found.
“Ace? Ace!” I called, my voice sounding nasal—I was plugging my nose—and increasingly frantic. Jeremy and I spread out and searched the house.
“Zelly! He’s here.”
I ran to the upstairs bathroom. There, lying on the bath mat, panting pathetically, was Ace.
“Ace! Oh no!” I grabbed the phone and called my mom on her cell phone.
Please pick up, please pick up
, I thought, hoping she wasn’t so busy navigating the dark streets with Sam and my dad that she wouldn’t hear it ring. Finally, I heard her voice. “Come home quick,” I begged, and luckily she did. She took one look at Ace and called the vet, then handed me thephone, then took it back to write down a number and call the emergency vet line. I bundled Ace up in a towel, wincing as my mom explained the situation over the phone. “I don’t know. Maybe thirty or forty pieces in all?” she said, a worried look on her face. “Uh-huh, milk chocolate. Maybe in the last hour or so?”
“I can’t believe this,” I said to my mom in the car. “How did Ace get into the candy?” I had a momentary pang of guilt. My dad had wanted to hand out Halloween stickers and toothbrushes. I was the one who talked him out of it.
“I don’t know, sweetie,” said my mom. But I could tell from the look on her face that we were both thinking the same thing. Ace-the-grandpa had been the only one home. He’d probably answered the door, then left the candy where Ace-the-dog could get it and went out. His note, rubber-banded to the pepper mill on our kitchen table, simply said:
OFF TO SEE A FRIEND.
BACK LATER!
ACE
“Poor Ace,” said my mom.
“Poor Ace?!” I said bitterly. “He’s the one who’s responsible for this!”
“I meant the dog.”
“Oh,” I said. I kissed my puppy and stroked his velvety ears.
“Let’s not be too hard on your grandpa. You know he loves Ace too.”
I snorted at this suggestion. Mr. My-Bedroom-Is-Off-Limits? Mr. Rolled-Up-New-York-Times-Magazine? Mr. Leave-the-Chocolate-Where-the-Dog-Can-Reach-It? Right!
Ace whimpered in my lap. I petted his head, wishing I could do something, anything, to make him okay.
Just make Ace better
, I silently prayed.
I remembered making that same request once before, only when I did, it was for Ace-the-grandpa, so I added,
Ace-the-dog, that is. And I’m sorry for only asking for stuff when there’s a problem. Please don’t get mad at me for that. Please just make Ace better, okay?
I thought about what Jeremy had said about me not going to Hebrew school. Maybe I should check that out after all. Not so much for getting a bat mitzvah. But so that I had someone to turn to when things got rough. And so that when I needed to call in a favor, the response wouldn’t be
Zelly who?
The vet’s office was so brightly lit and so busy you would’ve thought it was the middle of the day, not late at night. Since Ace was in critical condition, they offered to put us in an examining room right away. I took it as a good sign that Ace did his usual routine of pulling determinedly toward the front door before I scooped him up and carried him, whining pitifully, to the assigned room. A vet tech arrived and checked his temperature and vital signs before whisking him off to the back.
Letting go of Ace was the hardest part. I had this spooky feeling that I would look back on this moment as the last time I saw him. My mom was still at the front desk filling out some paperwork, and I felt so scared and alone. I thought about Bubbles and I wished she was there to tell me everything would be okay. Even more, I wished she had been therewith Ace-the-grandpa to keep him from leaving the chocolate where my puppy could get it.
Since the doctor came in before my mom did, I tried my best to answer questions about Ace and the events leading up to his emergency room visit. What had he eaten? Chocolate, lots of it. Milk only, no dark. When? Probably within the last hour or two. Had he been vomiting or having
“Ace? Ace!” I called, my voice sounding nasal—I was plugging my nose—and increasingly frantic. Jeremy and I spread out and searched the house.
“Zelly! He’s here.”
I ran to the upstairs bathroom. There, lying on the bath mat, panting pathetically, was Ace.
“Ace! Oh no!” I grabbed the phone and called my mom on her cell phone.
Please pick up, please pick up
, I thought, hoping she wasn’t so busy navigating the dark streets with Sam and my dad that she wouldn’t hear it ring. Finally, I heard her voice. “Come home quick,” I begged, and luckily she did. She took one look at Ace and called the vet, then handed me thephone, then took it back to write down a number and call the emergency vet line. I bundled Ace up in a towel, wincing as my mom explained the situation over the phone. “I don’t know. Maybe thirty or forty pieces in all?” she said, a worried look on her face. “Uh-huh, milk chocolate. Maybe in the last hour or so?”
“I can’t believe this,” I said to my mom in the car. “How did Ace get into the candy?” I had a momentary pang of guilt. My dad had wanted to hand out Halloween stickers and toothbrushes. I was the one who talked him out of it.
“I don’t know, sweetie,” said my mom. But I could tell from the look on her face that we were both thinking the same thing. Ace-the-grandpa had been the only one home. He’d probably answered the door, then left the candy where Ace-the-dog could get it and went out. His note, rubber-banded to the pepper mill on our kitchen table, simply said:
OFF TO SEE A FRIEND.
BACK LATER!
ACE
“Poor Ace,” said my mom.
“Poor Ace?!” I said bitterly. “He’s the one who’s responsible for this!”
“I meant the dog.”
“Oh,” I said. I kissed my puppy and stroked his velvety ears.
“Let’s not be too hard on your grandpa. You know he loves Ace too.”
I snorted at this suggestion. Mr. My-Bedroom-Is-Off-Limits? Mr. Rolled-Up-New-York-Times-Magazine? Mr. Leave-the-Chocolate-Where-the-Dog-Can-Reach-It? Right!
Ace whimpered in my lap. I petted his head, wishing I could do something, anything, to make him okay.
Just make Ace better
, I silently prayed.
I remembered making that same request once before, only when I did, it was for Ace-the-grandpa, so I added,
Ace-the-dog, that is. And I’m sorry for only asking for stuff when there’s a problem. Please don’t get mad at me for that. Please just make Ace better, okay?
I thought about what Jeremy had said about me not going to Hebrew school. Maybe I should check that out after all. Not so much for getting a bat mitzvah. But so that I had someone to turn to when things got rough. And so that when I needed to call in a favor, the response wouldn’t be
Zelly who?
The vet’s office was so brightly lit and so busy you would’ve thought it was the middle of the day, not late at night. Since Ace was in critical condition, they offered to put us in an examining room right away. I took it as a good sign that Ace did his usual routine of pulling determinedly toward the front door before I scooped him up and carried him, whining pitifully, to the assigned room. A vet tech arrived and checked his temperature and vital signs before whisking him off to the back.
Letting go of Ace was the hardest part. I had this spooky feeling that I would look back on this moment as the last time I saw him. My mom was still at the front desk filling out some paperwork, and I felt so scared and alone. I thought about Bubbles and I wished she was there to tell me everything would be okay. Even more, I wished she had been therewith Ace-the-grandpa to keep him from leaving the chocolate where my puppy could get it.
Since the doctor came in before my mom did, I tried my best to answer questions about Ace and the events leading up to his emergency room visit. What had he eaten? Chocolate, lots of it. Milk only, no dark. When? Probably within the last hour or two. Had he been vomiting or having
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