Free Birdie For Now by Jean Little Page A

did seem pretty wild and woolly at first, but working with Birdie made a huge difference in him. He had to stay focussed, you see, and he knew he must not frighten her. After all, she’s a special needs dog.”
    Dickon longed to race around the room in dizzy circles, but with an enormous effort he stayed still and tried to look modest. Leslie chuckled. Even his mother smiled.
    Silence fell, a silence filled with waiting. Dickon thought he would burst before his mother spoke at last.
    â€œWell, maybe we could take her over the weekend as a trial,” Julie Fielding said faintly. She sounded scared and Dickon knew he should comfort her. Instead he leaped into the air and gave a whoop of delight. The little dog clutched to his chest began to tremble violently. He pulled himself together fast before Mum changed her mind.
    When they left the Humane Society, he led Birdie on a leash and Julie Fielding carried her papers and enough food to keep her supplied for a couple of days. Neither spoke during the short walk. They reached the small, crowded house.
    Mrs. Nelson was just turning away from their front door.
    â€œMy heavens!” she gasped. “What have you two been up to while my back was turned?”
    â€œWe are the Fielding family, now complete with dog,” Dickon’s mother said, a little stiffly. “She is called Birdie, as I suspect you know.”
    â€œTwo birdies in one house,” Amy Nelson said, grinning.
    Then, she hugged her neighbor, dog food and all.
    â€œYou’re a brick after all, Julie Fielding,” she said.
    â€œI’m a lunatic,” said Dickon’s mother weakly. “We’re only trying this out over the weekend. No decisions have been made. Oh, the macaroni must be dried out.”
    â€œI went in with my key and rescued it,” Amy Nelson said, blushing faintly.
    â€œYou were going to march in and give me a piece of your mind,” Julie Fielding said. “But my son saved you the trouble.”
    She hadn’t called him Birdie. He opened his mouth to say something and then shut it. He had his dog. He could afford to give her time.

A Real Dog

    Dickon was so happy that once he had Birdie safely inside his own house he shot around the small rooms like a Catherine wheel. He yelped out cheers and fell to his knees to hug his new dog.
    â€œBirdie,” his mother gasped. “What if you scare her? She may go for you. Do take care.”
    Dickon laughed and twirled aroundon his bottom for good measure.
    â€œYou won’t go for me, Birdie, will you?” he sang out, grinning down at his new pet, his first pet, his one and only dog. “Her jaws are too delicate to take a chunk out of anybody. Besides, she’s a lady.”
    He was right. She did not go for him. In her fear, she squatted and let go a puddle of pee on the kitchen floor. Then her tail went between her legs and she whimpered, waiting to be punished. In one shamed second she seemed to forget all the weeks of loving and brushing and training. All she remembered was the man who had struck her and shouted at her.
    â€œOh, Birdie! Poor Birdie,” Dickon cried, stricken. “I’m sorry, girl. You didn’t mean to do it. Mum, look at her trembling.”
    His mother could not help but see. She saw the puddle, the frightened small dog and her son who was no longer all hers. Well, now he must see that she had been quite right about dogs dirtying up the place. He MUST see.
    If Dickon saw Birdie’s disgracefulpuddle, he clearly was not planning to clean it up at once. He sat next to his dog and pulled her onto his lap, crooning comforting things.
    His nervous mother watched him with a look as loving as his for Birdie. Never before had she seen him so tender with anyone except herself. Never before had she seen him so grown-up. So normal.
    She felt confused, her emotions flip-flopping back and forth between delight and resentment. What was happening to her baby