“Same old,” I said with a shrug. I just hoped she wouldn’t ask me if I got any tests back.
“Did you get your history test back?”
The lady was psychic. “Um. Maybe.”
“You didn’t do very well, did you?”
“How did you know that?”
“Moms know everything.”
I told you she was a genius. I showed her my test and she shook her head and grumbled. I hoped she wouldn’t punish me. A birthday should be like an automatic Get Out of Jail Free card — you should be exempt from punishment for anything.
“We’ll talk about your test later. I should ground you,” said Mom. “But your birthday is coming up.” I swallowed my smile. I didn’t want Mom to think I was gloating. “And we do have a game to go to tomorrow night.”
She held up the Wizards tickets and handed them to me. I felt their sharp edges and was careful not to crease them. I didn’t want to ruin them or anything. I would have jumped out of the chair and given Mom a monster hug and told her she was the greatest mother in the world. Except I was almost twelve years old, and twelve-year-olds don’t do that sort of thing. Still, I smiled so wide it was like my mouth was hugging her, if you know what I mean.
Mom’s cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and hurried back to her office. That’s what she did when she got important phone calls. It also meant I probably wouldn’t see her again until bedtime, if then. Luckily, I was an expert frozen-pizza-for-dinner maker.
“What kind of dog tells time?” asked Aunt Nora.
I rolled my eyes. “A watchdog. Come on. I think you told me that one when I was like five years old.”
My aunt laughed. “I really do need new material.”
I rushed back to see Farfel. I narrowly avoided smashing into Mr. Cole, who had his nose pressed against some papers as he walked. “Quentin!”
“Excuse me!” I shouted back. “Sorry!”
I hurried past Dr. Mehta. She held a black cat with white spots. “Good afternoon, Quentin,” she said.
“Hi, Dr. Mehta.”
When I got to the back, Rob was just taking Farfel out of her cage. She and I went to the play area, where Farfel licked and jumped on me and we rolled around a bit before playing tug-of-war with her new bone. “Tonight’s the game!” I told her. I was sure Farfel was as excited as I was. Farfel whipped her head around to get the bone away from me, but I wasn’t letting go that easily. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow,” I promised, struggling to keep my grip on her toy.
Back home, Mom was working. She didn’t even come out to say hello. When I stuck my head in her office she was on her phone and shooed me away. Mom worked way too hard, if you asked me. I knew she has to work for two ever since Dad left, but you have to save some time for fun. I made myself a cheese sandwich for a snack, but I was only halfway through eating it when Mom came out. She looked tired — even more tired than usual. She threw me her smile. But the smile was only in her mouth and not in her eyes — they didn’t get wrinkles on the sides like they’re supposed to — so I knew the grin was fake. “How was school?”
“Same old,” I said with a shrug.
Mom sat down at the table. Her smile was gone. I looked at her nervously. “Quentin, I have a big project that’s due tomorrow. It’s taking a lot longer than I thought.”
I continued to eye her warily.
“There’s no way I can go to the game tonight,” she continued. “I’m going to have to work. I’m sorry.”
It felt like Mom had socked me in the gut. “But we have tickets.”
“I know.”
“But you promised.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Maybe I can go by myself? Or with a friend?”
“That’s not possible. It’s too far away and too last minute to find anyone to take you. I’m really sorry, Quentin.”
“It’s not fair!” I yelled.
“I know you’re upset.”
“You don’t know anything!” I yelled back before storming out of the room and up the stairs, then slamming my door shut.
The next morning when I got ready for school, Mom was still working. I think she might have been in that room all night. She always got me doughnuts on my birthday. It was sort of a family tradition. But there were no doughnuts today. Not even a card. I poured myself some cereal, ate in silence, and went to school. So much for this being my best birthday ever.
I ran down Grove Road to the Pawley Rescue Center right after school. That new crossing guard needed to be replaced, that’s for sure. At one point we didn’t see any cars, but someone was riding a bike — a bike! — and he made us wait. By the time the bike passed, the light had changed and a hundred more cars appeared.
But at least I could hang out with Farfel for a little bit. It would mean my birthday wasn’t a total loss. I’d probably get home and find out Mom had run out and bought pants for my gift. If I even had a gift, since we weren’t going to the game anymore.
Aunt Nora wasn’t behind the counter when I came in, which was strange. So I went through the doors without her usual bad joke.
I pushed through and I almost slammed into Mr. Cole. I avoided him just in time. “Oh, Quentin, hold on —” he began.
“Sorry! Excuse me!” I didn’t stop.
Next I passed Dr. Mehta, who was holding a rabbit. “Oh. Quentin, wait a moment —” she said, but I was running late so I rushed past her, too.
Rob wasn’t at the cage to hand Farfel to me. So I slowed down just a little bit when I got there. I skidded to a stop. “Hey, Farfel!” I shouted. “Sorry I’m late.”
But the cage was open and empty — except for the rubber bone I had given her, which sat alone in the back. I pulled it out and stared at it, confused.
From behind me, a hand went on my shoulder. I figured it was Rob, waiting to hand Farfel to me. I needed a little birthday hug from her. But he wasn’t holding anything.
“Where’s Farfel?” I asked.
“Farfel was adopted today,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“We rescue animals and put them up for adoption. And —”
“But Farfel was mine.” I mean, I know she wasn’t mine officially. But she was mine unofficially, and that was practically the same thing.
“But you’ll never guess —”
I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. Farfel was gone! She was the only one who would have understood how important last night was to me. She would have made me feel better — better than anyone else ever could.
I headed to the door. I needed to get out. I needed air.
“Wait a second —” yelled Rob as I dashed to the door. I didn’t slow down and I almost ran into Mr. Cole again.
I didn’t even say, “Excuse me.”
When I got home, the house was quiet. Mom was out. There were no presents or cake, just a house as empty and sad as I felt. I still held Farfel’s rubber bone. I stared at it and turned it over in my hands. A rubber bone without a dog was like a birthday without any presents.
I then heard something from the garage.
It was probably a squirrel or something. Last year one made its way into our garage and attacked our garbage cans. It made a mess. I sighed and walked past the mudroom to the garage, ready to shoo away whatever animal had come in.
“Get away!” I shouted, before I even looked.
“Do I have to?” said Mom. “I sort of live here.”
She was standing next to a dog. Not just any dog, but a dog with a white belly and a sleek black back.
It was a Bernese mountain dog.
It was Farfel.
She was jumping around as Mom started to pull a giant bag of dog food out of the car. “Give me a hand?” Mom asked me. “This bag is heavy.”
But I didn’t help. I couldn’t move. I just stood there in shock. Farfel jumped on me, up and down, her tail wagging faster than tails had the right to wag. “What’s Farfel doing here?”
“Happy bi
rthday,” said Mom, still struggling with the dog food bag.
“But I didn’t even ask for a dog this year.”
Mom shrugged. “Maybe I do know something.”
As I said, she was a genius.
I got down on my knees and Farfel began licking my face as if it was covered with bacon. She then wrapped her teeth around her rubber bone. I forgot I was holding it. We played tug-of-war for a moment, but then I let go and threw my arms around her. We could play tug-of-war tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next. But now, I just wanted to hug her and never let go. I couldn’t stop smiling. “Thanks, Mom!” I said. This was the best birthday ever, after all.
“You’re welcome,” she said, bending down and hugging both of us.
I know twelve-year-olds are too old for hugs, but I didn’t stop her.
“Does this mean I’m not getting pants for my birthday?” I asked, laughing as Farfel smothered me in licks.
“Maybe just one pair,” Mom said, laughing, too. “And sorry again about the basketball game.”
“What basketball game?” I asked, hugging Farfel.
Allan Woodrow is the author of The Pet War and of the Zachary Ruthless series, as well as other books for young readers, written under secret names. He currently lives near Chicago with his family and two goldfish. The goldfish are vicious. For more about Allan and his books, visit his website at www.allanwoodrow.com.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lucky dog : twelve tales of rescued dogs / [by Kirby Larson … et al.]
p. cm.
Summary: A collection of stories about the Pawley Rescue Center, where rescued dogs find their way into hearts and homes.
ISBN 978-0-545-55451-0
1. Dog rescue — Juvenile fiction. 2. Dog adoption — Juvenile fiction. 3. Dogs — Juvenile fiction. [1. Dog rescue — Fiction. 2. Dog adoption — Fiction. 3. Dogs — Fiction.] I. Larson, Kirby.
PZ5.L973 2013
813.008 — dc23
2013011309
“Like an Old Sweater” © 2014 by Kirby Larson
“The Incredibly Important True Story of Me!” © 2014 by Tui T. Sutherland
“Who Wants a Dog?” © 2014 by Ellen Miles
“Bird Dog and Jack” © 2014 by Leslie Margolis
“Buddy’s Forever Home” © 2014 by Teddy Slater
“Lab Partner: An Adoption in Six Scenes” © 2014 by Michael Northrop
“Chihuahua Rescue!” © 2014 by Randi Barrow
“Foster’s Home” © 2014 by Jane B. Mason & Sarah Hines Stephens
“Big Dogs” © 2014 by C. Alexander London
“Package Deal” © 2014 by Marlane Kennedy
“The Heart Dog” © 2014 by Elizabeth Cody Kimmel
“Farfel” © 2014 by Allan Woodrow
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First printing, February 2014
Cover design by Jeannine Riske
Cover illustration by Antonio Javier Caparo
e-ISBN 978-0-545-58491-3
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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