Free Say Good-bye by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

losing its fizz.
    The minutes drag by.
    •  •  •  •  •  •  •
    At last Dr. Edwards brings Yum-Yum out to us. At first I’m almost afraid to look at him. How has the chemotherapy affected him? But when I study him, I’m surprised to see that he looks just the same. He acts the same, too. For animals, the treatment can be as silent as the disease.
    “Yum-Yum’s a wonderful little patient,” Dr. Edwards says. “He has the best manners I’ve ever seen. It made it much easier to do the treatment.”
    •  •  •  •  •  •  •
    Jane beams at the compliment. She explains it’s probably because he’s a therapy dog.
    “I bet he’s terrific with his patients,” Dr. Edwards adds.
    Then they talk about the details of Yum-Yum’s next treatments and set up a schedule.Dr. Edwards gives Jane more printed information.
    Yum-Yum sits patiently through it all, wagging his tail.
    Jane is quiet as she drives through the peaceful countryside on the way home. I hold Yum-Yum, wondering about the chemicals coursing through his blood. I try to use ESP to make the drugs work fast.
    “It’s kind of strange to think that Yum-Yum is going through the same things as Emma and Michael and the other kids at the hospital,” I say.
    Jane nods. “I know Yum-Yum will miss going in to see them.”
    “Maybe if he does all right with the chemo, he can still go in sometimes,” I suggest. “If he’s feeling okay.”
    “We’ll see,” Jane says, then adds, “I still think you should consider going through the training with Sneakers.”
    I laugh. “Are you kidding? You saw what he did at the hospital the other day. Sneakers is a mess! A good dog,” I’m quick to add, “but a real mess.”
    “Psh! He’s young,” Jane assures me. “He just needs lots of love and a lot more training, that’s all.”
    “I don’t know, Jane,” I say as I stare out the window at the fields rushing past. “I’m just no good at training him.”
    “Well, you must have done something right,” she says. “J.J. has told me how you all helped save Sneakers from that puppy mill. He had a really tough beginning—starved and mistreated. All that could have made him a mean or mistrustful dog. But he’s not. He’s very happy and loving. Part of that’s his nature, but part of it’s due to how he’s been treated. How you’ve treated him.”
    I look at Jane in surprise. I hadn’t thought of that. I was beginning to think I was just a big, fat failure when it came to Sneakers. Sure, I’m probably not the best dog trainer. But maybe loving Sneakers is a good start.
    “Dogs learn a lot from their owners,” Jane said. “And Sneakers is such a sweetheart. He’s learned love and trust from you. He’s learned to like and trust people instead of fearing them. Hey, that’s more than half the battle.” She reachesover and pats me on the leg. “That’s something to be proud of. Now all you’ve got to do is work on his manners a little.”
    I smile at Jane. Her words mean a lot to me. “Do you really think I can do it?” I ask.
    “I know you can,” she says. “Keep working with him. And if he shows he can learn, I’ll help you get him enrolled in a formal training program.”
    I cuddle Yum-Yum in my arms. “What do you think?” I murmur in his ear. “Think Sneakers and I can do it?”
    Yum-Yum is dozing, exhausted from his day.
    But he almost looks like he’s smiling.

Chapter Ten
    •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •
    T wo nights later, I’m dreaming that I’m in the circus. The audience applauds as Sneakers—dressed in a ruffly collar and a sparkling hat—leaps through a ring of fire. Proudly, I bow before a standing ovation. Sneakers sits up on his hind legs and barks.
    Over and over. He keeps barking, even after the audience stops clapping. Even after the audience fades away.
    Suddenly I sit up. I’m not at the circus. I’m in my bed. It’s dark in my room, and Sneakers is