McCall Hoyle - Stella

Cover illustration: Kevin Keele

Back cover illustration: Rustic/Shutterstock

Book design Shadow Mountain

Art direction: Richard Erickson

Design: Emily Remington

Illustrations 2021 Kevin Keele

2021 McCall Hoyle

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain, at permissions@shadowmountain.com. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain.

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This is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this book are products of the authors imagination or are represented fictitiously.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Hoyle, McCall, author.

Title: Stella / McCall Hoyle.

Description: Salt Lake City : Shadow Mountain, [2021] | Includes references. | Audience: Ages 811. | Audience: Grades 46. | Summary: Stella used to be a bomb-sniffing dog, but after a terrible accident, she goes to live on a small family farm to recover from her fear of loud noises.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020035290 | ISBN 9781629729015 (hardback) | eISBN 978-1-62973-992-2 (eBook)

Subjects: LCSH: DogsJuvenile fiction. | CYAC: DogsFiction. | Post-traumatic stress disorderFiction. | Human-animal relationshipsFiction. | Farm lifeFiction. | LCGFT: Fiction.

Classification: LCC PZ10.3.H837 St 2021 | DDC [Fic]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020035290

Printed in the United States of America10/2020

Lake Book Manufacturing, Inc., Melrose Park, IL

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Connie
mother-in-law, friend,
and caretaker of all the
beagles in heaven

You must do the thing
you think you cannot do.

Eleanor Roosevelt

Contents

Chapter One

M y nose wakes up before the rest of me. A whole world of smells outside the open window of the house begs to be exploredwet grass, dead worms, and my absolute favorite: rabbits. My back leg quivers at the thought of chasing one of the brown balls of fluff. Pressing my nose against the thin metal bars of my crate, I inhale every detail of the morning.

My name is Stella.

Im a beagle, and I was born to sniff.

And thats what I do.

Sniff. Sniff. And sniff.

The rabbits in the field out back smell almost as lovely as the cheese and crackers my new human left out on the counter all night. My nose twitches. It will rain today, and a skunk braved the back porch last night in search of food. Theres so much to explore. Its impossible to be still.

My new human, Diana, sleeps until long after the sun has risen high, drying the sparkly dew from the grass. She breathes softly in the room down the hall, but my paws itch to be out on the trail with my old human.

A whimper catches in my throat when I think of Connie. She and I worked together at the airport. I used to love the airport and all the friendly people with all their interesting scents. Now, when I think about it, the hair on my back bristles. The last time Connie and I were there, bad, bad smells soaked the place. Chemical smellschemicals that singed my eyes, burned my nose, and hurt Connie. A blaring ambulance took her far, far away. And she would never leave me if she could help it.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, but I tell myself to be still. Be good. Dont worry. Its just a storm. Connie said I was a good dog.

Good girl, Stella. Youre a good girl. Thats what she said every day. Then shed rub my ears or scratch me under the chin.

I miss her so much, it makes my stomach hurt sometimes, like when I was a pup and got into the trash and ate all the human foodthe greasy chicken, the crumbled biscuits, and best of all, gravy! I whine when I think of Connie. Unable to stop myself, I jiggle the crate with my paw.

My new human, Diana, doesnt like whining, and she doesnt like gravy. Diana eats lots and lots of plants. And now, shes rolling over in the bed in the next room.

Hush, Stella! Its too early, she scolds. Her smell paints every bit of the tiny house. When she kicks the sheets and blankets, she sends out a fresh wave of smells: the plants she made into juice before bed, and soap, and the unique tang of earth and light sweat that make her Diana, my new human.

Resting my head on my paws, I try to be quiet. But the wind picks up, and the room darkens despite the rising sun. My whiskers twitch and tingle, alert to the threat of lightningalert to anything resembling an explosion, like the one at the airport. Lifting one ear, then the other, I listen for danger. My jaws click. Diana wont like it, but I lift my paw and rattle my crate again. I would be safer under the couch and less likely to howl, or dig, or get into trouble. Instead, Im trapped in this useless crate.

At Connies, I had a soft bed instead of a crate, with sheets that smelled like her.

Stella, no!

I move to the back of the cage, willing myself to be a good dog. But the pads of my paws moisten. Lightning flashes in the distance. I turn in tight circles, trying to calm myself. I miss the blankets in my bed at Connies. I was brave with Connie, but even brave dogs need to burrow in cozy blanket nests when thunder shakes the house or when angry voices hang in the air.

The crate at Dianas has nothing but a slick foam pad on the bottom. I lie down on it for a few seconds but cant stay down. My paws need to move, to dig out a safe den under the porch or scratch out a cool spot under the bed. With nowhere to hide, my throat and sides tighten. My temperature rises. My mouth opens. Then the panting starts. I pause to give the gate another rattle.

Diana doesnt move. I circle three more times, but I cant control myself. Panic strikes. And when it strikes, it strikes. Instinct grips me, and I pant and dig. Pant and dig. My heart races. My paws work on their own. In no time, Ive dug through the slippery foam down to the hard surface underneath.

The chilly floor of the crate cools the warm pads of my feet. I tear into a chunk of the pad with my teeth, shaking it back and forth vigorously. Lakes of white foam fall like snow onto the floor around the crate. As I dig, shred, and shake, the room brightens a little. The sun peeks through the clouds. The fist of fear gripping my chest relaxes. It seems the storm changed its mind, or the wind changed its direction. Sighing, I exhale and nose the hunks and shreds of foam into something resembling a nest, circle one more time, then curl up in the back of the crate and wait.

I ripped the pad, which wasnt good, but I was mostly quiet and let my human sleep. Im a good dog. Connie said so, and I could trust Connie. She was my best friend. Until the bad men with the bad-smelling chemicals at the airport took her away from me.

Lying very, very still in my nest of foam, I wait for Diana to release me. If she doesnt come soon, I will need to squat and relieve myself. And I know how humans feel about dogs squatting, and its not good. Even Connie didnt like it when I was a pup and squatted on the carpet. Humans love their carpet and like to keep it clean.

The bed in the next room squeaks. My ears lift. The tip of my nose wiggles. Dianas scent cloud moves on the air. I smell her movement before her feet hit the floor, long before she rounds the corner to my spot in the hall.

I stand, wagging my tail. Maybe since she slept the best part of the day awaythe early part where the smells are all fresh and held close to the ground by the moisture in the airshe might take me for a walk.