“Monkey Butt!”

 

 

In a full sprint, I ran to Leon’s kennel, shouting our code words, “Monkey butt!”

Leon was asleep, so I yelled louder, “MONKEY BUTT!” I honestly expected my dog to jump up and run with me as we made our practice escape. But Leon just looked at me, probably wondering why I was running around like a headless chicken.

“Lucky for you this was just a drill,” I said. “When it’s time to activate the escape plan, you better put some pep in your step, pal.” Bending down, I petted Leon’s head and scratched his back. Now I had his full attention. A good scratch could do that.

Leon is what I call a “reverse rescue dog.” He rescued my family. Well, for a little while anyway. Three years ago, when my parents were close to splitting up, he showed up on our front porch one day, muddy and in need of a bath. It was like he had chosen us for his new family. We all fell in love with Leon, even my dad, who does not normally like dogs, even though Leon is kind of lazy and sleepy, and he farts like there’s no tomorrow. For a few magnificent months, peace and happiness returned to our family and to our house.

I will tell you a secret I didn’t tell Tabitha: I prayed a lot back then.

Every night I’d pray that Leon’s magic would continue to keep my mom and dad together. But the magic faded. My parents went back to arguing about every little thing. Eventually, they got divorced. There’s only so much a dog can do for a family, I guess.

Looking down at Leon, I realized I had to do more to protect him, myself, and my mom. Something bad was coming our way. I could feel it in my bones.

So I thought of a new plan. A terrible and messy and wonderful plan to get us all back to North Carolina. My plan was to break up Mom and Howard before their wedding.

A curious voice pushed me out of my devious thoughts.

“Why is your dog so shy?”

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Mac approaching.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” I said, giving Mac a royal stink-eye.

“I wasn’t sneaking, I was walking.”

I shrugged, whatever.

“Do you think I can pet him?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Leon does not like to be touched by strangers.”

Mac wiggled his mouth like he was figuring out his next move. “I used to have a dog named Cosmo, but he ran away.”

“That stinks,” I said, softening. “Why did he run away?” I felt bad for the kid. It’s tough when you lose a pet. At my house in Carver City, my backyard was pretty much a graveyard for lost pets, dead birds and bugs, and a roadkill skunk I had found.

“He was chasing a rabbit,” Mac said. “They ran into the woods, and Cosmo got lost. But I think he’s gonna come home soon. Cosmo and I were best friends. He’s probably been searching for me while I’ve been looking for him.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Almost two years.”

“Wow, long time,” I said, trying not to make a face. “Especially in dog years.”

“Cosmo loves me,” Mac said. “He just got lost, is all. He could still come back.”

There was no way Mac’s dog would be coming home: two years was way too long. Cosmo was with another family, or dead, or running wild. But that’s not what I told Mac. “Never know,” I said. “Miracles happen every day.” Which was a lie. Miracles were as rare as rainbow zebras. Or attorney fathers canceling their business trips to Los Angeles to rescue their terrified daughters.

“Can I pet Leon just once?” Mac asked.

“Okay,” I said, despising my weakness.

Mac came closer.

“Good doggy,” he said, rubbing Leon’s head and ears. Leon gave us looks I interpreted this way: you guys don’t have anything better to do?

“Mac?” I said. “Leon has suffered enough excitement for one morning, so we should probably leave him alone for a while.”

“I think your dog will become less shy when more time passes,” Mac said, while I latched the kennel door. “Everyone is nervous when they meet new people. But it usually wears off.”

Secretly, I thought Mac was smart for his age. Well, except for his dream about Cosmo coming home soon. Rather than correct Mac, I walked away, disliking myself for being such a big jerk.

In my head I heard the same six words thumping over and over, Something horrible is going to happen, like a demented disc jockey was playing a loop to torture me.