Free Wish by Barbara O'Connor Page A

loaf, swallowed it in one gulp, and wagged his tail.
    Wag.
    Wag.
    Wag.
    Three tiny wags like he was thanking me.
    I turned to Bertha. “Did you see that?” I asked.
    Bertha nodded. “I sure did. I confess I thought you were going to lose a finger or two.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out two saltine crackers. “Give him these,” she said.
    I gave Wishbone the crackers, and after he gobbled them up, he looked at me and wagged his tail again.
    Then Bertha helped me look for the collar Gus had made from an old leather belt of his. We got rope from the garden shed and tied it to the collar. I ran back inside and got more food. Some cereal. A piece of raisin bread. A couple of slices of bologna.
    Then I raced back out to the trap with Bertha not far behind, calling, “Wait for me!”

 
    Fourteen
    Wishbone didn’t like that collar one bit. He bucked like a bronco when I put it on him, flinging his head this way and that. Then he sat down and dug his feet in like a mule when I pulled on the rope to get him out of the trap. But after leaving a trail of bologna like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs, I managed to get him to follow me, step by step, to the house. Once we were inside, Bertha locked the screen door and I untied the rope. Then we sat on the sofa and watched him.
    He sniffed everything that was worth sniffing in that house. The shaggy green rug by the front door. Gus’s easy chair. Bertha’s basket of yarn. Then he made his way cautiously through the rest of the house, inspecting the coatrack by the back door, licking crumbs off the linoleum floor under the kitchen table. When he spied one of the cats up on the windowsill, he let out a bark. The cat arched his back and hissed. I was relieved when Wishbone just walked away. Bertha had been worried that he was going to chase the cats, and I have to admit I had worried about that a little bit, too.
    After a while, he got tired of sniffing and laid down next to the sofa and went to sleep. I tiptoed over and sat beside him, stroking his fur and whispering his name. I couldn’t hardly believe I had my very own dog.
    When Gus got home that night, he seemed pleased as punch to see Wishbone sitting there in the kitchen while Bertha cooked chicken fried steak and black-eyed peas.
    â€œWell, don’t that beat all?” he said.
    I couldn’t keep my hands off of Wishbone. I petted his head and stroked his ears and scratched his belly.
    â€œIsn’t he something?” I said.
    Gus nodded. “He sure is.”
    â€œHe smells like something, too,” Bertha said, making a face. “You’re gonna have to give him a good bath out in the yard tomorrow.”
    â€œI will.”
    Tomorrow was Saturday, so I had all day to spend with him. I’d bathe him and walk him. Maybe I’d teach him a trick, like to sit or lay down. I might even take him to Howard’s house if I decided not to be mad at him anymore for calling me a quitter and a baby. And then I remembered calling him a squirrel-eating hillbilly with Mrs. Odom standing right there on the porch. My stomach squeezed up and my face burned just thinking about that. I knew Howard wouldn’t be mad ’cause that was his way. But I bet Mrs. Odom hated me now. I bet she wouldn’t want me in her house messing up their goodness with my hateful words.
    That night, I took Wishbone out on the porch with us. Every now and then, he perked his ears up at the sound of a rabbit or something rustling down in the woods. But eventually, he laid down and rested his chin right on top of my foot. He didn’t even pay any mind to the cats strolling around him.
    â€œI think you got yourself a good one, Charlie,” Gus said.
    I smiled down at Wishbone. “I bet he’ll be as good as Skeeter,” I said.
    Gus nodded. “I bet he will.”
    â€œYou know what I like best about dogs?” Bertha said.
    Gus and I