All five of us in the Abeyta pack spend the day at the park. Only twice do I have to nudge Colonel Victor to calm his twitchy heart: once when a tasty Frisbee flew by, once when a kid cracked a ball against a bat. Two times is quite an improvement. The Colonel’s training is coming along rather nicely.
We ride home in the glorious wind-blast, music-blast car. When the five of us topple toward the house, sun-tired and grass-smelling, the Colonel pauses at the threshold of the front door, a pointing retriever.
He extends an arm, holding his human pack members back. “Light switch, Miss Daisy,” he orders.
I step inside, across the monster shadows flying throughout the house, and flick the lights with my nose. Click! The monster shadows scatter.
“Sweep, Miss Daisy,” Colonel Victor commands. He’s still not allowing his other pack members inside. I know how important it is for him to determine that a place is safe before his pack enters. This is an important job. I am an important pack member for doing it.
So I sweep. I sniff around each corner of our den, making sure there is no danger. I do this every time we arrive home now. A two-minute sweep through the entire house, then I report back to the Colonel that all’s clear.
Analise begins wailing, a noise that tastes like black pepper. The sound makes it difficult to smell clearly. But I sniff around this room and move into the next. Micah’s room.
Fish scales.
Welcome, canine companion. Smaug sighs at me. He’s not in his glass box like he’s supposed to be; he’s curled inside the cup of a baseball glove, chewing on the leather threads. All is well in Micah’s chambers. That I can assure you.
I’ll be the judge of that, I reply. I know I sound whiny like a throbbing stubbed toe, but this is my job. I won’t be replaced by some lazy, leather-chewing lizard. Plus, he never even tried to explain to Micah that I wasn’t attacking him that day outside.
I sniff around Micah’s room. A wad of gum stuck under his bed frame. Skunky socks on the floor. A rotten apple core that missed the trash can.
All clear, I proclaim. Two more rooms to go.
Pause, Smaug says. Listen closer.
I think at first he means here and now, in this dot in time and space. I cock my head and listen to my pack outside. Analise is really wailing now, and it sounds like a red-and-chrome fire truck. It’s difficult to listen to because it confuses my smell. Anna coos, shhh, shhh, over and over. Micah pops a bubble and I can hear from his huffs that he’s rolling his eyes. The Colonel’s heart pounds and he’s trying to catch his breath.
I need to finish my sweep, I say.
You need to do as I say, Smaug says. Listen closer. This is for you, not for me.
I start panting. I don’t really have time for this right—
Listen closer to Micah, Smaug says through gooey yellow teeth. You’re missing the big clue.
YOU listen! I growl at this pile of scales. I’m tired of you giving me advice. Micah is NOT MY RESPONSIBILITY.
“Miss Daisy!”
I twist. Over my shoulder, Colonel Victor fills the doorway into Micah’s room. He’s wheezing now, and foamy spittle is pooling at the corners of his mouth. His eyes are black stones. Shadows stain his face, and his heart roars. Micah, Anna, and Analise peek around him, leaves on a tree.
Oh no. I got sidetracked on my sweep, and I’ve scared the Colonel.
“What’s taking you so long? Did you find . . . ?” The Colonel pauses, looks from me to Smaug. The smug Smaug never stops chewing leather, never tries to explain that my delay is his fault. He is making me look duck-silly again. His gummy yellow slurps make me ill.
“You got distracted by the bearded dragon?” the Colonel asks. He blinks, jabs a finger at me. “Daisy! You should know that scent by now! Smaug is part of our family! I’ve given you a second chance, Daisy, and you keep making silly mistakes! You shouldn’t be afraid of something you know. YOU SHOULDN’T BE AFRAID OF YOUR FAMILY!”
Shame. It tastes bitter like acorns.
The Colonel bends in half, hands on knees, and sucks in air. “I gave you a second chance, Daisy. I believe in second chances.”
I rush to his side, nudging him, leaning on him, licking his knuckles. I’m sorry, I say. I’m sorry.
He trembles, like twitching whiskers trying to figure out the world. Behind him, Micah is a knot of muscle and tears. He and Anna and Analise walk away. It’s just me and the Colonel now.
“I don’t think this is working,” the Colonel says, standing bolt upright. “This second chance. It’s not working.”
His voice is quivery and unsure. His words smell like despair. Like roadkill.
And I know: I’ve made the biggest mistake yet.
If I’ve destroyed the Colonel’s belief in second chances, then, well . . .
I’ve destroyed his belief in himself.