Dead Man's Best Friend by Sarah Hines-Stephens

Author:Sarah Hines-Stephens
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2013-04-02T21:00:00+00:00

The Mom was going bonkers. Pulling everything out of the closets. Everything. She went from sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee to making piles all over the house. Clothes, books, toys, sports stuff, gadgets, and a mountain of old T-shirts and towels for Pet Rescue, to make the beds cozier. I wanted to bury myself in that heap of cotton. Hide from The Mom’s madness. But I knew she’d shoo me out of there in a heartbeat. There was no escape. Aw, woof.

I padded up the stairs and eyed The Cat, who snoozed on the windowsill. In the sun. Out of the way. It was totally unfair, how easy it was for cats to get out of the way. Much harder for a big German shepherd. With a disgruntled yawn and a stretch, I chose a corner by the stairs to curl up in. I’d just have to wait it out.

Lately I’d been doing a lot of waiting, which I hated. I especially hated waiting without napping. The Mom made a lot of noise while she worked. Talked to herself. Listened to the radio. And worse, ran the vacuum. I hated the vacuum. It could not be trusted. It could not be approached. And it was impossible to ignore.

I stood up. Circled. Lay down again. I scratched some itchy spots. Licked some fur. Found some bits of Muffet’s compost stew in my coat and chewed them out. Nothing helped.

The vacuum stopped, and The Mom came into the hall with an armful of books. Mumbling. She dumped them into a box and went back into her bedroom. The Cat yawned and stretched. Lazy beast. Finally the house got quiet. Thank goodness. All this purging put a dog on edge. Even a dog with special training. I put my head on my paws. I e-x-h-a-l-e-d and closed my eyes.

Tha-woomp, tha-woomp, tha-woomp. I ran through a grassy field, chasing butterflies. Crickets cricked. Birds sang. Somebody cried. Wait, cried? That wasn’t right. I stopped running and looked around, confused. Who was crying? It sounded like a human, but there were no humans in my field — just grasses, wildflowers, and butterflies. Then I got it. The field was a dream. The crying was coming from the awake world. My legs twitched. I wanted to chase butterflies. But I had to wake up. Get up. Provide comfort. It was part of my job.

I bounded over one last patch of dream daisies and forced my eyes open. I lurched to my feet and trotted toward the crying noise. I was barely awake, but my good ear pricked painfully. And what I saw made my tail touch the floor.

The Mom sat on her bed. Her hands covered her face. She rocked back and forth, and sobbed. An open book sat next to her on the bed, but not a regular book. This was the kind humans wrote in. A diary. I pulled the box of tissues off the dresser and carried them to the bed. Tissues were good for humans when their eyes got leaky.

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