The Summer of Riley Read Online Free PDF Page A

William.”
    “Hi.” I glanced past her to the truck, the kind with the mesh in back, parked in our driveway.
    “I’m Officer Dobbs and this is Officer Zemach,” the man said. “We’re from animal control. May we come in?”
    “Please.” Dad moved aside.
    They stepped into the living room.
    “Thanks.” They followed Mom and Dad to the kitchen, and I trailed behind.
    “How’s it going, young man?” Officer Dobbs asked over his shoulder.
    “Fine,” I muttered, which is what you say even when things are as bad as they can possibly be. Like now.
    As soon as we went into the kitchen, Officer Zemach said, “Uh-oh, something’s burning.” But Mom didn’t seem to hear.
    Dad took two extra cups from the cupboard.
    “I suppose it’s about the dog?” he asked, and Officer Dobbs nodded.
    “‘Fraid so.” He jerked his head in the direction of Peachie’s house, as if Dad might not know exactly what he was talking about. “Mrs. Peachwood has lodged a complaint. Seems like your dog’s been after her horse.” He stroked his skinny little mustache with one finger.
    “My word,” Dad said. “She didn’t waste much time.”
    “We happened to be in Monk’s Hill when we got the call.” Officer Dobbs sounded apologetic for getting here so fast.
    “Do you want to check that oven, Mrs. Halston?” Officer Zemach said in a low voice to Mom. “Smells like the whole house could go up in flames any minute.”
    Mom walked across the kitchen and turned the knob on the oven, but she didn’t take out whatever was in there.
    “What exactly is it you want us to do about the dog?” Dad asked. “The Humane Society people should have told my son about this problem before they sold it to him.” He sounded very aristocratic.
    “Probably they didn’t know,” Officer Zemach said mildly.
    “We thought he was the perfect dog,” Mom whispered.
    Upstairs Riley whined and scratched at my bedroom door.
    Officer Dobbs stroked his mustache some more. “It’s not what we
want
to do about the dog, Mr. Halston. It’s what we have to do after that kind of complaint.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, son. You haven’t had him that long, have you?”
    “Long enough,” I muttered.
    “That’s just as well,” he said.
    That suffocating feeling was in my chest again, asif somebody were sitting on me, squeezing my air out.
    “We have to take him,” the officer said.
    I wet my lips. “Where?”
    “Back to Portland. To the animal shelter.”
    “You mean, return him?” It sounded like Christmas when you get something too big or too small or too disgusting and you have to take it back for an exchange. But I didn’t want an exchange.
    “That’s right. Return him.”
    It was Dad who asked the next question. I guess it’s always better to know. That’s what they say, but I’m never sure. I might have been able to imagine Riley there, being taken care of, given to somebody who lived far away from horses, maybe somebody in Portland, right in the middle of the city. “What will they do with him?” Dad asked.
    “Well.” The two officers exchanged glances. “We’ll have to wait and see. There’s a law, you know. I’m afraid he might have to be put to sleep.”
    “Killed.”
The word blasted out of me. “No! You don’t mean that!”
    Officer Zemach’s eyes were kind. “I’m sorry, William. A dog that chases livestock in this state— well, he has to be destroyed. That’s the law, and there’s no getting away from it.”
    “We were planning on taking him to obedience school or finding a dog psychiatrist,” Mom said faintly. “Couldn’t we give that a try? We could watch him every minute and then see if dog classes or a psychiatrist could help him. He’s such a nice dog in every other way.”
    The two officers looked at each other. “I’m afraid we have to take him right now.”
    All kinds of thoughts jumped through my head. No way. I wouldn’t let them take him. He was my dog. I’d stand in