Free Love and Other Four-Letter Words by Carolyn Mackler Page B

tall white coffee cup. I couldn't believe Moxie was being picked on like this! Just as I was considering whether I should tell him that, a stubby little terrier, white with caramel-colored patches, tugged a girl through the gate. The girl, barely five feet tall and wearing a knee brace, attempted to restrain him. But as soon as she removed his leash, he made a beeline for Moxie, wagging his truncated tail like a hummingbird. As Moxie drew back her ears and raised the fur on her neck, I gripped her collar.
    “Don't worry about him.” The girl flounced down next to me. “He defies all small-dog stereotypes. He's as mellow as …”
    As she trailed off, I quickly studied her. She was about my age, maybe a year or two younger. She was wearing a Gap T-shirt with a jog bra underneath, running shorts and sneakers. Her sandy-colored hair was pulled back from her tanned face, which was pretty, in spite of a medium case of acne.
    “I can't think of anything that's mellow,” she said as she reached into her backpack for a water bottle, took a swig and turned to me. “What's mellow?”
    I stared at her for a second. Maybe she was thinkingof “Mellow Yellow,” that old Donovan song that Dad used to listen to. I didn't say anything.
    “Maybe Jell-O?” She scrunched up her nose. “No … Jell-O always seems so nervous, all cold and wiggly.”
    As her dog began rolling in the wood chips, I released my grip on Moxie's collar. That's when I noticed that the girl was hurriedly glancing back and forth between Moxie and me, shaking her head.
    “I don't believe it,” she gasped. Her eyes were as round as quarters. “I just don't believe it!”
    “What?” I asked warily. Who was this girl, some kind of nutcase disguised as an ordinary teenager? I surveyed the dog run. Coffee Lady was fastening a harness onto her poodle, but Scaredy-Dog looked like he was settled in for the long haul.
Great.
Just the person to save my life. I can see him now, cluck-clucking his tongue, murmuring how
dogs these days
don't protect their owners.
    “You are the exact same dog as your dog!”
    “Huh?” I asked. Coffee Lady was opening the gate.
Now's my chance for a quick getaway.
    “You are the exact same dog as your dog,” she repeated, breaking into a huge smile. “And so am I! That's very rare.”
    I must have given her a funny look because she quickly continued.
    “I possess a sixth sense for determining what kind ofdog a person would be if they were a dog.” She gulped her water, leaned toward me and whispered, “Like that man over there.”
    I glanced covertly at Scaredy-Dog.
    “He's a basset hound.”
    I had to smile. Scaredy-Dog
was
the spitting image of a basset hound.
    “And you're a chocolate Lab, just like your dog.”
    I wasn't sure whether to be offended by a complete stranger telling me I looked like my dog.
    She must have read my mind because she quickly added, “It's a good thing. I'd much rather be a chocolate Lab than a Jack Russell terrier. But such are the hands we're dealt.”
    The girl reached into her backpack again, this time to fish out a gnarled old tennis ball. As she tossed it, her terrier scrambled away, depositing it at her feet an instant later. After a few rounds of this, Moxie lumbered over, shyly wagging her tail.
    “Do you want to throw it for her?”
    “No thanks. I'd probably just fling it backward.”
    “Not big into sports?”
    “Not ones with balls,” I said.
    “Me neither.” She giggled, throwing it all cockeyed this time, as if to exaggerate her incompetency.
    When Moxie retrieved the ball, she slobbered allover it. The girl recoiled, stretching her hand as far from her body as possible.
    “Ich!”
    “I'm sorry,” I said. “I forgot to warn you that she's a goobermeister.”
    “A goobermeister!” The girl was practically in hysterics. “I'll have to remember that!”
    Then she reached down and wiped her slimed hand on Moxie's shiny brown coat, adding that goobermeisters should get a