Squirrel in the House Read Online Free PDF Page B

even though I’m already off and running toward the stairs.
    â€œCome on!” I yell to the dog.
    The man is still blocking the door. He has dropped the net, though, and he’s patting his body as though to make sure I’m not still on him.
    The dog runs between the man’s legs.
    Oh. I guess I could have gone that way, too.

To the Rescue

    As the dog runs by me, I jump onto his back and grab hold of his collar. I’m a faster runner than he is, but I’d only have to wait for him to catch up. Besides, riding is more fun.
    The dog lets out a high-pitched yip, which I guess means his coat isn’t as thick as my claws are long, but he doesn’t bark at me to get off.
    Together we race down the stairs.
    The cluster of guests hears the dog coming, and they get out of our way fast.
    â€œHow do we get out?” I ask the dog as we run to the front door. “Can you climb up the squirrel entryway?”
    â€œThe what?” the dog asks. “There’s no entry for squirrels.”
    I can tell that he doesn’t want to admit there’s a door for me but not for him. “The long brick entryway from the roof,” I explain.
    He shakes his head, which makes me—holding on to his collar—bounce alarmingly.
    I say, “That ends in the pile of wood the man built to remind me of the trees Outside? So that I would feel at home? In the room with the floor like snow, except not cold?”
    The dog doesn’t seem to be catching on at all.
    I once more revise my estimate about how not-smart he is. “Where you were digging when you were trying to find me, before the man put you in the basement.”
    â€œThe chimney?” the dog asks.
    Obviously, he’s just making up words to hide the fact that there’s a squirrel door.
    â€œYeah, sure,” I say. “The chimbly.”
    â€œNo,” the dog says. “I can’t climb up there.”
    I’d been hoping, since he did better with the stairs than I’d have thought.
    The dog says, “But I know how to get out.”
    He sits in front of the door to Outside and howls: “I gotta pee! I gotta pee! I gotta pee! Oh, boy, do I ever gotta pee! Somebody better let me out ’cause I gotta pee now!” He scratches at the door.

    I say, “I didn’t think people could understand when we talk.”
    He says, “They can understand this.” He increases the whine of his barking. “Oooo, somebody better let me out soon, ’cause I really, really gotta pee!”
    The man’s mother hurries into the room, grumbling, “Of all the inconvenient times . . .” She calls over her shoulder, “Sonny, I’m letting your fool dog out before he wets on my rug.”
    We hear the man running down the stairs, having finally gotten over my using him as a jungle gym. He shouts, “Wait!”
    But by then the woman has opened the door.
    She squints at the dog as he dashes Outside, carrying me with him, and I hear her ask in a scolding tone, “What have you got matted in your fur?” But I don’t know if she’s seen me, hanging on for dear life, or if she means her powder that he’s wearing.
    The dog sniffs the snow that covers the boy’s footprints on the front walk. “Master’s mother’s powder is clogging up my nose,” he says. “I can’t smell anything else.”
    â€œTo the corner,” I direct him, “away from the school.”
    It’s just as bumpy with the dog going over the snowdrifts as it was with him going down the stairs. Not that I would prefer running in the snow myself.
    â€œAround the corner,” I say, “to the next corner. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
    But I don’t need to. He sees the smaller boy, still sitting huddled on the sidewalk, and the dog puts on a burst of speed that actually shakes me off his back.

    I pick myself up and dust the snow off my belly. The dog