Stranger in Dadland Read Online Free PDF Page B

I was gone. Maybe she’d run out to go look for me! Maybe she’d thought I was in the car she’d chased.
    I shouldn’t have left her. And I should have trained her. The vet
told
me to work with her. He said if I just practiced a few minutes a day, she’d learn not to bolt out the door or run in the street or chase cars. Why didn’t I?
    I wasn’t crying. Was it even possible to cry underwater? Then I realized my lungs were about to burst and I swam to the surface.
    The chlorine in the pool probably made my eyes just as red as crying would. It would make a good camouflage, I thought. But there were no tears coming anyway. I swam lap after lap, waiting for the sense of Ditz to reach me, but it was as if her death were scrambled and my guts couldn’t decode it.
    That’s good, I thought. I don’t want to be a street weeper like Mom—willing to worry and cry anywhere, anytime. But I also didn’t want to be taken by surprise later in front of anyone. Better to get it over with now.
    So I made myself picture Ditz last fall when we brought her home from the Humane Society.
    I’d always wanted a dog, but Mom had said no because ofmy allergies. Then, right after I got home from Dadland last year, my doctor said that poodles are usually okay.
    A poodle? Yecch! I pictured it all sissy-looking with bows. Figures I’d have to get a dorky dog instead of a
real
one, I thought.
    Dr. Wong must’ve seen that I was bummed because he said, “The reason poodles are less allergy causing is that they don’t shed. Their hair has to be cut, like ours. But they don’t
have
to be cut goofy, you know. The pom-pom style is optional.” And I felt much better.
    I called the Humane Society every day until they finally had a puppy that was a poodle mix. Mom drove me over there, fretting out loud the whole way.
    Then we saw Ditz. Tiny black Ditz.
    I shoved my face into her fur, let her lick me, rubbed my eyes. Dr. Wong had said to do everything I
wasn’t
supposed to do with cats, as a test.
    Then we went home and I didn’t wash my face or hands. Hoping, hoping. Mom watched me closely. No red eyes, no rash, no sneezing, no wheezing!
    Liz came with us the next day for test number two. Dr. Wong had told me to do it twice, to be sure.
    Ditz was so wiggly and excited, I could tell she remembered me. “She’s sure no genius,” Liz said when Ditz peed on her shoe. “In fact, she’s a total
ditz!
” And the name stuck.
    Still no tears. Eventually, I couldn’t swim another stroke. I got out of the pool and lay on one of the deck chairs. I’dforgotten all about Beau, but there he was, floating on his back, eyes closed.
    As much as I’d
wanted
to cry in the pool, I did
not
want to cry on land. Especially in front of Dad’s friend Beau—the boy who my dad probably wished was his real son. What father
wouldn’t
want Beau for his son? Beau was tall and friendly and funny. Does any man, when he has a kid, say, Gee, I hope he grows up short and unathletic! Please, God, make my son asthmatic and wimpy?
    Then I wondered if Dad knew why Mom had called. Could he have known about Ditz and not told me?
    Beau splashed me, shaking water out of his hair, then plopped down on the lounge chair next to mine. I turned to him and said, “My dog’s dead.” I heard my own words, but they sounded unreal, and I wondered if he’d think I was lying.
    Beau blinked at me and his cheeks blotched up. Then his eyes got bloodshot. Wow! Could he just
do
that whenever he wanted to? Was he faking? I wondered. Making fun of me?
    “Sorry,” he said, wiping snot on his arm. “What kind of dog?”
    “Mutt,” I said. “Standard poodle, mostly. Black.” Then I remembered the white spot under her chin, and I felt myself gag, as if my throat were being twisted.
    “I never should’ve left,” I mumbled.
    “Huh?” Beau asked.
    “She’s my dog,” I explained. But Beau still looked blank,so I added, “She’s
my
dog. I’m responsible for her.
Was
responsible for