“We wouldn’t have to train Diesel to behave badly,” Mom says.

Diesel whines a longer two-note. First one starts high and blends into the second lower one.

“Diesel is a good, good dog.” I repeat Diesel’s thought outside my head.

Neither of them listens to me. Instead, Mom squints at the money in her hand. Then counts a second time.

A memory comes to me suddenly, the before: Mom yelling at Dad ’cause I can’t stop crying over Diesel. “This is all your fault,” she says. She’s crying, too. Dad ends up leaving.

I blink hard. Today is different, all in a good way. Diesel is alive, nothing to argue about.

“Sorry, I’m a little short this week,” Dad tells Mom. “I can make it up to you in September.”

Diesel shifts under the table. Oh, oh! Alpha Female grows angry!

Mom frowns. “This won’t be enough!”

Here and now is enough. We have toast and warm meat!

Okay, now that’s definitely Diesel thinking in my head.

Blankets, toys! Walkies. We have our pack. Shelter!

“Why does money have to matter so much around here?” My voice comes out whiny. I didn’t drown. Diesel’s alive!

Mom stares at me.

“Well?” I try again. “Money’s not the most important thing, after all.”

Mom looks at Dad, shakes her head, and turns to me, sighing. “Because we’re behind on rent. The landlord wants us to leave.”

No shelter? Diesel asks.

My breath catches. “I’ll give you the money in my bank account.”

“No!” Mom snaps.

“Where will we go, then?”

Mom crosses her arms in a roadblock and glares at Dad.

I would like to live with Baby Cheerios, Diesel says. Our pack could grow and be stronger.

I think about Diesel’s words for a moment. Then reason out loud: “We don’t need a house all to ourselves. Aunt Cathie struggles by herself with Luanne — Uncle Greg working in Fort McMurray and all.”

Mom and Dad both stare at me.

Diesel’s tail thumps his applause.

“Since Dad lives with Uncle Leo now, why can’t we move in with Aunt Cathie?”

Dad’s eyebrows lift.

“You’d share a room with Luanne?” Mom asks. “You babysit so much as it is.”

“I could sleep in the basement. We could fix it up. It’s cooler down there anyway.”

“Luanne would be around all the time.”

“We’re family,” I answer.

It takes a moment to sink in. Then Dad’s mouth widens into a grin. “Just listen to my girl. Did you ever hear such great problem-solving skills?”

The heat of Mom’s anger crackles in her words. “She has ambition. That solves problems. Did you apply to Willow Farms?”

“Not yet,” Dad murmurs down into his chin.

Willow Farms sounds nice, like Dad would be feeding chickens and milking cows, and half our neighbourhood works there. But really it’s a meat-packing plant. Truckloads of pigs with their noses pressed to the grates travel past on the main road to Willow Farms.

Morgan’s father works there. He trains new employees now, ever since he lost three fingers in one of their machines. I would worry if Dad got a job at Willow Farms. Still, he needs to do something to make Mom like him again. He just shorted her on our rent money, after all.