Free The Pup Who Cried Wolf by Chris Kurtz

don’t lope. I scamper. Honestly, I’m not concerned about how I’m moving. I’m just dashing and dodging in a way that gets me gone from that meadow as fast as possible.
    There is no thundering of feet behind me. There is no hot breath on my hindquarters, no snapping of teeth. It doesn’t matter. I keep dashing.
    There’s one thing wolves don’t know about Chihuahuas. Parrots don’t know this either. Or rats. Chihuahuas don’t even know this about Chihuahuas. If there are wolves behind them, they can move very fast!

18
A Glorious Escape
    Safety. Shelter. My poor brain whispers to me over and over. Mona. Humans. Motor homes with big butts and cars with the windows rolled up. It all seems wonderful to me at the moment. I’m moving faster than a New York taxi on a day with no traffic.
    I hope Glory is waiting back at camp.
    Glory?
    I stop running. In a Chihuahua-sized cloud of dust, I pull up short. My brain starts an argument with my legs. My legs want to keep going. They arejust trying to do their job, I suppose, and they won’t stop dancing around. But my brain has cleared in a snap.
    Que stupido! Que problema!
I know that voice. I know that phony Spanish accent. That is no stranger in green feathers behind me. The truest, bravest friend I have is about to be torn apart by big and unforgiving teeth. And all because she got sick in the wrong place at the wrong time.
    I can’t let it happen.
    I have to go back. I have to try and save her. But how did Glory get sick so quickly? When we left camp, she was fine.
    I turn around. I get those legs moving the other way.
    Suddenly, something dive-bombs me from above. A large, dog-eating bird of prey swoops down on me, screaming and aiming its giant beak at my eyes.
    I fling myself on the ground as low as I can. But I know it isn’t going to do any good. I’m not going to be able to rescue anybody. I am about to be carried away and fed piece by piece to young, hungry eagle babies.
    To escape from wolves and end up as eagle burger is the worst thing that I can think of. I crouch and wait for the claws to seize my body and lift me into the air.
    â€œRun, you fool!” The screeching turns to words—words in a fabulous, dear, familiar voice. “They’re right behind you!”
    My legs push off. My toes dig in. No scrabbling and slipping over hardwood floors. My ears fly back, and I glue my eyes to the green flier ahead of me. I never look back. In a short time I can see the road. I can smell the hot dogs and spicy mustard from the campers.
Don’t stop. Don’t even slow down
, I tell my legs.
    I dash. I streak. I burn through the grass.
    Once on the other side of that road, I know I’m safe. Glory flutters down and I leap up to meet her. We roll over each other on the ground laughing and celebrating like wild things.
    â€œHow did you get away?” I ask Glory when I’m too tired to jump and celebrate anymore. “And how did you get well so fast?”
    She falls to the ground in a heap of feathers. “Call the doctor!” she moans.
    â€œOh, Glory!” I say. “How did you know the perfect thing to do?”
    Glory picks herself up off the ground and shakes off the dust. “You don’t get to be as old as I am without tucking a few tricks under your wing. If you pretend to be sick and helpless enough, predators don’t think they have to rush in for the kill, and you can distract them.”
    Wow!
    Glory is smarter than us all. For a moment I wonder what she would do if I were to give her a big, wet, slobbery kiss. “Those aren’t just tricks. Those are wild tricks, Glory,” I tell her. “Those are jungle-bird, fly-in-your-face, don’t-even-think-about-sticking-me-in-a-cage tricks.”
    â€œWell, let’s not get carried away.” Glory shakes the dust off her feathers. “I like my cage just fine and I don’t need any extra