I was doing homework with my friend Ollie at his home when he randomly started scribbling (乱画) a fish. But not just any fish. This fish was riding a skateboard and blowing a bubble that said “I’d rather be skating!”I laughed and drew a sea star saying “Quit fooling around and get to work!”

Just then, Ollie’s grandma Abuela and her friend Mr. Goldberg came into the kitchen. Mr. Goldberg was in charge of the local animal shelter. Abuela poured their tea and inquired about how things were going at the animal shelter. Mr. Goldberg sighed, shaking his head. He explained that not enough people were adopting pets, resulting in too many animals without homes.

Overhearing the conversation, Ollie offered to adopt some excitedly. But Abuela said that one noisy parrot was plenty for this house.

“Blue isn’t noisy,” defended Ollie. “He’s just musical.”

“I’d have a whole farm full of animals if I could,” I said. “But my parents say two cats and a hamster (仓鼠) are enough.”

Mr. Goldberg said he kept trying to attract people to adopt animals, but found it hard to get people’s attention these days. Ollie drew a sad whale, and I wrote the words “Please adopt me” in the shape of a whale spout (喷水). Mr. Goldberg took a look at our drawings and made favorable comments on them, saying that these clever talking animals just might grab people’s attention. And he asked us if we were willing to design a poster for his animal shelter, a proposal we happily accepted. We decided to draw some ideas on our own and meet up again the next afternoon.

That night, when I was sitting in the living room brainstorming ideas for the poster, my little brother brought in our hamster, Mr. Nibbles, to give him a little run-around time. He made a hamster playground out of couch pillows and Mr. Nibbles began to run around merrily.

Suddenly, an idea formed in my mind.

We decided to make both Mr. Nibbles and Blue the stars of the poster.

Whenever I spread marmalade (橘子酱), I am reminded of my mother, a five-foot-tall angel who even befriended a skunk (臭鼬).

One day, while she was busy picking beans in the backyard, she came across a skunk no more than a meter away. The skunk’s embarrassment was evident as he had undoubtedly been rummaging (乱翻) through the garbage. He still had a marmalade jar stuck on his nose. Mom took pity on him. Instead of worrying the creature would spray something smelly all over her and the beans, she smiled compassionately at the little thing and extended a helping hand. Kneeling on the ground, she inched across the grass, reached out, and twisted the jar—very carefully.

The jar slipped off. The skunk nodded a thank-you before slipping away into the woods at the back of the garden. Obviously, there was no spraying incident, thanks to my remarkable mother. She repeated this tale numerous times, always calling the skunk Marmalade. However, that was not the end of the story. Three summers later, when I was about twelve, another encounter occurred.

It was a rainy morning, and both my mother and father had gone to work. My friend Rob came over to play, and we decided to run the electric train in my room. Suddenly, a scratching sound emerged from the attic (阁楼). Rob assumed that it might be some kind of animal. Curiosity got the better of us, and we ventured towards the source of the sound.

I cautiously opened the attic door in the hall. The noise ceased abruptly. I climbed up the stairs, Rob following my lead. There behind the toy box near the chimney stood the animal—black with a distinct white stripe down his back. Was he scared and trembling? I believe so, at least that’s what I remember. Instinctively, I retreated, fearing the potential spray or bites from the creature. “Hey, Rob,” I whispered urgently, “It’s a skunk. Let’s go to the kitchen and figure out a way to get him out of here.”

In the cupboard, several paper cups and a jar of marmalade caught our sight.

Rob and I followed the skunk as he ate his way down the stairs.

There once was a stray dog (流浪狗) named Rufus who was the most amazing dog on Kumquat Street. He could hear a ladybug blowing its nose. He could see a pill bug eating a black licorice candy at midnight. Rufus could even smell a caterpillar that hadn’t washed its feet.

You would think that Rufus, being so amazing, was also happy. But he wasn’t. You see, there was one thing that kept Rufus from being adopted by his favorite human. And that was ...Rufus barked backward. Here’s what he sounded like: “Wob-wow! Wob-wow! Fra-fra-fra! Krab-krab!”

Rufus could stand being laughed at by every squirrel and cat in the neighborhood. What he couldn't stand was that his bark kept him from living with Janie Johnson.

Janie never laughed at Rufus when he barked. More than anything else, Rufus wanted to be her pet. He wanted to play catch in her yard every day and sleep at the foot of her bed each night.

But Janie’s father, Mr. Johnson, wouldn’t hear of it. “What? A dog that barks backward? Wed be the laughingstocks of Kumquat Street! we Johnsons didn't get where we are today by adopting dogs that bark backward. No, Janie. It’s out of the question.”

“I’m sorry,” Janie told Rufus one morning as they sat on her front porch. “I keep telling Daddy how great you are. He just won’t listen.”

“Krab-krab!” said Rufus.

“Yes, sometimes he is bad-tempered,” said Janie “I’ll keep trying, though. Don’t worry.”

But Rufus did worry. That evening he talked it over with his friend Bill Bulldog. “I don’t think Mr Johnson will ever like me,” Rufus said. “As long as I bark backward, he’ll never let me live in his home.”

“Have you tried treatment?” asked Bill.

Rufus said, “I’ve tried everything. Nothing helps. It’s just the way I bark.”

“You’re a great dog Roof. Anyone can see that,” said Bill. “It just takes some humans longer to figure it out, that’s all. Hey, want to go with me to Succotash Street? I’ve heard that their garbage is fantastic.”

Rufus yawned. “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll take a nap.”

When Rufus woke up, it was late afternoon. As he was lying there, his sharp ears heard Mr. Johnson saying, “It’s almost suppertime. ls Janie still roller-skating? We Johnsons didn’t get where we are today by being late for supper.”

Rufus ran down Kumquat Street to look for Janie.

At the sight of Janie and Rufus, Mr. Johnson ran up.

My story started one autumn morning, at the bend on a path.

I was 13 years old, and was on the way to school. It was the first time I had caught sight of a fox. Fascinated to the point that I forgot all fear, I dared to go up to it. I had never come so close to a wild animal. There was nobody else around, only me and the fox.

“Hey, fox!” I tried to greet it, though my voice was so weak that it felt like I was saying hello to myself. It didn’t hear me. It stayed there and I watched it. My heart was beating flat out. It was so cute. For a moment, I thought I might be able to touch it.

Throughout the day at school, I could only think of the fox at the big beech (山毛榉) tree. At my return to the place where we met, I was sure I’d find it there.

And I did. This time I gathered a little bit more courage and called out to it, “Fox!” Of course it escaped. But that only made me long to meet it again. I decided that if I could find its kennel (洞) and catch it, I would try and tame (驯服) it, making it my friend.

Thus, I spent most of my free time in the forests trying to find the fox during the following months. But I never saw it again before winter came. During the winter, I followed its footprints far across the fields. Suddenly I was alarmed by the howling of wolves near me. I ran away frightened, stumbled and hurt my ankle. It healed very slowly, so that I had to stay at home during the winter, reading a book about animals of the forest and foxes.

When spring arrived, I was free again. I looked for fox kennels and waited for my fox. To my amazement, it had got young ones but kept moving because of my observations; therefore I decided to observe the fox from a longer distance.

Finally, it would let me get close.

To my surprise, the day after I took it home, it fled.

I’m Tia, a passionate teenage girl, living next door to the corner of 71st Street. It’s my corner. Most folks find there’s nothing there, just an empty lot. But to me, it’s like a wide-open treasure box. Stepping into it, I feel like leaping into a sea of green. The tall grass, probably just weeds, with butterflies gathering around, smells clean and fresh, and I wonder why I’m the only one who’s thankful for this place.

One evening, Mama said, “Tia, the city wants to turn that comer of yours into a parking lot.” I stopped in my tracks. “No! They can’t do that!”

“Tia, you have to make them see what you see. Make some noise about it. No one ever got any place by sitting back and staying quiet.” That night, I lay awake thinking for a long time. “I’ve got to do something.”

Early the next morning I dragged a chair down to the corner with a big cardboard on which I’d painted “No Parking Lot! Save Our Nature” in large letters. I sat down and waited. Most people passed by, paying no attention to me. My friend Tanya asked me what I was doing, and I told her. Then came Mrs. DiRisio, a beauty shop owner, who angrily waved her hand at my sign, saying. “My customers need a place to park. You go home, little girl.” But I didn’t move. Then I noticed a woman down the street taking pictures of my corner. She walked over to me, smiling, “I’m Sara Bennett. Can I talk to you?” I nodded. I knew I needed to make some noise. I started talking, and Ms. Bennett scribbled on a notepad. “A walking path would be nice, maybe a vegetable garden. And a bench, so people could sit down and listen to the birds singing.” I was surprised at myself, at how many ideas I’d got for this corner.

The next morning, my brother burst into my room with a morning paper. “Fighting for Nature on the Corner of 71^st” was the title of the article, and along with it was a picture of me!

After breakfast my brother, Mama and I dragged our chairs and signs back to the corner.

Paragraph 1: To my amazement, I saw some familiar figures coming towards us.

Paragraph 2: A year later, the sign on the corner made it official.

I’m retired and not responsible for much these days. I don’t have school-age children who require help with their homework. I sleep in when I choose, do a little writing and repair a few things around the house. My wife’s work, on the other hand, is never-ending. Diana takes care of her parents in their mid-nineties, tends to home and garden, volunteers for various community organizations, and is a gold-star grandmother. She is also a dedicated cat lover, and cats have always been her pet of choice.

All that changed when two small black-and-brown dogs scampered into our yard and melted Diana’s heart. It happened not long ago. The dogs appeared unannounced and had been seen by hikers on numerous occasions, roaming the woods like tiny lost souls. They were homeless dogs, as wild as the wind. No one could get within 100 yards of them. In their struggle for survival, the two had figured out a way to avoid people and find food and shelter in the wilderness.

They were undeniably cute and appealing. Many of our neighbors tried to lure them in with treats, but the tiny dogs remained unapproachable. My wife began leaving tasty food out, slowly moving the food bowl closer with each feeding. As days passed, they ventured closer and closer. Diana made a conscious effort not to frighten them. She called them to dinner with a comforting voice, letting them know they were safe. It was important that they trusted her. Why? She was looking for something to mother. For Diana, love is the medicine to everything, and nothing tugged at her heartstrings more than a hungry and homeless animal.

Diana named them “Emma” and “Daisy” and she called the dogs her “little wolves.” Initially, they would not let her touch them. As days turned into weeks, their bond slowly grew. Soon, Diana was petting them. Next, they were eating from her hand. Before long, she had them sitting in her lap and following her around the yard. And poof! My wife was instantly transformed from cat lady to dog lady.

It wasn’t long before the dogs were sleeping in the house and assuming their role as “watchdogs”.

Time in the yard feels like a second childhood with Daisy and Emma playing about our feet.