Free Ellie's Story by W. Bruce Cameron Page B

good dog, Ellie,” she told me.
    â€œNow you play with Ellie,” Wally said to Maya. “It’s important; it’s her reward for such hard work.”
    Maya took something out of her pocket—the rubber bone from the kennel. I leaped to grab it with my teeth. She laughed as she tugged on the bone and I pulled back, swinging her in a circle on the grass.
    It was different from the times Jakob had played with me. He’d done it because he had to; it was a part of Work. Maya was smiling even when I pulled the bone out of her hand and she almost fell to the grass. “You’re so strong, Ellie!” she gasped, and laughed some more. “Good girl, Ellie!” She petted me and scratched my neck and we played a little more tug-of-war with the bone before we got back to Work.
    It was different, doing Work with Maya. But it was still Work, and that was the most important thing.

 
    11
    It wasn’t just Work that was different with Maya. Almost everything about her was different from my old life with Jakob.
    There were all the cats, for one thing. She also knew many more people than Jakob did. Most nights she went to a larger home with lots of people and a wonderful-smelling woman named Mama. Mama was always cooking; that’s why she smelled so good. There were little children running around playing with each other every time Maya and I went for a visit.
    The older children called, “Ellie, Ellie! Ellie’s here!” and almost forgot to say hello to Maya. The boys threw balls for me, which I patiently brought back. The girls put hats on me and laughed so hard they had to hold on to each other to stay on their feet. And the very small ones crawled on me and over me and poked fingers in my eyes.
    I didn’t mind too much, though. I remembered how my brothers and sisters and I used to play with Bernie. These little ones were like puppies; I understood that. They didn’t know how to play correctly yet, and you just had to be patient while they learned.
    When I got tired of having my fur pulled, I’d just shake myself gently to push them off, and go and sit under the table in the kitchen. Mama would be in the room, stirring things in bowls or tasting things in pots, and there was almost always something tasty that needed to be licked up off the floor. I loved the kitchen.
    At her own house, Maya had a neighbor named Al who liked to come over and talk to her. There was a word he said so often that I began to recognize it. The word was “help.”
    â€œDo you need help carrying those boxes, Maya?” he’d ask. “Do you need help fixing your door?”
    â€œNo, no,” Maya would say.
    â€œDid you get a new dog?” Al asked one day, not long after I’d come to live with Maya. He bent down and scratched me behind the ears in a way that made me love him instantly. Not everybody scratches right, just hard enough and in the perfect place. Al did. I leaned against him happily so he wouldn’t stop. He smelled of papers and ink and coffee and nervousness.
    â€œYes,” Maya said, talking a little more quickly than she usually did. “She’s the department search-and-rescue dog.” Maya’s skin was growing warm, and her palms had started to sweat. This always happened when Al came over and said “help.” But I could tell she wasn’t frightened of him. It was odd. Still, as long as Al kept scratching I didn’t care too much.
    â€œDo you need help training your new dog?” Al asked.
    I knew they were talking about me. I wagged my tail.
    â€œNo, no,” Maya said. “Ellie has already been trained. We need to learn to work together as a team.”
    I wagged extra when I heard the words “Ellie” and “work.”
    Al straightened up and stopped scratching. “Maya, you…,” he started to say.
    â€œI should probably go,” Maya mumbled.
    â€œYour hair is very pretty today,”