Free Bailey's Story by W. Bruce Cameron

imagine why. I raced into the woods, got a whiff of the skunk, and raced back out again. If she wanted to play, she knew where to find me.
    I loved it at the farm, and I loved the happiness that poured out of Ethan when we were there. That second summer, there was one particular night Ethan was happier, more excited, and more anxious than usual. When it was bedtime, he didn’t head for the sleeping porch as he usually did. Mom and Grandpa and Grandma didn’t go upstairs, either. Instead, they all gathered in the living room. I stayed close. They might need my help.
    Everybody stared at the television, although I couldn’t see or smell anything interesting in the small, flickering images. Ethan’s excitement spiraled up and up. Mom and Grandma and Grandpa were excited, too, and scared as well. Pretty soon I was going to have to bark, just to share in the feelings.
    Then suddenly, all four of them yelled and cheered, and I did bark, and nobody told me not to do it inside the house. Then Ethan took me out into the yard, and we sat down and looked up at the moon.
    â€œThere’s a man up there right now, Bailey,” Ethan told me. “See the moon? Someday I’ll go there, too.”
    He was so happy that I ran off and got a stick for him to throw for me. He laughed.
    â€œDon’t worry, Bailey. I’ll take you with me when I go.”
    Most days on the farm we did just what we had done the last year—fished in the pond or played Rescue Me, and wandered in the woods, and I did my tasting jobs in the kitchen. Sometimes Grandpa would drive into town, and he’d ask Ethan if he wanted to go. The boy would say yes, and I’d jump into the car with him.

    Grandpa liked to go to a place where he sat in a chair and a man played with his hair. There were not enough other boys or dogs there, and Ethan would get bored. We’d wind up walking up and down the streets, looking at windows and hoping to find some friends for me to sniff.
    The best place to find other dogs was in the park. There was a big grassy area, and a pond, although we never played Rescue Me there. One day we spotted an older boy and his dog. The dog was a female, short, black, and all business. When I trotted up to sniff her, she didn’t even glance at me. Her eyes were on the thin plastic disk the boy was holding in his hand.
    Then the boy threw it.
    The dog raced and leaped and caught the disk before it even hit the ground. Pretty impressive, I suppose. If you like that sort of thing.
    â€œWhat do you think, Bailey? Do you want to do that, boy?” Ethan asked, his eyes shining.
    I found a stick to chew. I bet it tasted better than that plastic thing, anyway. When we got home, Ethan went right up to his room and got busy making something he called the flip.
    â€œIt’s like a cross between a boomerang, a Frisbee, and a baseball,” he told Grandpa when he was finished. “It will fly twice as far, because the ball gives it weight, see?”
    I sniffed at the thing in his hand, which had been a perfectly good football before Ethan cut it up and asked Grandma to put some new stitches in it. “Come on, Bailey!” Ethan shouted, running outside. Grandpa and I followed.
    â€œHow much money can you make on an invention like this?” Ethan asked eagerly.
    â€œLet’s just see how she flies,” Grandpa said.
    â€œOkay, ready, Bailey? Ready?”
    I figured something was about to happen and stood alertly, my ears pricked to catch all sounds, my tail beating steadily. The boy cranked his arm back and flung the flip into the air, where it twisted and fell from the sky as if it had hit something.
    I trotted over to sniff at it.
    â€œBring the flip, Bailey!” the boy called.
    Gingerly, I picked the thing up. I remembered the short black dog chasing the plastic disk in the park and felt a little jealous. That disk had soared, and the dog had soared up to meet it. This thing—well, it