Free Goldie by Ellen Miles Page A

interested in cats. The rest of the family loved dogs.
    “So, why can’t we get a puppy?” Charles and Lizzie asked together.
    “Jinx,” Charles said to Lizzie. “Owe me a favor. You clear the table after we eat.”
    Lizzie stuck out her tongue. Charles grinned. He
always
said “jinx” first.
    “We
will
have a puppy,” their mother said. “Someday. When the time is right, and the puppy is right.”
    “But when will that be?” Charles asked. “When
I’m
seventeen?” Sometimes he felt as if he’d waited
forever
for a dog. It wasn’t fair. Everybody
else
had dogs. And nobody wanted one more than Charles and Lizzie and the Bean. Nobody would take better care of a dog, or teach it as many great tricks, or love it as much as they would.
    “We’ll know,” Mom said. “When the time is right, we’ll know.” She had that tone in her voice, the tone that meant it was time to change the subject.
    But Lizzie didn’t seem to notice. “If we had a dog, we’d all feel better,” she said. “Did you know that dog owners are happier, healthier, and more relaxed than people who don’t have dogs? Plus, having a dog teaches kids responsibility. And a dog can help to protect the house and save people from fires.”
    Mom held up both hands. “Enough!” she cried. “I’ve heard all your facts before, Lizzie, and I know they’re all true. I also know that puppies are a lot of work and cause a lot of mess and trouble.” She turned back to the skillet on the stove.
    Charles knew what she was thinking. Dogs shed fur all over the place. They chew things. They knock over garbage cans. They bark. There were lots of reasons for not getting a dog. Mom didn’t even have to spell it out anymore.
    This time, even Lizzie seemed to understand that the subject was closed. She slid into her seat and picked up the newspaper. “Cool, Mom,” she said. “Your story about the school board meeting is on the front page.”
    “I bet Mr. Baker will ask me to write about this fire, wherever it was,” Mom said. Mr. Baker was the editor of the
Littleton News,
and Mrs. Peterson’s boss. She wiped her hands on a towel. “I’ll give him a call as soon as your dad gets home.” She looked at the clock. “I’m surprised Dad’s nothere already. I guess we’d better start breakfast without him, or you two will be late for school.”
    “I hope he gets here before we have to go,” said Charles.
    Mom piled two plates with French toast and brought them to the table. Then she cut up another piece and put the Bean’s plate on the floor next to Charles’s feet. Charles had noticed that she had given up on trying to make the Bean sit in his high chair. “Maple syrup?” she asked, passing the bottle to Charles.
    Charles poured a big glug of syrup onto his toast. Then he remembered his new joke. Charles told a joke almost every morning. “Hey! Knock, knock,” he said.
    “Watch the syrup,” said Mom.
    “You’re supposed to say, ‘Who’s there?’” he reminded her. Then he looked down at his plate. “Oops.” The syrup had practically drowned his French toast.
    Mom sighed and held out her hand for the bottle. “Who’s there?” she asked.
    “The interrupting cow,” Charles said.
    “The interr —” Mom began. But before she could finish, Charles jumped in.
    “Moo.” He cracked up. “Get it?” he asked. “The interrupting cow?”
    Charles had only taken one bite of his breakfast when he heard his dad’s pickup pull into the driveway. A minute later, Dad trudged into the kitchen. His shoulders were slumped, his face was smudged with soot, and his hair was all flattened from being under his helmet.
    “Dad!” cried Lizzie, jumping up to hug him.
    “Hey, punkin,” he said tiredly.
    Charles noticed a big bulge underneath his dad’s jacket. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.
    Then he noticed that the bulge was moving.
    Charles came closer. The bulge was squiggling and squirming all over the place.
    Dad smiled and