The Storm by Dayna Lorentz

belly….”
    This parade of crazy continued for the next several doors. Frizzle would try to get Shep to bark about his fighting suns, and when he refused, Frizzle would act out another of his infamous battles. With each display, Shep became more and more certain that the little dog had never fought so much as a dead squirrel. But he let him go on, and the battles Frizzle described became more and more fantastical.
    â€œThis one time, I had three — no, four — dogs on me at once. I was kicking with my hind legs — BAM, CLAW — and slashing with my jaws — FANG, FANG, FANG — and my fore claws, whew! They were invisible, moving fast as the wind — PAW, PAW, PAW.”
    He had an active imagination. Shep had to give Frizzle that.
    â€œI think we’ve got one,” Shep barked loudly, interrupting the severe thrashing Frizzle was giving to his shadow.
    â€œAll right!” Frizzle howled, panting heavily from his exertions. “Smells like a little dog. Fluffy one. One of those little white fluffy things, I’m guessing.”
    Frizzle was getting better at scenting things out. Shep agreed that they were looking at freeing the worst kind of yapper — the tiny, breakable kind.
    â€œHey, fluffy dog!” Frizzle yapped. “You need rescuing?” He pounced on the door, scratching at the metal.
    Tiny claws ticked on the floor stones, and there was the whisper of fur dragging on the ground. “Please! It’s dark in here,” the fluffy dog woofed. “I’m lonely, and the wind is making such an awful racket.” The girldog’s voice was raspy, and she smelled like an old timer.
    The fact that she was an old timer changed everything for Shep. He crouched low, close to the door, and woofed softly to her. “I need you to look up at the knob on the door. Is there a little nub on it?” The girldog said yes, and Shep explained to her about locks and how she needed to turn that nub.
    â€œIs there a table near the door?” Frizzle barked. “Can you get on it and turn the nub?”
    The old timer whimpered. “No, there’s no table. Does that mean you can’t get me out?” She lay down and pressed her nose to the space at the bottom of the door. “The light’s so dim in the hall. I wish it were brighter. It’s so dark in here.”
    Shep put his head down to the floor and snuffled at the old girldog. “I’m sorry,” he whined. “I wish we could dig through this door and get you out.”
    â€œIt’s all right.” She sighed. “My mistress will be back soon.”
    Shep didn’t have the heart to tell her about the empty streets, how every thing seemed abandoned, about the iguanas parading down the Sidewalk, how he hadn’t seen a human in suns. He didn’t want to think about these things himself. How could he tell a poor, trapped old timer that her mistress might never return?
    â€œShe will,” Shep said. “Just curl up and I’m sure she’ll be back in the morning.”
    Shep waited until he could no longer hear the click and shuffle of the old timer’s stride. By the time he turned around, Frizzle was already halfway down the hall, headed back to Higgins’s den. They’d finished the entire hallway, and didn’t have a single rescue to show for it. Shep trotted to catch up with Frizzle.
    â€œSad to have to leave her behind,” Frizzle yapped when Shep reached his side. “But that’s the nature of things, right? The Law of the Land — only the strong survive.” Frizzle added an extra swish to his waddle as he spoke.
    Nature didn’t trap that old timer , Shep brooded. But he kept quiet, not wanting to let Frizzle see how much leaving behind the girldog had rattled him.
    Frizzle glanced up at Shep and stopped. “Why’s your tail dragging?”
    Stupid tail! Shep growled at his rump like it had a traitorous mind of