Free Invasion of the Dognappers by Patrick Jennings Page A

whimpering and pawing at him. The puppy, Nilla, licked his face.
    “You don’t like it when I yell,” he said, “but you come when I cry.”
    Others swam to him and licked his face, lapped up his tears, and raised his spirits. He giggled, which caused more to swarm him.
    “And you really like it when I’m happy!” he said, laughing.
    He had to get them home, back to Earth, but how? The only way he could think of was ultra-sonic transport, to return them the way they—and he—had come. But he had no idea how this beaming up and down, to and fro, was done, or how he could possibly perform such an otherworldly act. After all, he couldn’t make high-frequency sounds.
    “ You can, though,” he said to the dogs. “Maybe you can howl us back to Earth!”
    He said this with such elation that the dogs went into fits of yipping and began wagging their hindquarters. They scuttled in close to Logan, and piled on him the best they could, considering they were afloat. It was during this aerial puppy rumpus that Logan saw Aggy’s dog.
    “Come here, Festus!” Logan called.
    The old beagle tried, but his feebleness prevented him from making any real progress. So Logan broke free of the swarm and dogpaddled to him. He hugged Festus around the neck, and the dog’s tongue flopped out of his mouth.
    “I’m going to get you out of here, boy,” Logan said. “I promise.”
    He would need help from someone who knew how the beaming was done, someone who could perform it.
    Logan recalled how the alien had said she liked the dogs. She also said she “wouldn’t do that” when Logan asked her if she’d stolen dogs, too. He felt she did not condone the dognappings, nor his kidnapping, that she didn’t like what her boss was up to. She might be the ally he needed.
    But he had screamed at her, frightened her away.
    “Control your temper, Logan,” his mom often counseled him. Coached him. “Count to a hundred by twos. Alphabetize the aliens in Star Wars. That should take a while.”
    Sometimes these strategies worked, and he did calm himself down, but, secretly, he didn’t like controlling his temper. He liked to let it rage, like a wildfire. He liked to bellow and roar, like a Wookiee. It made him feel strong and fierce. He disliked his mom’s attempts to calm him, to tame him, to make him be nice.
    Still, he figured he’d better try to control his temper around the alien, to be calm and polite. Adults liked politeness. Especially women. They liked “thank you,” “no, thank you,” and “please.”
    He felt his politeness had worked with the alien, too (maybe politeness was universal?), but then his outburst had undone all his work. He was going to have to keep a lid on his temper if he hoped to liberate himself and the dogs.
    He was determined to succeed.

27. Hover Planet
    The female alien soon returned, this time gripping a small pouch in her flipper hand. The pouch was made of a material much like the walls and ceiling: translucent, blue, gelatinous. It looked to Logan like a jellyfish minus the tentacles; it inflated and deflated like one, too.
    The alien swam around the dogs, using the pouch to collect their business (as Logan’s mom referred to it), both solid and liquid, which hung in the air in clumps or as glistening amber threads. She avoided swimming near Logan, or even glancing at him.
    “Excuse me, ma’am,” he called to her.
    Now she glanced, but only briefly, as she continued her work.
    “I’m very sorry I shouted at you, ma’am,” Logan said. “It was very impolite of me. I hope you’ll forgive me. It’s just that I’m …” He didn’t relish completing the sentence, here or anywhere, whether he meant it or not, but he knew it would help his cause, so he said, “I’m scared.”
    The alien paused in her work and turned toward him. Her long mouth curved downward for a change, in sympathy, exactly what Logan had hoped for.
    “You see, I’ve never been kidnapped before,” he said, drooping