High Wire by Melanie Jackson Page B

brother.
    I realized the bundle wasn’t a baby when it stopped whimpering and started barking.
    The dog poked its face out of the blanket and looked around.
    â€œSooo cute!” Whitney cooed.
    â€œAre you kidding?” I said distastefully. The pooch’s face was a bunch of flabby rolls. His mouth was turned down like he was sulking. His body was too small for his head.
    On my parents’ ranch, I’d had a border collie named Thelma. She was strong and energetic, able to run for miles. Thelma lived with another rancher now. I missed her a lot.
    That’s what busybody Aunt Ellie had been thinking. She would replace Thelma…with this little yapper. Why couldn’t she leave me alone?
    â€œHe’s a French bulldog cross,” Whitney was saying. “Some terrier in him, I’m guessing. Just adorable.”
    The kids laughed at my sour expression.
    Somebody asked, “Hey, Zack. What’s his name?”
    I shook my head. “I dunno.” I didn’t want to name the thing. Giving it a name might make me responsible for him.
    â€œHe’s just some pooch,” I said.
    â€œHi, Pooch,” Whitney crooned.
    The ringmaster and circus owner, Mr. Sorelli, stomped into the room, his black eyebrows smashed into a scowl. This was more or less his permanent expression. He wore a glittery red ducktail-type jacket with matching jodhpurs and a top hat.
    He shouted, “What’s going on? The idea is to stay quiet during other performers’ acts. The audience out there can hear you, right up to the top bleacher.”
    They’d be able to hear Sorelli too. But no one had the nerve to point that out.
    â€œZack’s aunt gave him this little sweetie,” Whitney said. She was planting kisses on Pooch’s ugly face. I wondered if her eyesight was bad.
    She handed the dog to me. The clown act was finishing, and she was on next.
    The ringmaster switched his baleful gaze to me. His bullet-like eyes narrowed. “This is a circus, not a zoo, Zachary. Get rid of the mongrel. Now.”
    I took Pooch into the guys’ dressing room. I opened my gym bag and changed shoes.
    Pooch stuck his head in the gym bag and sniffed around. When he emerged, he was holding one of my leather slippers in his teeth.
    I was mad, but I knew to pry the slipper away from him slowly. You can make a dog let go of anything if he thinks you don’t want it. My border collie had been that way.
    Any similarity between Thelma and Pooch ended there. I viewed Pooch’s ugly face and squat body. Thelma had sure been better-looking.
    I carried Pooch out back of the big top. I set him down. He promptly took a dump.
    â€œWhy me?” I asked him.
    By now it was dark outside, but I decided I’d better do the good-citizen thing. The way my luck was going, Sorelli would step splat into Pooch’s poop. I scooped his business into a bag and shoved the whole thing into the nearest trash bin.
    Pooch’s trusting brown eyes watched me.
    â€œDon’t get any ideas. Tomorrow I’m taking you back to Aunt Ellie. I’m stuck with you tonight.”
    He wagged his tail.
    I walked Pooch to my trailer. All the circus performers and crew lived onsite. The crew had set up the big top in Vancouver’s Vanier Park near Kits Beach. The huge tent would be a red-and-white-striped city landmark until Labour Day. Concession and souvenir stands crammed the field in front of the big tent. The trailers were parked behind it.
    Pooch trotted along close to me like we were old pals. Dumb dog didn’t know he wasn’t wanted.
    I figured he’d need some water by now. We didn’t have a bowl in the trailer, so I rinsed out the toothbrush glass and filled it up with water. Pooch stuck his snout into the glass. He glugged the water back.
    At least he wasn’t fussy.
    I got out my cell phone. I needed to talk to Aunt Ellie. I would explain that Circus Sorelli couldn’t have any animals. Not