LETTY POUNCES ON me the instant I step into homeroom. “Izzy,” she cries. “I need a favor.”

Alarms go off in my head. Letty’s my best friend. If she’s in trouble, I won’t hesitate to lend a hand. However, “favors” for her always end up turning into more. Like the time I agreed to help babysit “a few kids” during her church’s blood drive, and we got swarmed by twenty toddlers. Or when we took her elderly neighbor’s broken TV out for trash pickup and wound up staying two hours extra teaching old Mr. Habib how to use his smartphone.

It’s not that I mind doing more. I just prefer knowing exactly what I’m getting into. So I say, “What kind of favor?”

“Crestview Shelter’s got too many animals,” she explains. “They asked our shelter to take the overflow.”

“So you need help preparing for them?” Volunteering at the shelter doesn’t sound bad.

“Not exactly . . . I was hoping you could foster them at the stable for a little while, until we can find another shelter space.”