about that. He said, "I came to give you this." He held up a brown leather collar, from which a tag dangled. The tag said: BIG RED.
"It's my dog's collar," Sean explained when Amy didn't say anything. He showed her the flip side, on which were engraved Sean's name, address, and phone number. "For Sherlock."
"But," Amy pointed out, "Sherlock isn't big and he isn't red."
"I'm sorry," Sean said, sounding more annoyed than sorry, "but my dog
is.
" He knelt to show Sherlock the collar. "You don't mind, do you?"
Sherlock sniffed the collar. "Girl dog?" he asked.
Sean nodded.
"She smells nice," Sherlock said, which was such an unexpected thing for him to say, it made Amy giggle. Sherlock let Sean fasten the collar around his neck. It was a little too loose, but not so much so as to be obvious.
"There we go," Sean said. "Just in time."
Amy looked up to see what he meant and saw her mother pulling into the driveway.
"I have a plan," Sean whispered. "Trust me."
Amy had already seen how far
that
had gotten her.
Convincing Mom
"Hi, honey," Amy's mom said. She glanced at Sean, but didn't even seem to notice Sherlock. "Sorry I'm late, but I stopped for milk."
If she was late, it was only by about thirty seconds, but she was a natural worrier, so she always figured other people were, too.
"Uh, hi, Mom," Amy said. "This is, uh, Sean—" Before she could get out his last name, much less that she knew him from school, Sean burst into tears. Very noisy tears.
Which was as big a surprise to Amy as to her mother.
"Oh, dear," Mom said, shifting her grocery bag to her other arm. She laid her hand on Sean's arm. "What's the matter, Sean?"
Sean buried his face in Sherlock's fur. "Sorry," he said, sniffling. "It's my dog."
For the first time, Mom glanced at Sherlock.
Sherlock, who'd been nudging Sean's shoulder as though to see what was the matter, must have realized at the same time Amy did that this had to be part of Sean's "trust me" plan. Sherlock put on an expression that was simultaneously brave and intelligent and concerned and pitiful.
"Your dog?" Mom repeated.
Sean nodded, showing his tear-streaked face. "Your daughter"—he waved vaguely in Amy's direction as though he'd just recently been told her name and had forgotten.
"Amy," Amy supplied.
"...called," Sean continued, "when she found Big Red and realized he must be lost because he was so far from home."
Amy, who could get lost five blocks from home, hoped her mother wouldn't question this newfound geographical skill.
"Well, he's here now," Mom said, "and safe and sound. Would you like me to give you a lift home?"
Sean gave a howl that sounded to Amy as fake as the fourth graders imitating wolves. But Mom looked frantic. "What?" she asked. "
What?
"
"We're moving," Sean said. "And the new apartment doesn't allow pets. And my father said if we didn't find a home for Big Red by today, we'd just have to drop him off at the Humane Society. And my sister, Kaitlyn, she says when the Humane Society can't find homes for dogs, they kill them."
Amy knew that Sean was an only child. But she could take a good guess which Kaitlyn Sean was thinking might say such a thing. Sean finished, gasping and gulping dramatically for breaths, "And my sister says that only the puppies ever get adopted from the Humane Society. She says Big Red will be fried within the week."
"Oh," Mom said, looking distressed, "they don't 'fry' them. And besides, there are a lot of people who don't have the time or patience for little puppies, and they're especially looking for a dog that's already full grown and trained—"
"Big Red is very well trained," Sean said.
"I'm sure he is," Mom agreed.
"He always lets you know when he has to go out, and he never chews on the furniture or on anybody's stuff, and he doesn't dig in the yard, and he doesn't bark when he's left home alone, and he's friendly to people who like dogs, and he doesn't bother people who don't like dogs. He's very well behaved."
"I can
"It's my dog's collar," Sean explained when Amy didn't say anything. He showed her the flip side, on which were engraved Sean's name, address, and phone number. "For Sherlock."
"But," Amy pointed out, "Sherlock isn't big and he isn't red."
"I'm sorry," Sean said, sounding more annoyed than sorry, "but my dog
is.
" He knelt to show Sherlock the collar. "You don't mind, do you?"
Sherlock sniffed the collar. "Girl dog?" he asked.
Sean nodded.
"She smells nice," Sherlock said, which was such an unexpected thing for him to say, it made Amy giggle. Sherlock let Sean fasten the collar around his neck. It was a little too loose, but not so much so as to be obvious.
"There we go," Sean said. "Just in time."
Amy looked up to see what he meant and saw her mother pulling into the driveway.
"I have a plan," Sean whispered. "Trust me."
Amy had already seen how far
that
had gotten her.
Convincing Mom
"Hi, honey," Amy's mom said. She glanced at Sean, but didn't even seem to notice Sherlock. "Sorry I'm late, but I stopped for milk."
If she was late, it was only by about thirty seconds, but she was a natural worrier, so she always figured other people were, too.
"Uh, hi, Mom," Amy said. "This is, uh, Sean—" Before she could get out his last name, much less that she knew him from school, Sean burst into tears. Very noisy tears.
Which was as big a surprise to Amy as to her mother.
"Oh, dear," Mom said, shifting her grocery bag to her other arm. She laid her hand on Sean's arm. "What's the matter, Sean?"
Sean buried his face in Sherlock's fur. "Sorry," he said, sniffling. "It's my dog."
For the first time, Mom glanced at Sherlock.
Sherlock, who'd been nudging Sean's shoulder as though to see what was the matter, must have realized at the same time Amy did that this had to be part of Sean's "trust me" plan. Sherlock put on an expression that was simultaneously brave and intelligent and concerned and pitiful.
"Your dog?" Mom repeated.
Sean nodded, showing his tear-streaked face. "Your daughter"—he waved vaguely in Amy's direction as though he'd just recently been told her name and had forgotten.
"Amy," Amy supplied.
"...called," Sean continued, "when she found Big Red and realized he must be lost because he was so far from home."
Amy, who could get lost five blocks from home, hoped her mother wouldn't question this newfound geographical skill.
"Well, he's here now," Mom said, "and safe and sound. Would you like me to give you a lift home?"
Sean gave a howl that sounded to Amy as fake as the fourth graders imitating wolves. But Mom looked frantic. "What?" she asked. "
What?
"
"We're moving," Sean said. "And the new apartment doesn't allow pets. And my father said if we didn't find a home for Big Red by today, we'd just have to drop him off at the Humane Society. And my sister, Kaitlyn, she says when the Humane Society can't find homes for dogs, they kill them."
Amy knew that Sean was an only child. But she could take a good guess which Kaitlyn Sean was thinking might say such a thing. Sean finished, gasping and gulping dramatically for breaths, "And my sister says that only the puppies ever get adopted from the Humane Society. She says Big Red will be fried within the week."
"Oh," Mom said, looking distressed, "they don't 'fry' them. And besides, there are a lot of people who don't have the time or patience for little puppies, and they're especially looking for a dog that's already full grown and trained—"
"Big Red is very well trained," Sean said.
"I'm sure he is," Mom agreed.
"He always lets you know when he has to go out, and he never chews on the furniture or on anybody's stuff, and he doesn't dig in the yard, and he doesn't bark when he's left home alone, and he's friendly to people who like dogs, and he doesn't bother people who don't like dogs. He's very well behaved."
"I can
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