Lizzie did not like being stuck out there, hanging over the ice on that tree trunk. She took a deep breath and inched backward until she felt safe again. Phew! That was better. But her job was not done. She looked out at the collar. Even if she stretched, she would not be able to reach out and touch it.
Lizzie glanced back across the lake, to where her dad and the boys were waiting. Should she go get help? No! She could do it herself.
Lizzie thought for a second. Then, holding on to the tree with one hand, she reached out and broke off one of its long, dead branches. Perfect!
She stretched out again along the tree trunk and pointed the stick at the collar. The tip of the branch just barely brushed the tags hanging from the collar, and they jingled — but the collar stayed put.
Back on shore, Noodle would not stop barking and dancing around. He really wanted her to get that collar.
Lizzie tried again, poking the stick carefully beneath the collar and jiggling it free from the tangle of branches. On her third try, she hooked the collar! Now all she had to do was pull it back toward her — without dropping it down onto the ice.
Lizzie concentrated. Carefully, she guided the collar closer, until she could grab it. Then she dropped the stick and inched backward, clutching her prize.
Finally, Lizzie was back on solid ground, next to Noodle. She had tree bark in her hair, her hands were scratched, and there was a new tear on the front of her jacket that Mom would not be happy about.
Noodle came sniffing over.
Mine! Mine! I knew it! Oh, this smells like my people! Maybe we’re getting closer to them!
The puppy’s tail wagged double-time as he nuzzled the collar. “Well, I guess it must be yours,” Lizzie said. “Why else would you act like this?” She turned the collar over in her hands. There were blond, curly hairs stuck in the nylon material — Noodle’s hairs! They matched his coat exactly. The collar was definitely his.
So, in one second, when she read the tags, Lizzie would know who Noodle’s owners were. That was good, right? Then why did Lizzie feel like there was a rock in her stomach?
She reached out to scratch Noodle’s head. She kissed the soft fur just behind his ear. “Maybe I’m just not quite ready to give you up,” she whispered. Noodle licked Lizzie’s cheek, and when she smelled his sweet puppy breath she felt as if her heart might burst.
Lizzie had never thought she could love any puppy as much as she loved Buddy. But Noodle was a very special dog. She didn’t love Buddy any less — but there was definitely room in her heart for this puppy she had helped to rescue.
Noodle nudged Lizzie’s hand, and the tags on the collar jingled. Lizzie took a deep breath. Yes, Noodle was special. But that probably meant that his owners loved him very much, too. And it would be wrong to wait any longer to let them know he was safe.
Lizzie turned over one of the tags. It was the kind that proves that a dog has had all the shots it needs. “Rabies vaccination,” she read. “Expires — hey!” She looked closely at the date. “That’s, like, two years ago!” She looked at Noodle. She wasn’t sure of his exact age, but he was definitely not two years old. Quickly, she turned over the other tag. The writing on it was almost worn off, but she could just make out some letters. “B-L . . . K-I-E,” she read. “Blackie?” And there was a phone number, or at least part of one.
“Blackie!” Lizzie said. “But — why would anyone call you Blackie?” She stared at Noodle, then back at the collar in her hand. The gold hairs trapped in the cloth glinted in the sun.
“Ohhh,” Lizzie said. “I get it.” Suddenly, she figured it out. This was the collar Noodle had been wearing. But it had once belonged to some other dog. Obviously, Noodle’s people didn’t love him. They didn’t even care enough about him to get him his own collar, with his own tags. They must have thought that a faded old hand-me-down was good enough.
Lizzie was disgusted. She gathered Noodle onto her lap and gave him a big hug. “You deserve better than that,” she whispered into his ear. “You deserve the best collar in the world, with shiny new tags that say your name.” Noodle licked Lizzie’s cheek and nibbled on her chin. Lizzie laughed. “Okay, I get it. You don’t really care, do you? But I do. I care a lot.”
She got to her feet and Noodle jumped up, too, eager to go wherever Lizzie was going. Together, they walked all the way back around the shore of Loon Lake, back to where the others were waiting.
“Look what Noodle found!” Lizzie said. Dad and Charles and Sammy were perched on a picnic table, throwing sticks for Buddy.
Lizzie climbed onto the table and handed the collar to Dad, telling him all about where she’d found it.
“I’m not sure your Mom would be thrilled to hear about you climbing sideways trees over the ice,” he said. But Lizzie could tell he was kind of proud of her.
Then Dad took a closer look at the collar, with Charles and Sammy leaning over his shoulder. “Interesting,” he said. “It sure looks like Noodle was wearing this, even though I can’t imagine anyone calling him Blackie. Plus, it looks way too big for Noodle.”
“Exactly,” Lizzie said. “That’s probably why it slipped off. It’s a hand-me-down collar.”
“So now we can just call the number on the tag and find Noodle’s owners!” Charles ruffled Noodle’s ears. “That’s good news.”
Lizzie did not exactly agree, but she kept that to herself. How many times had she told Charles that he “just had to understand” that they weren’t going to be allowed to keep the foster puppies they cared for? Now here she was, wishing more than anything that she could keep Noodle forever.
“That may be easier said than done,” Dad said, peering at the tag with the phone number on it. “This number is kind of worn off.”
When they got home, Dad took the name tag off the collar. Mom joined them at the kitchen table while they passed it around, looking at it under a magnifying glass. The Bean squirmed his way onto Lizzie’s lap so he could see.
“Ugh! Mom, the Bean is really starting to stink!” Lizzie said. “Can’t we please wash his Fur?” She didn’t even want to touch it. Was that toothpaste all down the front? And a piece of gum stuck to one sleeve? Gross.
“No!” the Bean said firmly.
Mom shrugged. “I did tell him it was his choice,” she reminded Lizzie. “I have to stick to that. It’s only fair. May I remind you that you ran around in pink cowboy boots and a tutu for pretty much the whole time you were three? Why? Because I agreed that you could. A deal’s a deal in my book.”
“Deal!” Bean agreed, nodding hard. His lower lip was stuck out far enough to trip on. Any minute now, he might start wailing.
Lizzie sighed. “All right! Sorry! Forget I said anything! It’s okay, sweetie, don’t worry.” She patted the Bean’s back, trying to avoid the crustiest spots on his Fur.
Dad was still looking at the dog tag. “So, I can read the last part of this phone number all right,” he reported. “I think it’s five-five-five, seven-two-two-seven. But the area code is just about totally gone. I think it starts with eight, though.”
“So — how many area codes can there be, starting with eight?” Charles said. “No big deal. We’ll just try them all.”