“Let’s show Dewey the Puppy Palace!” Macy exclaims.

Dewey looks at me like, I’d rather not.

Outside, Dewey stands on the porch, sniffing the air.

“This is your yard,” I tell her. “You can run and play . . .”

I lead the way down the steps and walk with Dewey as she explores the perimeter of the yard. When she gets to the back gate she barks once, then looks back at me.

I remember this—it’s the cookie spot!

Memories of her plate of animal crackers come rushing through my mind. “You’re right,” I tell her. “How does it feel to be on this side of the fence?”

Different. But good. Not scary like before.

I pet her head and ears as we both look out at the woods, and I ask her, “So, do you think you’re ready to see the Puppy Palace?”

Her tail falls down flat.

“There might be some more treats in there for you!” I add out loud.

That makes her tail pep back up, and adds a little spring in her step as she follows me to the shed, where Gramps and Macy are already waiting.

She walks in and sniffs at the fleece-lined dog bed, paws at the basket of toys, but doesn’t seem very interested. I pull out a stuffed animal squirrel and brand-new bone and show them to her, but she takes each one from my hand and then drops them onto the floor.

She takes one tiny lick of water from her bowl and then sticks her whole face into her empty food bowl. She looks around and turns toward me. I don’t see any cookies? I giggle.

“What’s funny?” Gramps says.

“She’s wondering where her treats are.”

Gramps reaches for the fresh box of dog biscuits sitting on the shelf above Mama’s worktable and opens the lid. Dewey’s nose goes into overdrive sniffing. Gramps hands us each a bone-shaped treat so we can take turns feeding them to her.

“Once you give a dog a treat, you’ll be friends forever,” he says, stooping over to let Dewey take the biscuit from his hand.

Between the crunching of the biscuits, I can also hear Dewey saying, Yum, so good! and Thank you as she gently takes the biscuit from Macy. Her tail wags back and forth in time with the sound of her crunch-crunches, slobbering as she gobbles every last crumb from the floor.

She sits in her bed and yawns.

“Should we let Dewey get some rest?” Gramps asks.

With that, Dewey’s head jerks up and she gives me the saddest puppy eyes. Does that mean I have to stay here by myself starting now?

“Gramps, can we let Dewey come back in the house for a little while?”