Morgan’s uncle kicks down the stand and climbs off the bike. He towers over Morgan’s aunt, his long beard not even grazing the top of her head. He keeps his helmet on, but a skinny black ponytail pokes out from the back. “I usually watch better for dogs,” he says and then shakes his finger. “But you should train him not to do that.”

“It’s her dog,” Morgan says, pointing to me.

Diesel’s tail thumps. I welcome Pizza Girl’s noisy, smelly pack!

I give Morgan my laser stare. She is supposed to be holding him. Still, I’m not going to criticize her in front of her biker folk.

“The Dog Whisperer once trained a Jack Russell to stop going crazy around bikes. He put treats on the seat and got the dog to jump on it while it was running,” Morgan’s aunt says.

“Want to sit up here, boy?” Uncle Lurch asks Diesel as he pats the seat. “Do you girls have any treats for him?”

What kind of treats would I get for such a leap? Toast, wieners, pizza? Diesel wags and approaches the bike. I do not mind sitting on the two-wheeled thing. Show me the treat.

“No, no!” I hold up my hands. I can picture the motorcycle toppling over and killing him. Maybe I do have some kind of strange second sight. “Diesel shouldn’t do that. Thanks anyway.”

Diesel raises his paw. I can shake hands instead. He slumps. Or lie down. Rolling over is hard, but I will try. He sways slowly to the right and lands on his side, then on his back, his legs waving in the air.

“Get up!” I tell him and turn to Morgan. “Why don’t you push the stroller and let me hold Diesel’s leash?”

“No. He’ll be okay with me. I’ll see you at the house, Auntie Lynn.”

“Just in case, could you wait till we get down the street to start your engine, please?” I ask her uncle.

I will not attack any two-wheel from Pizza Girl’s pack.

“Sure,” he answers. “But there are other bikes out there.”

And other buses and trucks, skateboards and scooters. Shaking my head, I look down at Diesel. “What is wrong with you?” I scold him out loud. “You know you’re not supposed to chase!”

I did not chase. I attacked. I protected. It’s a dog-given right. I will always save you. He pants through a proud grin.

Auugh! I just want to run back to the house with Diesel and Luanne and hide.

“That dog is an accident waiting to happen,” Morgan’s aunt says.

Diesel pants as he thumps his tail.

“Nah, he’s fine,” Morgan says. “I’ll work with him.”

She thinks she can, and maybe she’s right. But I know in my heart that Diesel is an accident that has already happened.

7

Friday, June 25:

Waiting for the Accident to Happen

Once Luanne calms down, I snap her back in her stroller and we continue on. Each car and truck that passes makes my stomach knot up so tightly that I can’t even talk to Morgan anymore. Finally, we turn off the street into the park, and I sigh with relief. At least there won’t be any motorcycles or buses to worry about here.