The Case of the Missing Family (9 page)

“A therapy dog?” Kayla says, petting me. “I bet you’d be a good therapy dog.”

“I’m going to try,” I say.

She gives me one more hug. “Be happy,” she says. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I’m proud of you, too,” I say. “You’ll have another dog someday. And you’ll take care of each other just like you and I took care of each other.”

Kayla smiles at me. And then she is gone.

The vet puts me in a cage with some dry dog food and water and leaves me there for a long, long, long, long, long, long time. When he finally comes back, Connor and Mom are with him.

“Buddy!” Connor cries, running over to me.

The vet lets me out of the cage, and Connor and Mom hug and pet me all over. I’m happy to see them, too!

“I’m so glad we got you microchipped,” Mom says.

“And I’m glad we found that hole in the backyard,” Connor says.

I gulp. “You found that?”

Connor clips my I.D. tag to my collar. “You won’t be getting out of the yard again for a very long time.”

Well ... not until I dig a new hole.

I missed the Pet Partners Team Evaluation while I was in Springtown yesterday. But the lady who gives the test lets Mom and me come and take it today.

It’s a very strange test. First Mom and Perfume Bottle (that’s the lady who gives the test) shake hands and pretend they didn’t just meet each other a little while ago. Then Mom walks me around a bunch of cones. She also walks me past wheelchairs and past people using walkers. She even walks me past another dog. The dog doesn’t talk to me, so I don’t talk to him. I don’t know if that’s rude or not.

Mom drops a liver treat on the floor and tells me not to take it. Now that’s definitely rude. But I don’t take it. I have a feeling that I’ll get a better treat later if I leave it alone.

Perfume Bottle pats me on the head, feels my paws and my ears, and lifts my tail. Then she tells Mom to make me sit, lie down, stay, and come.

Finally, the test is over.

“Congratulations,” Perfume Bottle says. “You pass!”

Mom gives me a hug and tells me what a good boy I am. And then she gives me twenty or four bites of hot dog. I LOVE hot dogs. They’re my favorite food!

“You know what this means, don’t you, boy?” Mom asks.

“I get to go to school with you and Connor?” I say, wagging my tail.

“You get to come to school with me and Connor,” Mom says.

Oh, boy! SCHOOL! I just know it will be my favorite thing!

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

copyright © 2010 by Dori Hillestad Butler

Illustrations copyright © 2010 Jeremy Tugeau

978-1-4532-1949-2

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