"Thomas A. Easton - Down on the Truck Farm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

“How do you ever housebreak them?” asked Dad.

“We don't. They're too big to come in the house, and outdoors there's usually a litterbug around.”

Jimmy was paying no attention to the pragmatic conversation behind him. Nor was he thinking of
honeysuckle wine, or of lost friends. He was stepping through the gate into the midst of the puppy throng,
staring, reaching, petting, finding that their coats were much rougher than he had expected, but.... They
were white, black, brown, spotted, cute and ugly, large and larger. He focused on one that reminded him
of a dog he had once seen in an old, old movie: it was a dark brindle, with a single white circle around
one eye. “You're Tige,” he said, and he faced it, eye to barrel-sized eye, nose to wind-tunnel nose, and
held out a hand for it to sniff.

Tije's mouth opened, and the immense tongue soaked the boy from foot to head.

Jimmy's fate was sealed.

****
“Yes,” said Nickers later. “I'm a recruiter. And the pups are my best tool.” They were in a small room in
the farm's office building. The soft lighting was focused on Nickers’ polished desk, though Nickers sat on
a low couch against the wall. Jimmy and his Dad faced him from comfortable armchairs across a coffee
table bearing a single pristine sheaf of papers. All three once more had cups of coffee in their hands. “We
put the word out, and parents bring kids who don't know what to do with their lives. We give ‘em the
four-bit tour, and then we let the pups do their best. Which is pretty good.”

Jimmy was wearing a Daisy Hill Truck Farm coverall. His own clothes were tumbling in a dryer
somewhere on the premises. Now he said, “So what'll it cost me to get Tige?”

“Not a nickle,” said Nickers. He grinned and slapped one knee with a hand. “We don't sell the pups.”

Jimmy's face fell.

“I don't recruit customers,” he added. “But truckers. If you wish, you move into the dorm upstairs over
the puppy barn, and we train you while the pup-Tige-grows up. You work around the farm-you met Julie
and Dan-and help train Tige. Then you work for us as a trucker. Driving Tige. And in ten years, Tige is
all yours.”

Jimmy was silent, thinking that the deal sounded reasonable enough. He reached for the papers on the
coffee table. The top one was a contract. The others were informational, telling him the rules of the
establishment, what he should bring with him, where the nearest shopping areas and public transportation
stops were.

“One thing,” said Nickers. “Your father's told me about the honey.” He shook his head. “We tolerate
none of that here. No drugs of any kind.”

Somehow, Jimmy was not surprised. It fitted what he had thought about why his Dad had brought him
here, and what he had seen-or failed to see-on the grounds. But the thought no longer bothered him. Tige
had already begun to fill the void in his heart. He reached for the contract.

Nickers stopped him. “Not so fast. Take it with you, and think it over. For now....” He rose and opened