BLAINE

Blaine Anderson was on the bus in downtown Columbus. This morning his dad dropped him at the suburban stop near their home, leaving last minute instructions to keep his hand on the grip of the briefcase and his eyes on it at all times. Blaine smiled back, knowing he could do this for his parents. He basked in the thought that he could please his folks with this simple task.

As he rode in the bus, Blaine watched the seats fill up as they approached the center of town. As all of the seats were filled, an older woman boarded the bus, her arms filled with grocery sacks, a bag of knitting, and a large purse. She stood unsteadily, stretching almost to her tip-toes to reach the strap to hold on.

Blaine, being a gentleman, took the briefcase from his lap and held it tightly in his left hand as he helped to settle the woman in his former seat. The look of relief on her face along with her heartfelt thanks were reward enough for the young man.

Blaine's mind was still reeling from last night. He took his dad's words to heart and was trying to figure out which one of his activities to cut so he could get a job. He frowned, his brows knitted together as the gave each of his extracurricular activities some thought.

The bus got more crowded as it reached the edge of the business district and Blaine was forced to set the briefcase on the floor between his feet. He gripped it tightly between his ankles as the elbow room on the bus got so close he could hear the man behind him breathing and smell the pancakes the young woman standing beside him had for breakfast. It was uncomfortable. As he stood swaying in the aisle, Blaine continued to weigh whether giving up the Warblers or giving up Lacrosse would be more detrimental to his applications to Ivy League schools. He thought of giving up Latin, but that took place during the school day, so that wasn't even a consideration.

At last, he was at his stop – the one near the Columbus bank where he could deposit the cash and then walk to the bus station and get the bus to school in Westerville. He could be at Dalton in time for his American History class. He sighed in relief. Crowded buses were not in his comfort zone. After pulling the wire for the bus to stop, he manipulated the brief case to the edge of the door with his feet and waited. Stepping down, he reached back to get a hefty grip on the case - it was quite heavy with the amount of cash inside - and lifted it down. The doors snapped closed and the bus was down the street before Blaine could pick up the brief case to take to the bank.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The case was not as heavy as it had seemed this morning. Looking down, Blaine realized that this brief case was not the rich reddish brown of his father's. It didn't have a brass plate with the Anderson monogram. No, this briefcase was scuffed up, dirty leather of a lighter color. It had no brass plate and the latch was flimsy. Lifting it up, Blaine realized his feet had been guarding something worth so much less than what he'd been trusted to care for. He fell to the knees on the pavement, his head in his hands.

It was just a few moments before Blaine opened the case in front of him. It was old and not well cared for, but that didn't matter. Maybe Blaine could find out who it belonged to? He could call them and get his brief case back.

Sitting on a bench in front of the bank, Blaine opened the case to find that it was almost empty: just a few torn shirts, some squashed aluminum cans, and a pair of worn-out shoes. Nothing had any identifying marks on it. Obviously the person who owned it had seen how nice Blaine's case was, how heavy it was, and realized he could exchange them in the chaos of the morning rush on the bus.

Blaine's heart dropped to the ground. His father had trusted him.

And he let his parents down.

Maybe all the things that his dad said were true. Blaine was just a drain on his family, not to be trusted with the simplest task. He'd have to make this up to the Foundation to save face for his mother and father.

It was in a flurry of panic that Blaine decided to get out of Columbus until he could fix this. He didn't want to see the disappointment in the eyes of his parents. That would kill him.

He walked to the station to take the next bus out of town. Not to Westerville, where Dalton was, but to wherever he could go first and farthest. He looked up at the board to see where the next departing bus was headed. Lima. He'd never been to Lima, but it sounded far enough away from his problem. He had to put space between himself and the failure he felt over fucking up the only real task his father had ever trusted him with. He would need to feed himself and save $7500. He had a little under $600 in his bank account now and that was not near enough. He had his work cut out for him.

KURT

“I have to work at the Dog Pound?” Kurt asked, sitting once again in the principal's office. “Are you sure you don't mean Teddy's Rescue on Cranberry Lane, do you?” Kurt was hopeful. He had been to the bright and pretty rescue over in Findlay with Brittney.

“No, Kurt Hummel. The Dog Pound. The one at the edge of town, across the tracks, on Jason Street. This is not a fun thing, no walking cute doggies in the park. No. You will be cleaning cages and processing police reports. This is not where people come to give away their cute cocker spaniel puppy that became inconvenient when it chewed the carpet. No. This is like dog jail. The dog catcher brings the strays he finds at the city dump there. This is punishment, Kurt, not Club Med,” the principal told him. “I expect you to report there after school today.”

~

Kurt showed up at the old facility, smelling it before he could see it. It was near the river outside the town limits because back in the day dogs were drown in large cages lowered into that river. Of course that was no longer the case. Now they were dispatched with a lethal injection and their bodies burned at the animal crematorium near the dump. Kurt learned that one of his duties would be to drive the truck of dead animals to the animal crematorium at the end of each week. This punishment was going to break his heart.

It was hard enough the first day. He didn't mind that he was the only person younger than forty in the whole place. He didn't mind that all of the employees were grumpy and non-communicative. What he did mind, what he hated, was to see the animals looking so dejected and filthy. He chirped at the first dog he came to, ready to move it into another pen so he could clean it's cage. The dog growled and Kurt closed the door quickly, looking at the man he was following to learn the job.

“If they growl, just turn on the water and chase them through. This button will close the gate behind them. You never have to touch them,” the man said, aiming the hose at the frightened dog to make it run into the pen. He hit the button that lowered the gate with a crash and the dog tried to bite the gate in his fright.

The man then handed the hose to Kurt to try and clean the floor of dog mess. This dog had been sick and it took a while to get it all off the floor before he was able to turn off the water and let the dog back in before moving to the next cage.

Some of the dogs were nice, some obviously sick – those were referred to the veterinarian that came once a week – and some were shy or frightened. Most were mutts and mongrels. The only purebred dogs Kurt ever saw were pit bull terriers, Labradors, or border collie for some reason. He was told by another employee that there were just too many Labradors and not enough homes. The border collies were cute puppies, very smart, but needed to have a large place to run and something to occupy their minds – or they got aggressive. He said you saw the occasional husky because they chased cats. Otherwise it was mixed breed dogs, large and small, that waited out their time and were often put down because nobody cared.

Kurt went to his community service every week, three times a week, and slowly made a few friends. His compassion for the poor animals was met with stoic acceptance from his co-workers who had felt just like he did when they first came to the pound. They were not happy in their jobs but felt they had nowhere else to turn.

Kurt made friends with some of the dogs – bringing treats in his pocket for some who had been there the longest. The worst thing was when he came on Monday and found some of his favorites were gone. At first he would hurry to the record book to see if someone had come to adopt a dog or to claim a lost one at the last minute. Too often he found that the dog had lived out his time and was in a “better place”.

It wasn't long before Kurt didn't ask anymore about the dogs that were gone. He preferred to think they all got forever homes, but he was the one who drove the truck to the crematorium and although he never, ever looked, he knew how long it took to empty the truck. He waited for the worker to rinse out the truck and Kurt drove it back to the Dog Pound.

He often thought about why he was here. He did not lie to his dad...he had nothing to do with Karofsky's gambling business. No, he had been kissed by Dave in the locker room and then threatened. He was terrified. It got worse every day with the locker collisions, the football guys tripping him, the name calling, and the slushee facials.

Kurt had finally had enough and waited for Dave one day after school. As Karofsky walked down the hallway, Kurt waited with some pamphlets. He was going to hand them to Dave and walk away, hoping they might help. Just as he was about to hand them to the boy as he walked by, Kurt spotted some students coming their direction. He quickly wrapped a ten dollar bill around the rolled pamphlets to hide what they really were, knowing Karofsky had been collecting bets all day for the basketball game. He handed the money to Dave and slipped out the side doors to the parking lot. Mission accomplished.

Kurt expected that to be the end of it. He hoped that Dave would learn what he needed to or use the links to websites to find out more. They had been very helpful to Kurt.

However, that was not the end of it...one of the students had seen Kurt hand the “money” to Dave and reported it to the principal, which is why Kurt had been cooling his heels in the office until his dad came. He just could not tell anyone – even his dad – about Dave Karofsky. He. Did. Not. Out. Anyone.

So, his hare-brained scheme to get Dave off his back had gone terribly awry and he would be serving his time at the worst dog pound in the state of Ohio until the end of the year. Maybe it would look good on his resume.

On the other side of the coin, Dave himself quit harassing Kurt. It didn't stop immediately, it just slowed down over the weeks until it ground to a stop - coinciding with the start of football practice beefing up. Kurt had thought it was a coincidence until one day he was walking down the hall and Dave gave him a small nod. It wasn't much, but it was very obvious. He gave Dave a small smile back and that was the end of it.

Kurt tried to convince himself that serving community service at the Dog Pound was worth not getting bullied by Karofsky.

BLAINE

Blaine walked through Lima, looking at the parks and buildings of the downtown business district. It was very small compared to Columbus, but generally the same as Westerville. He sat down in the park, getting out his wallet to see what he had to work with. He'd left his credit card at home. He didn't use it much, especially not at school, so he didn't carry it with him. He had almost $70 in his wallet – enough to get a hotel room for one night. Not a very good way to conserve his money until he could get a job.

Maybe he should start there.

After several hours of trying to find anyone hiring, Blaine was exhausted. He had gone to a small store and purchased some soda crackers and cheese along with an apple. It made a nice lunch – hunger being the perfect appetizer. It was getting on towards night. The wind coming off the river from the north was chilly and Blaine walked down under a bridge he'd seen, and huddled above the damp soil close to the river. He knew he needed to stay dry if he was going to avoid getting sick.

He was wearing his dark blue suit jacket, not the Dalton blazer, with his gray uniform slacks and a white shirt. His new Hermes Napoli blue calfskin suede shoes that his mother got him as a present were not going to last if he got them wet. Tomorrow he would stop by a discount store to get some cheap boat shoes or maybe boots. The weather was beginning to change, and not for the better.

Morning came early, no sleeping in for Blaine as he tried to stand up. He had slept fitfully all night, sitting up with his arms around his legs. He was terrified he would be killed for his shoes – he'd heard of that. The best thing would be to write his parents a letter, let them know he was working to fix his mistake and he would be home as soon as he had the money.

He went to the second hand/thrift store and got a good, heavy pair of work boots, a few shirts and pairs of jeans, some socks, and a heavy winter coat – very out of fashion but he wasn't looking for that right now. He spent less than $25. Then he went back to the bus station and rented a locker in which he put his Hermes shoes, his linen shirt, the uniform trousers, and his blue suit jacket. It wasn't like he was going to be applying at a bank for a job.

After applying at numerous places: a landscaping business, restaurants, gas stations, grocery stores, and a dog day care, he walked back to the little store where he talked to the old man that owned it. It was what Blaine had always called a 'Mom and Pop Store', but he wasn't sure if that was an insult, so he didn't say it. He asked if the man was hiring, but he wasn't. He was, however, willing to sell Blaine some day-old bread and some overripe fruit along with another small wedge of cheese. It was enough and it didn't cost much.

On his way to the bridge to try and get some sleep, Blaine spotted a large box in an alley. It was a box that had once held a washing machine and Blaine thought that he could pull it down to his spot under the bridge and be out of the wind tonight.

That turned out to be a good idea. He was self-conscious at being seen pulling the box along, but nobody disturbed him. He got it under the bridge with a bit of trouble and then climbed inside and closed the box – leaving one flap open for air.

What Blaine noticed the most was the smell of the dead leaves that covered everything. They were all over the grass in the park, blew down streets whenever a breeze came up. It was a warning that winter was on its way and Blaine shivered just thinking about it. How long would it take to earn $7000?

It was quite surprising how warm it was with no wind hitting him. Tomorrow maybe he could find something to make it softer to lay down. In the mean time, he was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. He laid down and thought about his mom and dad and how much he missed them.

“Mom, Dad...I love you so much. I want you to be proud of me once again some day and I will do everything in my power to show you that I deserve to be your son and you will love me again,” he said, his eyes getting hot and scratchy as he tried to keep from crying. He fell asleep thinking of that day.

~

It was early. The sun wasn't even up, Blaine thought as he opened his eyes for just a brief peek around him. He was so tired, he went back to sleep and was almost gone when he felt a movement in the box. He opened his eyes to see a rat climbing along the edge of the box, his whiskers wiggling as he sniffed. Blaine lay still, thinking the rat would just go away. He was wrong. The rat had found one of Blaine's crackers and was chewing on it industriously as he surveyed his surroundings.

Blaine froze, having never seen a rat outside the barn at the polo field. He wasn't sure what to do when he remembered one of the stable hands had banged on a big tub to scare the rat away. He looked around, finding nothing to bang on but the washer box he was laying in. He hit the side, making the most noise that he could, yelling and slapping the cardboard. The rat fled.

“I guess I will have to find something to keep my stuff in...a glass container, maybe,” he said to himself. He thought of checking behind some of the restaurants where he had applied today, he thought he might find some pickle jars or something to keep his crackers and cheese in.

He was almost back asleep when he heard the rat again. Opening his eyes but not moving, Blaine saw the rat come back to sniff closer to him. Last night, Blaine had placed the leftover cheese in a piece of greasy paper he had found and put it in his pocket for this morning. He thought the rat was headed towards this and really didn't want a rat bite. Dying of rabies or plague was not how he wanted it all to end.

Just as he was crouching, ready to spring up and run, the flaps on the box opened and he was bowled over by a large dog of indeterminate color. It leaped into the box and filled the remaining space with his heavy fur and scrabbling feet. Then came a scruffy terrier of even dirtier color with darker soiled parts and a cute nose and shiny eyes. He (or she?) had no eyes for Blaine, however. It wanted that rat and chased the frightened critter out of the box. Blaine fell forward, sticking his head out the front flaps just in time to see the dog catch the rat by the back of its neck – followed by a 'snap' as it broke the rodent's neck.

He had never seen such bravery, such courage in a creature so very small. The bigger dog followed its companion out and began to walk away, the smaller dog falling into step. Blaine panicked, not wanting his saviors to leave.

“Come back...please come back!” he called but got no response. He had decided to get up and follow him when he started to whistle a tune. Blaine loved music and always hummed or whistled when he was thinking.

He saw the scrappy terrier as another dog – some kind of hound – try to take the rat from him, but the terrier won the tug-of-war when the hound's owner took his dog away.

Blaine stood just outside his box-home and watched as the two dogs gave him one last look and trotted down the edge of the river, off on their own adventures.