The Last Cage on the Left

Deepa got to the shelter on Grand Street twenty minutes early, because she was nervous.

The woman at the desk gave her a green apron. “Last cage on the left,” she said. “He came in two weeks ago, and he's scared of everyone. Don't push him.”

The dog was small and brown. He was standing at the back of the cage. Deepa opened the door and put out her hand, and he pressed himself into the corner.

She tried a piece of chicken. She held it out and made her voice gentle. “Come on. It's good, I promise.” The dog looked at the chicken, then at her. He didn't move.

So Deepa stopped trying. She sat down on the floor with her back against the wall, took out her book, and started reading out loud — a boring page about trains. Her voice was slow and calm, and she didn't look at the dog once.

After ten minutes, something warm touched her shoe. The dog was lying next to her foot with his head down.

Deepa didn't move. She turned the page and kept reading.

Later, the woman looked in from the doorway. “Two weeks he's been here,” she said. “That's the first time he's come out of that corner.”