This is fun. Catch me!

Dodging from one side to the other, I finally corner him and make a lucky grab for the bag. It tears completely, but there is nothing much left in it anyway. Dragging him by the collar back to the gate, I snatch up all the spilled bits of wiener so he can’t get those.

“Bad dog!” Morgan scolds, something I might have done, too, a lifetime ago.

“Don’t call him that!” Things are different since I woke up with that lump on my head. I know why Diesel does things. I know it’s not his fault. “He’s just hungry like us.” I raise one pointer finger in front of his face and he instantly sits. “Good dog!” I offer him a slice of wiener.

He snaps it up. Of course I am a good dog. I am the best of good dogs.

I pat him while Morgan hitches his leash to him again. Then we head back for home, me checking driveways. No Smart Car anywhere. Which means it’s driving the streets somewhere.

Traffic grows heavier, and I hope the few slivers of wiener we have left will keep Diesel behaving.

Still a couple blocks from home, he begins barking and straining at the leash. People are coming!

“What’s wrong with you?” Morgan asks.

I smell the boys with the dish. His bark is the only thing that sounds outside my head. “Rowf!”

Luanne starts bobbing up and down in the stroller.

Sure enough, Simon and Tom are near the end of the block, heading toward us.

“Hi, girls!” Simon calls. Tom waves.

As they draw closer, Diesel bucks like a stallion. Hurray! It is Salty Meat Boy!

“Down,” Morgan tells him, pushing his head.

I must show my affection for him.

Simon stands in front of Diesel. “That’s okay, Diesel,” he coos. “When you sit calmly, I’ll pat you.”

I like you, I like you. Why don’t you like me back? As Diesel jumps on his leg, Simon butts him down with his knee.

“He’s getting better. Honestly, he is,” I tell Simon. Or am I just hoping? But as if on cue, Morgan lures Diesel into a sit with a slice of wiener.

Simon looks up from Diesel and smiles. His eyes meet mine and my legs turn into noodles. Then he lowers his gaze to my chest.

I look down at the splotch of wet down my front “She didn’t pee herself, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Morgan pipes in. “I know ’cause she did that in the yard.”

I punch her arm.

“Ow!”

No hitting! Diesel barks. Bad, bad, bad, bad!

“I never thought that,” Simon answers, chuckling.

Tom grins like a fool. He’s been staring, too. “You girls going to the pool this afternoon?”

“Yes,” Morgan answers.

“No,” I say at the same time.

We turn to each other and she gives me a look: skinny-eyed, tight-lipped.

“I can’t go. I’m seeing my father,” I explain. Last time through this week, Mom cancelled Dad’s weekend for me. Told him I was just too “overwrought” to go. Because of Diesel. So I really want to visit with Dad this time around. I wouldn’t go to the pool anyway. There’s too many people and I still can’t swim. I could drown.