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    Junkyard Dog
    Junkyard Dog
    Junkyard Dog
    Ebook72 pages59 minutes

    Junkyard Dog

    By Monique Polak

    4/5

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Justin is fascinated with the aged guard dog at the corner store. He names it Smokey and sneaks the dog treats. Smokey belongs to a company that supplies working dogs to local businesses. Justin is thrilled to get a job working for Smokey's company, until he learns about the mistreatment of the animals. When Justin can't shake his suspicion that someone in the company is involved in a rash of thefts, he tries to quit. But Justin knows too much, and his boss won't let him go.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrca Book Publishers
    Release dateOct 1, 2009
    ISBN9781554693771
    Junkyard Dog
    Author

    Monique Polak

    Monique Polak is the author of more than thirty books for young people. She is the three-time winner of the Quebec Writers' Federation Prize for Children's and YA Literature for her novels Hate Mail, What World is Left and Room for One More. In addition to teaching at Marianopolis College in Montreal, Monique is a freelance journalist whose work has appeared in Maclean's Magazine, the Montreal Gazette and other Postmedia newspapers. She is also a columnist on ICI Radio-Canada's Plus on est de fous, plus on lit! In 2016, Monique was the CBC/Quebec Writers' Federation inaugural writer-in-residence. Monique lives in Montreal.

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    • 4/5
      Justin has a soft spot for dogs. When he lands a job with some shady characters who rent security dogs, he is forced to make a very grown up decision. A quick read, lots of action and a good plot.

    Book preview

    Junkyard Dog - Monique Polak

    Junkyard Dog

    Monique Polak

    orca currents

    ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

    Copyright © 2009 Monique Polak

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced

    or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

    including photocopying, recording or by any information storage

    and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without

    permission in writing from the publisher.

    Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

    Polak, Monique

    Junkyard dog / written by Monique Polak.

    (Orca currents)

    ISBN 978-1-55469-156-2 (bound).--ISBN 978-1-55469-155-5 (pbk.)

    I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents

    PS8631.O43J85 2009 jC813’.6 C2009-902828-X

    Summary: At his new job taking care of guard dogs, Justin discovers that

    the working dogs are being mistreated.

    First published in the United States, 2009

    Library of Congress Control Number: 2009928217

    Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing

    programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada

    through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the

    Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia

    through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

    Cover design by Teresa Bubela

    Cover photography by Getty Images

    Author photo by Elena Clamen

    Orca Book Publishers

    PO Box 5626, Station B

    Victoria, BC Canada

    V8R 6S4

    Orca Book Publishers

    PO Box 468

    Custer, WA USA

    98240-0468

    www.orcabook.com

    Printed and bound in Canada.

    Printed on 100% PCW recycled paper.

    12 11 10 09 • 4 3 2 1

    For Stephen Lighter,

    irresistible mischief-maker.

    Contents

    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    Chapter Four

    Chapter Five

    Chapter Six

    Chapter Seven

    Chapter Eight

    Chapter Nine

    Chapter Ten

    Chapter Eleven

    Chapter Twelve

    Chapter Thirteen

    Chapter Fourteen

    Chapter Fifteen

    Chapter Sixteen

    Acknowledgments

    chapter one

    Everyone else just calls him Dog. I call him Smokey. Not out loud, of course. Customers aren’t supposed to talk to him. He’s a German shepherd. He’s mostly black with some tan. His muzzle is the color of smoke. There are matted clumps on his back coat. He looks like he needs a good brushing.

    The sales clerk doesn’t bother saying hi or what can I get you? His name is Pete. It says so in curly letters on his shirt pocket. Pete knows I never buy the stuff other people come in here for—soft drinks, cigarettes, a dozen eggs. I don’t shop in convenience stores. There’s no way I’d spend two bucks on a carton of milk. I only come in to drop off empties.

    And to see Smokey.

    I have a shopping cart, the kind old people use for groceries. I found it on the curb by our apartment. One wheel wobbles, so the cart lists a little to the right, but it’s still good for hauling empties. Today, my cart is loaded with plastic bags, each one overflowing with empties.

    Pete leans over the counter to grab the bags. From the way he uses only his fingertips, you’d think he was afraid of catching cooties. That bothers me. I may not be dressed fancy, in a blue blazer like the prep-school boys, but I don’t have cooties. Of course, I don’t say anything. I need Pete.

    The beer bottles make a clinking noise. There are sixty-six of them and two dozen plastic soft-drink bottles in all. Monday is recycling day, and you’d be surprised how many people put refundable bottles in their blue boxes. It helps, too, that people party on the weekend. Ten of those beer bottles are Dad’s. And that was just Friday night.

    One, two… Pete always counts the bottles, even when I tell him how many there are. I figure he’d trust me by now, but he doesn’t. I fiddle with my baseball cap, pulling it down so it covers more of my forehead.

    Pete scoops up the last bag and heads for the metal basket where they keep empties. That’s when I make my move.

    First I take a quick look around to make sure no one’s watching.

    No one is.

    I have to be quick. Pete will only be busy for a couple of minutes.

    I reach into the front pocket of my jeans. I wrapped the chunk of hamburger in plastic. I found the meat where I collect bottles in our apartment building—the garbage room downstairs, next to the garage.

    I knew as soon as I smelled it that the meat was still good. I thought about Smokey straightaway. All he eats is kibble. There’s an economy-size bag of it behind the counter.

    Smokey is lying on the floor underneath the cash register. His head is resting between his front legs, but I feel his sad brown eyes watching me. He is trying to decide if I mean trouble.

    When I come closer, the hair on his neck stands up, and a low warning growl comes from deep in his chest. His lips curl, and I can see his teeth. They’re old and yellow, and his gums look

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