CHAPTER FIVE
A Walk in the Forest

“Why is Bagels on his leash?” asks Becky.

Bagels wonders the same thing. It’s a long leash, but he still pulls on it.

I don’t tell Becky about the hairy-faced guy. I don’t tell her about the snapping twig or the shaking branches. She’s only five. Well, six tomorrow.

Bagels sniffs the ground in all directions.

“Bagels,” I say, “what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer.

“This forest is dark,” says Becky. “Can we go back now?”

“Soon,” I say.

Part of me wants to know what Bagels has sniffed out.

Part of me doesn’t.

“What if we get lost?” says Becky. “Like Hansel and Gretel?”

I pat my pocket. “We have Mom’s cell phone. They didn’t.”

Bagels whimpers. “Hmmm. Hmmm.”

He’s scared. Bagels is never scared.

If he’s scared, there’s something scary out there.

“Okay, Becky,” I say. “I’m with you. Let’s go back to Stinky Vines.”

“Forest Glade,” says Becky.

“Right.”

“Bagels,” I say, “let’s go.” Bagels doesn’t move. He just whimpers.

“Josh, why is Bagels making that scaredy-noise?”

I tell her I don’t know. It’s like Bagels has been hypnotized.

Dad must have been wrong. It has to be a bear.

“Keep very still,” I tell Becky. I try to remember the rule about bears. Do you make a lot of noise or no noise? I know that climbing a tree is out.

I hear rustling.

Becky whispers, “Whazat?”

“I don’t know. Shh.”

Bagels turns. He looks at me—terrified. Then he flies into my arms.

I fall backward. On Becky.

“Owww.”

“Sorry, Becky.”

I look over Bagels’s shoulder. I expect to see a grizzly bear.

But I don’t see a bear. I see two sheep. Actually, one of them is a lamb.

Becky squirms out from under us. She sees the sheep.

“Awww!” she coos. “A lamb! Look, Josh, a baby lamb and its mommy.”

“Well,” I say, “it’s sure not a grizzly bear.”

I stand up with Bagels still wrapped around my neck. He’s choking me.

“Josh, what’s wrong with Bagels?”

“I’m not positive,” I say, “but I think he’s afraid of the sheep.”

“But he’s part sheltie,” says Becky. “He rounds up joggers.”

“Well, Becky, I guess he’s not afraid of joggers.”

The lamb and its mom skip away, bleating happily.

“Behe, behe, behe.”

Bagels clings tighter.

“Bagels,” I croak, “they’ve gone. You can get down now.”

He looks over his shoulder. He waits. He jumps down. This time I wrap the leash twice around my wrist.

We head back to the cabin. Poor Bagels keeps looking over his shoulder. Becky and I agree not to tell anyone about Bagels being afraid of sheep.* It might not be too good for his image as a guard dog.

*Anyone who has a fear of sheep suffers from ovinaphobia.