The Blue Jays are losing to the Yankees, so it’s easy to drift off to sleep.

My eyes grow heavy as the sky darkens. Summer’s rushing by. My summer, my life … muddled, sleepy thoughts.

Pinprick stars wink in the sky. I search for Sirius, the Dog Star. Not out. It hides behind the sun. I reach down to pat Diesel, curl my fingers in his fur.

Will our family rise up again, or is it all just burnt marshmallows? I sigh.

I will save you. I will save our pack.

Stay safe yourself, I think, and fall asleep.

• • •

Alert! Alert! Alert! Diesel’s bark, loud and shrill, wakes me. The motion sensor lights flash on. We are under attack. I must defend us! I spin around in the chair to see him backing a black-and-white creature toward the shed. First I think he’s cornered a cat because it’s hissing.

“Leave it!” I yell at him. When I squint I realize it’s a skunk. Aren’t skunks supposed to be timid? This one stomps his feet and charges forward. Maybe he has rabies.

“No, Diesel!” Instead of a Smart Car throwing him in the air, will a rabid skunk bite him and kill him? I struggle out of my sleeping bag and run to grab him.

Too late. I worried about the wrong thing anyway. I dodge away as the skunk flips around and raises its plume-like tail high in the air.

“Diesel!” The worst smell ever blasts into the air, sharp and a hundred times worse than dog fart.

Dad and Uncle Leo wake up and start gagging.

The skunk stalks off into the dark.

Diesel yowls. Then he lowers his head to the ground, rubbing his paws over it, rubbing his whole body desperately against the grass.

“Oh, man, that is awful,” Dad says as he puts his fist to his nose and mouth.

“Diesel’s been sprayed by a skunk,” I explain.

“No kidding!”

“We need the hose,” Uncle Leo exclaims, and he rushes to the wheel attached to the house. He turns the tap on and uncoils the long green rubber hose as Dad catches Diesel by the collar and drags him over.

But I am a good dog! Diesel yelps in protest. I defended you.

“It’s all right, Diesel. We need to get rid of that smell.” I turn to Uncle Leo. “You’re supposed to use tomato juice,” I tell him.

“Don’t have any,” Uncle Leo says. “Just grab the ketchup from the patio table.”

Diesel tries to pull his head out of his collar to get away. Don’t want that water rushing at me! Dad flings his arm around Diesel’s back to hold him, wincing at the smell.

I dash over. A thick yellow comma of guck clings to the white patch on Diesel’s chest. “Uncle Leo, aim the water here.” He turns the hose up full blast, and when it hits poor Diesel, the water sprays Dad and me, too.

Cold hard wet hurting me!