Dear Mr. Williams,
THERE ARE TWO WINDOWS in my bedroom. One faces out front where I can see the cemetery across the road. The other gives a view of the shed in the side yard. I hardly ever looked out the side window, but now that Lovie has to stay in the shed at night, I have good reason to be staring out that window. Christmas night it was so hard to go to sleep, knowing poor Lovie, who’d probably never had much love before, was sleeping out there by her lonesome. She didn’t make a sound, but Uncle Jolly said he’d never heard her bark at all.
The next night, my mind fretted on it so much, I couldn’t sleep. Mr. Williams, you know me by now. I’m the sort of person who makes the best of situations. Aunt Patty Cake said Lovie had to be an outside dog. But Aunt Patty Cake would want me to get a good night’s sleep.
So I was in a dilemma. On one hand, I could leave Lovie out in the shed and toss and turn all night. Or on the other, I could respect Aunt Patty Cake’s strict rule about getting a good night’s sleep. I weighed each option very carefully and realized Aunt Patty Cake would know if I didn’t get enough shut-eye, but she’d never know if Lovie became a part-time inside dog. (And if you want to get picky about it, a shed is inside too.)
That decided, I threw back the covers and eased my window open. I tiptoed to the shed to get my dog. Good thing I’m a part-time spy.
Now, Lovie is not a small dog. She’s not a big dog either, but that night she seemed heavier than when Uncle Jolly handed her to me for the first time. Lovie was a willing partner. She stayed quiet and didn’t yelp when I accidentally dropped her onto my bedroom floor. I quickly climbed in after her and shut the window.
Most dogs would have headed straight to that bed, but not Lovie. She stood watching me, waiting to see what I was going to do next. I crawled into bed and patted the foot of the mattress. Lovie cowered like I was going to swat her. Swear to sweet Sally, I know someone hurt this dog bad. I waited and tapped the bed again. She glanced away. Then she checked back. I kept patting the bed, whispering, “Come on up, girl.” Finally, as if she realized that I was absolutely serious about my offer, she hopped onto the foot of my bed and curled into a tight ball.
I wish I could have told Frog, but he would have let the cat out of the bag. That boy gets too excited about some things.
I know my secret is safe with you, though.
All my best,
Tate and Lovie, too
PS—I’d better start setting my alarm a few minutes earlier so I can sneak Lovie back to the shed before Aunt Patty Cake heads to the kitchen.