Free Smart Dog by Vivian Vande Velde

in her seat to indicate to Kaitlyn's grandmother that she, for one, was eager to learn all that Mrs. Pudlyk had to teach, however long it took.
    Amy was more sympathetic to Mr. Tannen.
    Mrs. Pudlyk smiled at the group and began telling the history of eggs. "The egg," she said, "it is the object of the reverence and mystery throughout the world..."

Eggs and Lies
    In the Prochenko household, Mom bought Easter-egg-dye tablets to dissolve in water and vinegar—except, of course, when she forgot, leaving Amy to use liquid food color, which was messier. Amy would dunk hard-boiled eggs in the different dyes, sometimes mixing dyes in an attempt to get exciting new designer colors, though this usually resulted in something along the lines of murky brown. And sometimes she would dye half an egg one color and the other half a different color, but this always left an uneven border alternating white and overlapping colors. Frequently the overlapping colors also came out brown. After she'd finished dying the eggs, Amy would place them back in the egg carton to dry, where the dye generally accumulated at the bottom, resulting in drip streaks and a crusty tip that was two shades darker than the rest of the egg.
    Ukrainian Easter eggs were nothing like that.
    "First of all," Mrs. Pudlyk said with her slight Ukrainian accent—which was just difficult enough for Amy to understand that she had to concentrate on every word—"they are the works of art: The last thing you would want would be for the egg to be spoiling so that you would have to throw the egg away after working so hard to be making it so beautiful. Therefore the true Ukrainian Easter eggs is the hollow shells with the insides blown out through the pinprick holes. But I have asked Sister Mary Grace to provide the regular hard-boiled eggs because they will be easier to work with for beginners and because"—she made an airy gesture—"nobody's first attempts are the masterpieces."
    Mrs. Pudlyk, whose eggs were sold at craft fairs, passed around a photo album that showed some of the eggs she had made. On the first page, she pointed out, were pictures of eggs her own grandmother had made—eggs still treasured in the family after seventy years. The last page had eggs Kaitlyn had made. Amy wanted to hate them, but they were beautiful, with tiny intricate designs drawn with, obviously, a good deal of talent and patience.
    Next, Mrs. Pudlyk passed out sheets of paper on which were drawn traditional symbols and what they meant. For example, a design that went around the egg like a ribbon or border meant eternity or everlasting life; triangles made up of tiny diamond shapes were the Holy Trinity; and dots could be teardrops—or, if there were a lot of them, the stars of heaven. Birds were for wishes coming true, deer for health, roses for everlasting love. All of the designs were tiny, and the entire surface of the egg was supposed to be filled.
    At the bottom of this sheet, Mrs. Pudlyk had drawn egg-shaped spaces for people to plan out and practice what they wanted to draw on their own eggs. Minneh quickly filled in one of her spaces with a smiley face, then gave it floppy dog ears—a symbol, Amy assumed, that Sherlock was well. She gave Minneh a grateful grin.
    The basic idea of the eggs was to lightly draw a design in pencil, then dye repeatedly, going from lighter colors to darker, and covering over the parts that already had enough color with hot wax. The lit candles from which the wax came, Amy reasoned, were probably the single biggest reason Sister Mary Grace had invited adults: to help keep an eye on the kids so that they would be less likely to burn themselves or set thé building on fire.
    Mrs. Pudlyk went from table to table, lighting the candles with a device like a long, skinny lighter.
    As soon as she lit theirs, Mr. Tannen sneezed and blew it out.
    "Oop-Ia!" Mrs. Pudlyk said as she came back to relight it. "One of us has the springtime cold."
    "Allergies," Mr. Tannen