As they say their goodbyes, Mama pulls me aside. “Sadie, listen,” she whispers as she threads her arms through her coat sleeves, “I want you to keep an eye on Gramps today, all right? If he starts acting strange, promise to call us right away.” She leans over to kiss my forehead. “Okay?”

I look over my shoulder at Gramps. “Okay, Mama.”

And they leave, at last. No one moves a muscle until we hear the cars pull out of the driveway. Then Gramps has his phone out, and mutters to himself. Macy and I stand near the door, impatiently waiting as we watch Gramps bring the phone closer to his face then farther away, tilting the screen this way and that, putting his glasses on and then taking them off, trying to see better.

Finally, he announces, “Our chariot is on its way, girls!”

“He means our Ryde,” I tell Macy.

Armed with our checklist of rescue items, the three of us stand at the bottom of the driveway, waiting for a teal four-door sedan to pick us up. We huddle over Gramps’s phone, watching the tiny car icon move across the map of streets to get to our house.

Macy and I slide into the back seat, and Gramps sits in the front. He talks with the driver the entire twelve minutes it takes to get to the animal shelter.

Seeing him here making conversation with this stranger, just like he used to talk with anyone in the park near his apartment, reminds me of the old Gramps. He is still who he has always been—the same friendly, fun-loving jokester.

Moms are wrong. He doesn’t belong in some place for old people. He belongs with us.

We walk toward the entrance, and already I feel a huge rush of excitement flow through me like electricity. Dewey, I say in my thoughts, I’m here!

There are three people ahead of us in line at the reception desk. I decide to go wander and look at the cats so I don’t draw any attention of someone who might recognize me. I stick my fingers into the cage of two gray tabby kittens, and they both try to grab my whole hand through the bars.

I’m giggling at them when I feel a tap on my shoulder, and a voice that’s only a little familiar says, “Hey, Sadie!”

I turn around, and I’m relieved when I see who it is. “Patrick, hi!”

“Did you come in with your mom today?” Under his breath, Patrick adds, “You’re not here for more Doodie Duty, are you?”

“No, not today—thankfully! I just came with my friend to pick up her lost dog.” I hope I sound convincing even though my voice is shaky, as I point in the direction of Macy and Gramps standing in line at the reception desk. “Besides, Mom’s not here today anyway,” I correct.