The Storm Read Online Free Page A

would never have opened the cold box and found all that yummy kibble, and he would never have gotten excited and eaten it all. He licked his paws and sulked, thinking of the trouble he would be in once his family returned.
    But the humans did not return. The first tails of dawn wagged in the sky, lighting the thick coat of cloud above, and still Shep was alone in the den. Rain fell lightly onto the street below.
    Shep hoped this meant that his humans could come back. The air in the den was hot and stuffy — the cold-air blower in the window was off, and all the windows shut. Shep’s tongue lolled in his dry mouth. He trotted into the food room and discovered that when he’d pulled the trays from the cold box, he’d knocked over all the bowls of water that the woman had left him. He licked the empty bowls, desperate for even a drop of water, but they were dry. The floor around them was sticky with the various goos and gobbets that Shep had pulled from the cold box. There was no water anywhere!
    The Bath room , Shep recalled. He always heard water rushing in the Bath room, and it was where he was given his Baths, which involved a lot of water. Shep scrambled down the hall. The stones of the Bath room’s floor felt cool on his paw pads. He sniffed the water in the white bowl. It smelled of chemicals and flowers — and was a strange blue color. He would not drink that water.
    Shep stood on his hind legs and licked the silver paw that stuck out of the tall white bowl; it was dry. So was the silver paw in the white tub where the boy gave him his Bath.
    Shep dragged himself back the entry door and whined. He knew there was no one around to hear him, but it made him feel better to call to his boy.
    My boy will return soon , Shep thought. He has to.

The patter of rain against the windows woke Shep. It was light out, probably near midsun, but clouds obscured the sun’s rays. The rain was falling harder now than it had been at dawn and Shep heard a growl of thunder in the distance. He scented the air under the entry door — no humans had passed as he slept.
    Shep stretched, first bending back, rump in the air, then forward, belly to the ground. When he looked again at the windows, there was a small brown girldog with a stunted black snout and bulging brown eyes hovering in the air Outside.
    Shep raced to the nearest window. He saw that she was in fact not floating, but rather stood on the rickety metal-grate balcony that stuck out from the side of the building.
    â€œThis is not your den,” he growled as a warning.
    The girldog glanced at him through the window. “What?” she said, her bark strained with fear. “It was the lizard! I didn’t mean to! Help!”
    Shep knew her bark — for moons, he’d heard her yapping on the other side of the wall at every Car, human, or bird that dared to pass the building. She was not trying to attack his den; the yapper must have somehow escaped her own den, and now was stuck on the balcony. Her paw pads pressed through the holes of the metal grate and she licked her toes, whimpering for them to stop hurting.
    â€œHow’d you get out there?” he asked, his bark soft and friendly.
    â€œMy human left her window open,” she cried, her thin legs trembling. “I saw a lizard on the grate, so I scratched my way through the screen to chase it.” She looked around, forlorn. “I was so hungry — am so hungry. The lizard skittered off just as I scratched my way through. Now my paws hurt, and I’m afraid of this grate.” She shivered, her short fur bristling.
    â€œI haven’t had a drink in a sun,” Shep whined.
    â€œThere’s water in my den,” she barked. “If you help me get off this grate, I’ll share my water with you.”
    Shep sniffed at the window. “I wish I could, but all my den’s windows are closed.”
    â€œSo break one,” the girldog squealed, sounding