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they knew that someone was removing their tags every day. That mademe think about the kid who had ended up in the hospital. I looked all around, but I didn’t see anyone.
    Also on the box that morning were numbers and letters around a neon pink cross. I recognized that writing too. The same person who had put a cross there that first time had put another one there. But I still didn’t get it. It wasn’t initials, like most of the tags I was removing. It wasn’t a piece, either. It was different. I copied it into my sketchbook, just in case. Then I sprayed it and was about to wipe it with a rag when something zipped past me, grazing the backs of my calves.
    I spun around.
    It was a dog, one of those little ones, a Jack Russell terrier. My mom calls them Jack Russell terrorists because of all the trouble they can cause when you leave them alone. A woman she works with left her Jack Russell puppy alone at home and when she came back at the end of the day, her sofa had been torn to pieces. Those dogs have a lot of energy, my mom said. If youdon’t tire them out, they’ll find some way to tire themselves out. Mostly they find destructive ways.
    This little Jack Russell was sure energetic.
    It raced past me, trailing a leash, and kept right on going.
    Someone yelled, “Buster, stop!”
    It was the girl. She was wearing a tank top and tan pants, and her gold-streaked hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was struggling to hold back the rest of her dogs. The German shepherd and the chocolate Lab were yanking their leashes in the same direction that the Jack Russell had gone. The Airedale was pulling in a different direction. A fourth dog, a pug, was sitting on its butt.
    â€œBuster, come back here!” the girl called. She glanced around, like she was looking for something to tie the dogs to. But there wasn’t anything.
    I dropped my spray bottle and my rag and took off after the Jack Russell. He was moving so fast that he was practicallya blur. But he was trailing that leash, and that worked to my advantage. I ran flat-out, and I dove for the plastic reel at the end of the leash.
    Got it.
    I held fast.
    The leash kept paying out. The Jack Russell darted around a corner.
    Then the leash went taut. I had a good grip on the handle, otherwise it would have been jerked out of my hands. I started pulling the leash in, like a fisherman reeling in his catch, until finally the Jack Russell darted back around the corner.
    By then the girl and the rest of her dogs had caught up to me.
    â€œBuster,” she scolded. “Get over here right now.”
    Buster looked at her with lively eyes. But after a moment, he trotted back to her.
    â€œGood boy,” she said, holding four leashes in one hand so that she could scratch Buster behind the ear.
    As soon as I put out my hand to give her Buster’s leash, the German shepherdgrowled at me. His ears stood straight up. He barked and lunged at me.
    â€œCody! Sit,” she said firmly. “Sorry,” she said to me. “He’s a good dog, but he’s a guard dog. He’s very protective. He listens to me, though. I helped to train him.” She took the leash I was holding. “Thanks,” she said in a breezy kind of way, like she wasn’t all that grateful. “If I’d had to run after Buster with the rest of these guys, I don’t know what would have happened.”
    â€œThat’s sure a lot of dog power,” I said. “You must really like dogs.”
    â€œBuster is the only one that’s mine,” she said. “And, really, he’s my brother’s. I’m looking after him for a while.”
    â€œSo, the rest of the dogs...”
    â€œI walk them. It’s my job.”
    I guess the surprise showed on my face, because then she said, “What’s the matter? You never heard of a dog walker?” Like I was a moron or something.
    â€œSure,” I said. “I just