere?” he asked. They were on the runs, too.

“Mom’s paranoid. Some dogs don’t get along. If you put them in a run or field together, they’ll fight.” Megan shrugged. “Fact of life. Back in North Carolina, Mom lost her favorite German shepherd when he was accidentally placed in the wrong run.”

Wow
. A dog died. How could she be so…uncaring?

She noticed him staring. “We’re breeders. We can’t get attached to the dogs, or this place would be overflowing with dogs, and we’d have no money to pay for food.”

Luke considered. It made sense. Maybe hanging out with Megan would help him develop a similar tough attitude.

Megan called for the dogs again, this time louder.

“Why don’t you let the dogs do their business in the fields?” he asked. ”Then we wouldn’t have to clean it up.”

Megan gave him an incredulous look. “Do you even own a dog?”

“We have three,” he said in his defense.

“Oh that’s not enough. I’ve been around dogs all my life, and you can’t let dogs poop anywhere. Some like to roll in it, and others like to eat it. It’s really gross.”

Ugh
. He lost his appetite. Soon two black-and-tan bloodhounds came loping into sight, tongues lolling, tails wagging. Megan let them out. They pranced around her, and she lavished hugs on them. Then the dogs followed behind Luke and Megan as they walked to the training yard.

Glancing at his watch, Luke couldn’t believe it was nine o’clock already. A grassy field with small orange cones and an old shed marked the training area. Willajean stood nearby, tapping on her tablet computer.

Before they entered, Megan said, “Don’t step past the cones. Mom’s already laid the tracks for the dogs to practice. See?”

Luke squinted into the sunlight. The cones marked where Willajean had made a series of scent trails. Easy enough to do. Leave a scent article at the beginning – most people used gloves. Walk on the grass for at least fifty yards, make one left or right turn, go straight, make another turn in the opposite direction, go straight, make a half turn, go straight, and then drop a glove with your scent on it at the end. The entire trail must be at least 440 yards long, with each leg at least 50 yards long. The more experienced dogs ran over courses with more turns.

Willajean tested the dogs in pairs. Bonnie and Clyde sailed through without trouble. Megan rewarded them with a game of Frisbee before sending them back to their field with Luke. He called for Jackson and Ike, and they repeated the training.

Entering information about each dog into her tablet, Willajean said, “I have so many dogs, and they’re all at different levels of training. This” – she waved the tablet – “has been a big time saver.”

Being the rookie, Luke was given the easiest tasks. Fetching harnesses and leads, escorting dogs, and cleaning up accidents.

They stopped for a quick lunch break. Luke’s appetite returned full force, and he wished he remembered to bring food. When Megan and Willajean went inside, he sat next to his bike. At least he hadn’t forgotten to fill his water bottle. He chugged the lukewarm water.
Yuck
.

After lunch they continued the training. Hot and sweaty, Luke dragged his feet, wishing for a candy bar, or rather a box of candy bars.

Finally, Willajean called, “That’s everyone. Luke, go help Megan feed the puppies and set up for tomorrow. Then you can go home. I’ll need you on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Is that okay with your schedule?”

Since watching the Weather Channel was the only thing on his schedule this summer, he nodded, glad she hadn’t changed her mind about their arrangement. He’d worked harder today than…well, ever.

“Great, see you then.” Willajean headed to the house.

Luke followed Megan back to the kennel.

Megan pulled out frozen white squares from the freezer and handed them to Luke.

“Put these on the counter,” she said.

The words,
liver
,
tripe
, and
beef
  had been written on them. Luke set them down. “Tripe?”

“Cow’s stomach.”

Eww
. “What’re these for?”

“Dog food.” Megan gave him a cutting board and knife and set him chopping onions and carrots while she cooked rice.

“Oh. These dogs eat better than me,” Luke said. “Your parents must be rich.”

Megan had finished chopping and now weighed bowls of food. She shrugged. “Mom inherited this farm from Poppy, her dad, this year. We moved here in April. Thank goodness my father had already run off, or he would’ve ruined everything.”

A fierce frown gripped Megan’s face for an instant. She shook her head as if to push her father from her mind. “Although Poppy’s probably giving everyone grief in heaven, griping that my mother turned a perfectly good Black Angus cattle ranch into a kennel.”

“Black Angus? Really?”

She laughed. “Yep. And just to make him madder, she’s feeding the dogs his prize-winning Black Angus steers. One at a time.”

CHAPTER 3

The Peck-and-Run Maneuver