CHAPTER THREE
Sasquatch Lake, Here We Come
Aunt Sharon stands at the door and waves to us. She’s holding Creamcheese. Creamcheese is squirming, but Aunt Sharon is pretty strong.
“Have fun being pioneers.”
Creamcheese sneers at Bagels. I can read her mind. She wants him to get into trouble at the lake. She hopes he won’t come back.
As we fill the trunk, Dad eyes the duffel bag. “Josh, we’ll only be gone three days. Why so much luggage?”
“Always be prepared,” I say.
“Wow,” says Dad. “And you’re not even a Boy Scout.”
You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog, a-cryin’ all the time…
Dad’s playing an Elvis CD. Dad and Bagels both love rock ’n’ roll. It’s the one thing they have in common. Mom doesn’t like Elvis. She says his grammar is poor. Bagels is perched between Becky and me in the backseat. He sings along with the King.
… you ain’t never caught a rabbit...
“Rooroo, wah, wah, wah...”
…and you ain’t no friend of mine...
Dad drives and sings. Mom holds the map.
“Turn right here,” says Mom.
Dad turns right.
“Left at the next light,” says Mom. Dad obeys.
They do this until we finally reach the lake.
It’s in the middle of a hilly forest. I see a few farms close by.
There’s a signpost. Sasquatch Lake: Pioneer cabins ahead.
Something moves behind the signpost.
I blink.
It’s gone.
Weird.
We park near a shack. It looks haunted, like something from a horror movie. The Shack at Haunted Lake. There’s a sign on the door. It says Forest Glade. That sounds like the name of an air freshener.
“Honey,” says Dad, “are you sure this is it?”
Mom takes a brochure from her purse. It says Sasquatch Lake Map.
She opens it up.
“This is it.”
She takes a key out of her purse.
I look at the shack. Are those holes in the roof?
“I saw a motel back on the highway,” says Becky. “I bet it has TV.”
I forget to put Bagels on the leash before we get out of the car. There are ducks on the lake. He sees them. He grins and does a backflip. Then he runs to the lake and dives in.
He swims in circles. The ducks cuss at him in duck language.
Mom opens the trunk of the car. She and Dad take out the luggage and the groceries. Becky grabs her pink suitcase.
Dad looks at Bagels and shakes his head.
“One more chance,” he says to me.
Then he takes the groceries into Forest Glade.
“Bagels,” I yell, “get out of the lake right now.”
Bagels thinks I’ve said, “Stay in the lake, Bagels, and annoy the ducks.”
He keeps it up for a few more minutes. Then he barks, dips his head in the water and comes up with a fish in his mouth.
He swims to shore, scrambles up the bank and runs in circles around me. Then he runs past me. Then he dances a jig.
I take a photo. Bagels drops the fish. It flips. It flops. It lies very still.
Bagels does a shimmy shake. Water flies everywhere.
“Here, Bagels,” I say, patting my leg.
He grins. He chases his tail. Then he skids to a stop. He looks at the forest. He stiffens. His hair stands on end.
A twig snaps. A bush trembles.
A deer, maybe? A squirrel? Or a skunk!
I grab Bagels’s collar just in time. He growls. I pick him up. I pick up the dead fish.
“Bagels,” I say, “you are not going to get into any more trouble.”
He struggles. I hold on tight.
The fish doesn’t struggle.
I think it’s kind of dead.
