“Only if we can get the Frisbee back!”

Just try to get your flat thing. Diesel runs to the other side of the field with the disc in his mouth. I tear after him. Another guy tries to grab it from him, but Diesel dodges away.

Simon races toward Diesel.

You can’t catch me. I am too fast for you. Diesel runs away from him, cutting across the parking lot.

“Diesel, no! Not on the blacktop!”

That’s when I see it. Small and bright red, like a toy. It’s turning. A Smart Car.

8

Friday, June 25:

Training Failure

“You stupid dog. Come here!” I scream.

I run to the parking lot and dive for him. My fingers barely catch Diesel’s collar as the tiny car spins around and heads back out to the road.

“Too fast!” Simon calls after the driver. “There are children playing here!”

“And dogs!” yells Morgan.

I drag Diesel to the grass again. “What were you thinking? You could have been killed!” My voice sounds too high and squeaky even to my own ears.

I caught the yellow plate. Here. Diesel spits out the Frisbee and sits up straight and tall. I did not chase the smelly, noisy thing. I did not go into the road.

“It’s not the dog’s fault,” Morgan says.

“You’re right.” I still sound like someone about to cry. “Did anyone catch the car’s licence plate number? Does anyone recognize the car or the driver?”

“What’s your problem? Why do you want their licence?” Tom asks.

“That car ran over my dog!”

“What are you talking about?” Morgan squints at me. “It didn’t even come close.”

I shudder. My head swirls for a moment. I grip the back of it and feel the bump. Not in this lifetime. “I meant it could have run over Diesel. I think we should find that car. Call the police. Get them to give the driver a ticket.”

“I think you’re nuts,” Morgan says.

“Diesel’s a terrific dog. I don’t blame you for wanting to report that driver,” Simon says.

We should add him to our pack. Can he throw the yellow plate again?

“No, I am not letting you play!” I say out loud. I snap up the Frisbee and hold it up, out of Diesel’s reach. But for him it’s game on again. He leaps. High. Paws leaving the ground.

Tom trains his phone on him.

I fling the Frisbee away, over in Simon’s direction. He catches it, then throws it far and high toward another player.

But Diesel takes off running and leaps again. His legs stretch full out, and it looks like he’s flying. He touches down, so light and quick. It doesn’t seem like he’ll catch up to it, but then he takes an even longer, higher leap, twisting in the air. His teeth snatch the Frisbee.

So satisfying!

“Awesome,” Simon says. “You should train that dog.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about cars then,” Morgan says. She pushes her hair behind her ears and grins at Simon. “I tell her that all the time!”