Lily to the Rescue: Dog Dog Goose Read online

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  Dedicated to the wonderful people helping animals at Wayside Waifs in Kansas City.

  1

  I am a dog, and my name is Lily. I have a girl, and her name is Maggie Rose.

  Today Maggie Rose put me on a leash. That meant I was going someplace exciting!

  I trotted on my leash beside Maggie Rose. Craig walked with us. He is Maggie Rose’s much older brother, and from where I stand, he looks very tall. Maggie Rose has another brother named Bryan, but he is not as tall, and he was not walking with us today.

  My job when I am walking with Maggie Rose is to look for things that she might not notice, such as a squirrel who needs to be chased, or bushes where dogs have lifted their legs.

  “Know what kind of ice cream cone you want, Maggie Rose?” Craig asked while I was busy sniffing one of those bushes.

  “Strawberry, because it’s pink. Pink’s my favorite color,” Maggie replied.

  “I thought you liked vanilla ice cream with sprinkles on it,” Craig objected.

  Maggie Rose frowned. “That was last year, when I was in second grade. I’m a third-grader now, so I like strawberry.”

  Craig nodded. “Makes sense.”

  A car drove past us on the street. A dog had his head out the window, and he barked at me. I knew what he was trying to tell me: “I’m in the car and you’re not! I’m in the car and you’re not!”

  He kept barking until the car turned a corner. Some dogs are like that. They start barking and then they just don’t stop, even if they have forgotten why they were barking in the first place. I am a well-behaved dog, and I do not do such things.

  We walked a little more, and then Craig went inside a building while I stayed outside with Maggie Rose. In a little while, Craig was back. He was carrying an ice cream cone in each hand, which I thought was a wonderful thing to do!

  They sat at a table, and I did Sit. I am extremely good at Sit. I was sure that when Maggie Rose noticed what an incredible Sit I was doing, I would get some of that ice cream. Nothing else would even make sense.

  But then a loud, deep voice startled us all. “Go away!” a man shouted.

  We all jumped. I looked over my shoulder. There was a parking lot behind us, and a man was standing at the edge of it, looking angrily into a little stretch of trees and bushes. “Go away!” he shouted again.

  “Whoa,” Craig said. “It’s Mr. Swanson! You know, he lives two houses down.” He raised his voice a little. “What’s going on, Mr. Swanson?”

  Mr. Swanson turned around to look at us. He walked up to our table and pointed one thumb over his shoulder. “Hi, kids. See the fox?”

  Craig shook his head. “What fox?” said Maggie Rose.

  Mr. Swanson pointed into the trees. “There. Right there. See it?”

  We all looked into the woods. I lifted my nose, and I caught a scent that was new to me. It was like a male dog, but different—wilder and more fierce. I pulled on my leash a little, so that Maggie Rose would let me go and meet this new animal. We could play together!

  I am very good at playing with other animals. I often go to a place called Work and play with all the animals there. Work is where Mom spends most of her time helping animals. She calls Work “the rescue.”

  Maggie Rose twitched. “I see it! Lily, do you see it? See the fox?”

  That was a new word to me—“fox.” It must be the name of the animal.

  The fox was crouched behind a bush, so I could only catch a glimpse of short fur and bright eyes and ears that stood up in stiff triangles. He stared at us hard.

  “He’s here for the eggs,” Mr. Swanson said.

  “What eggs?” Maggie Rose asked.

  “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Mr. Swanson took us toward a big wooden box in the middle of the parking lot. It had some bushes and flowers growing inside it.

  “A goose laid some eggs right in this planter,” Mr. Swanson said. “But a couple of days ago, some men were here fixing potholes in the parking lot, and I guess the noise scared her. She flew away and never came back.”

  “Oh no,” said Maggie Rose.

  When we reached the wooden box, Maggie Rose looked into it. She gasped.

  Craig peered over her shoulder. “Whoa, look at that!”

  “Well, now,” Mr. Swanson said. “That’s remarkable!”

  I put my front feet on the edge of the wooden box so that I could see inside. There was something moving in there!

  Actually, there were a lot of somethings. They were small and fuzzy, like the kittens I play with at Work sometimes. But they also had beaks, like my friend Casey the crow. (Casey spent some time at Work because Mom needed to help his wing, so we got to know each other really well.) They huddled together in a group making tiny peeping noises. Broken eggshells were all around them.

  “The eggs hatched!” exclaimed Maggie Rose. “They’re so cute!”

  “They’re cute, all right,” Craig said. He didn’t sound as happy as Maggie Rose did. “But where’s their mom?”

  “Hasn’t been back since she flew off,” Mr. Swanson said, shaking his head.

  “Let’s put Lily in the planter with the baby geese,” Maggie Rose suggested. “She will protect them from the fox.”

  At the word “fox” I turned to smell for the animal in the woods, but it had run off without even trying to be friends. I thought that was very unfriendly. Life would be better if all animals acted more like dogs.

  Maggie Rose picked me up. “They must be scared without their mom.”

  “They’re going to be even more scared if a dog’s in there with them,” Mr. Swanson warned her.

  “Actually, my sister might be right,” Craig answered.

  “Lily helps out at the rescue all the time,” Maggie Rose explained to Mr. Swanson. “She plays with all the animals.”

  “If you say so,” Mr. Swanson replied doubtfully.

  Maggie Rose put me inside the big wooden box. “Be nice to the baby geese, Lily,” she told me.

  2

  I stood still and waited. I have learned that new animals don’t always like it if I rush at them and sniff their butts, which is the polite way to get to know one another for dogs. Sometimes they need time to understand that I just want to play.

  Not these little creatures, though. They rushed toward me. It was funny! They didn’t pounce like kittens, and they didn’t fly like grownup birds, and they didn’t run like puppies. They moved in their own way, with a waddle.

  I put my nose down to sniff them. They smelled very interesting—fluffy and feathery and young. They clustered around my muzzle and nibbled on my whis
kers with their tiny beaks. It didn’t hurt. They were too small to hurt anybody. They really seemed to like me!

  “Well, would you look at that,” Mr. Swanson said. “It’s like they understand why you put your dog in there with them!”

  “It’s kind of amazing,” Craig agreed. “I’ve seen Lily play with kittens and grumpy old dogs and a ferret and even a crow.”

  “So now she’s friends with the baby geese!” my girl exclaimed happily.

  “Goslings,” Craig replied.

  “Huh?”

  “Baby geese are called goslings.”

  “Goslings,” Maggie Rose repeated. “Goslings.”

  I heard that word, goslings. I decided the tiny birds were goslings. That’s why Maggie Rose and Craig kept saying it.

  “Don’t know what to feed them,” Mr. Swanson said. “I could bring some water, I guess. But I don’t know where to get goose milk.”

  Craig laughed. Maggie Rose smiled a little.

  “They’re birds, not mammals, Mr. Swanson,” she explained. “They don’t drink milk.”

  “Oh, right,” Mr. Swanson said. “I wasn’t thinking straight. Fact is, I was thinking about my wife.”

  “About Mrs. Swanson?” Maggie Rose asked.

  Mr. Swanson nodded. “She’s goose-crazy, to tell you the truth. Anything with a picture of a goose on it, she’ll buy it. She’s got a collection of goose eggs. She’d have geese of her own if she could, but I’m allergic to their feathers. Can’t even wear a down jacket. I wondered for a while if she’d pick geese over me, but so far she’s stuck with me. But I bet she won’t if she finds out I let anything happen to these little fellas.”

  “That fox will get them for sure if the mom doesn’t come back,” Craig said. “We better ask Mom and Dad what to do.”

  Mr. Swanson nodded. “That’s right, I forgot—your mother runs that animal rescue.” He dug in his back pocket. “Here, use my phone.”

  Craig took the phone. Human beings seem to like phones a lot. They stare at them and touch them and talk to them all the time, even with a dog in the room. I do not know why. Phones do not smell at all interesting.

  “Good dog,” Maggie Rose said. She took a bite of her ice cream. I stared at it unhappily—it was almost gone!

  Craig had stopped talking to the phone. “Mom’ll be here in a minute,” he said. His ice cream was gone!

  So apparently it was the part of the day where a good dog who wasn’t getting any ice cream was supposed to stay in a box with a bunch of baby birds called goslings. I nudged a few of them aside and lay down and at once they were huddled all around me, trying to cuddle right up to my nose. I was worried that if I yawned they might try to climb into my mouth!

  “Good, gentle girl,” Maggie Rose praised. I heard a car pull up near us in the parking lot, and moments later I smelled Mom standing next to my girl. I wagged my tail very gently, so Mom would know I was glad to see her but I wouldn’t knock any baby birds out of the box.

  “Oh boy,” Mom said, looking down at me.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” Craig asked.

  “Lily’s protecting the goslings,” my girl said proudly.

  “I see that. And that’s probably going to be a problem.”

  “Why?”

  “Mr. Swanson,” Mom asked, “when was the last time you saw the mother goose?”

  “At least two days ago,” Mr. Swanson said.

  Mom shook her head. “Two days? That’s too long. If the mom was going to come back, she’d have been here by now. And no sign of the father at all?”

  “Never seen more than one goose by the nest,” Mr. Swanson said.

  “Well, the father would have been nearby, but you might not have seen him. He’d be keeping an eye on the nest, but out of sight, so he wouldn’t attract predators.”

  “So they’re not coming back?” Maggie Rose asked.

  “Probably not,” Mom said.

  “Why did you say there’s a problem, Mom?” Craig pressed.

  “See, geese are imprinting birds,” Mom said.

  “Printing?” Mr. Swanson repeated, puzzled.

  “Not printing. Imprinting.”

  Maggie Rose’s forehead wrinkled. “What does that mean?”

  “When goslings hatch, they can’t do much of anything for themselves,” Mom explained. “So the very first thing they do is look around for their mother. Usually she’s right there, sitting on the nest. But if she’s gone for some reason, then the babies will decide that whatever animal they see first must be their mom. They’ll follow that animal everywhere, and learn how to behave from it.”

  “Uh-oh,” Maggie Rose said.

  “There’s no way either of you could have known. Lily has been so good at helping our rescued animals feel welcome and safe. So naturally, you put her in the planter to calm the goslings. You didn’t know about imprinting.

  “It’s unusual for geese to imprint on a dog, but it’s happened,” Mom continued. “And there’s no way that I know of to change it.”

  “So the babies think Lily is their mother?” my girl asked. “And they think Lily’s going to teach them how to be geese?”

  Mom nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

  3

  Mom pulled a small crate out of the back of the car. Then she reached for a handful of goslings. They were frightened, and they peeped and tried to dart away. I didn’t move—I’ve learned that when animals are scared, it helps for me to lie still.

  “Quick, everybody!” Mom urged.

  Craig and Mr. Swanson both reached in to pick up goslings. “They’re so light!” Craig said. “It’s like holding air!”

  Mr. Swanson managed to snag only one. “They’re quick little things!” he said.

  Maggie Rose didn’t try to pick up any of the goslings. Instead, she picked me up.

  “Take care of them, Lily,” she said, and she put me inside the crate, too. The crate with the birds and me went into the car.

  I have been in lots of crates. The first time I didn’t like it, because it kept me apart from Maggie Rose. But I have learned not to mind. My girl always lets me out again in time, and meanwhile it is cozy to curl up and have a nap.

  That’s what I did. As the car started moving, I carefully checked to make sure there were no goslings beneath me, and lay down.

  Peep! A high-pitched noise came from under my belly. I looked down in surprise to see a fuzzy little gosling wiggling out from underneath me. I must have missed one!

  I gave it a lick and it wiggled its head and peeped some more.

  We drove a little way, and then we stopped at Work.

  I love Work!

  Work is where so many of my friends live. There is Brewster the old dog, and sometimes Freddy the ferret comes to visit, and lots of cats and kittens and now and then a squirrel. We even had a couple of baby pigs once! There is always someone to play with at Work, though this would be the first time we had a whole flock of baby birds.

  Mom carried the crate with the goslings and me inside the building. They seemed scared at the way the crate floor tilted and swung, staring at me as if expecting me to do something about it. All they did was peep, though—the same noise they’d been making the whole time.

  Mom set my crate down in a larger pen, the kind that is called a kennel. Maggie Rose came inside the kennel, too.

  Mom opened up the crate. The goslings stayed inside, huddled close to me, peeping.

  “Call Lily,” Mom said softly to Maggie Rose. “I bet if she comes out, the goslings will, too.”

  My girl called my name, and I went to her because I am a good dog. The goslings followed me out of the crate. They looked around the kennel and peeped in confusion.

  “Okay,” Mom said. She reached over to rub my ears and I leaned into it, groaning a little. “You can let Lily out of the kennel. I’ll go get some goose food.”

  Mom left the room and Maggie Rose slipped me out of the kennel and closed the gate. I heard the goslings peeping very loudly behind me.
<
br />   I wandered over to Brewster’s kennel and whined at Maggie Rose until she let me in.

  Brewster was curled up on his blanket in a corner. He lifted his head when I trotted in and sniffed him. Brewster is a friend of mine, even though he does not like to spend much time playing Chase-Me or I’ve-Got-the-Ball or Tug-on-a-Stick. He is old and prefers napping over playing.

  Brewster smelled like food, and like the blanket he lay on, and like himself. He also smelled a lot like Bryan.

  Bryan did not come to get ice cream with us. Brewster’s fur smelled like Bryan most days. That was funny, because Brewster lived at Work and Bryan lived at Home. Why would Bryan’s scent be on Brewster? Were they napping together?

  By now the goslings were making so much noise that Brewster groaned. He gave me a look as if this were somehow all my fault, which was ridiculous.

  “Lily! Lily, come!” Maggie Rose was kneeling next to the kennel with the goslings inside.

  I hurried away from Brewster. When I reached my girl, the goslings rushed over to strain against the wire of the kennel, sticking their beaks out and peeping at me with their tiny voices.

  Mom came back in the room, carrying a box. “I could hear them all the way from the supply kitchen,” she remarked.

  “They seem really upset that Lily is out and they’re not. But I knew you would want them to stay in the kennel; they were so hard to catch the first time.”

  “Oh, I think they’ll stick right by your dog no matter what,” Mom replied.

  I wagged at the word “dog.”

  “Open the kennel,” Mom suggested.

  Maggie Rose reached over to the kennel door and opened it up.

  “Come on out, baby geese,” she said.

  4

  The baby birds poured out of the kennel and frantically rushed over to me as if they hadn’t been able to see I was right there the whole time. They tried to climb up onto me and fell off onto the floor and peeped and struggled to their feet again for another try. My girl stood up so they wouldn’t try to climb on her, which was only right—I am Maggie Rose’s dog, and if anyone was going to climb up on her, it should be me.