Bailey's Story by W. Bruce Cameron

cried a little, and I put my head in her lap. She hugged me.
    I wished Marshmallow would come out so that we could chase and wrestle, but she didn’t.
    That winter, about the time when Dad put a tree in the living room for Merry Christmas, Chelsea got a new puppy. They named her Duchess.
    Duchess liked to play. And play. And play. She liked it so much that there were times I got annoyed if her sharp little teeth sank into my ear or pulled too hard at my fur. Then I’d give her a quick growl to make her stop. She’d blink at me with an innocent, puzzled face, and back off for a few seconds before she seemed to decide that I couldn’t have meant it. And she’d leap at me again.
    It was very irritating. I like playtime as much as the next dog, but sometimes a dog just wants to lie still near his boy.
    In the spring, the boy kept saying “go-kart.” In fact, all the children in the neighborhood kept saying it. And they spent a lot of time working with wood, sawing and hammering and totally ignoring their dogs.
    Dad and Ethan went to the garage every evening, and the two of them were so busy out there that, finally, I actually went into Ethan’s closet and dug out that horrible flip. I brought it to the garage and laid it at his feet. Surely that would make him look up from those stupid pieces of wood!
    But it didn’t. I could have howled with frustration.
    â€œSee my go-kart, Bailey?” was all he said to me. “It’s going to go fast.”
    Finally, one sunny day, the boy put the tools away. He opened up the garage door and rode the go-kart like a sled down the driveway.
    I trotted beside him, thinking that we’d certainly been through a lot of bother just to go from the garage door to the street. But when he got there, Ethan got out of the go-kart and carried it back up to the garage to play with it some more!
    I just could not see the point of all this. At least with the flip there was something you could chew.
    A week or so later, on a day when there was no school, all the kids in the neighborhood got out their go-karts and brought them to the hill a few blocks away, where we went in the winter to go sledding. Duchess was too young to come with us, but I went along with my boy.
    Todd was there, and he laughed and said something about the go-kart that Chelsea was pushing. I could tell by the way she turned her head away that her feelings were hurt.
    When all the children lined up their go-karts at the top of the hill, Todd’s was next to Ethan’s. What happened next was very startling.
    Someone yelled, “Go!” and all the go-karts moved at once! I was so surprised that, for a moment or two, I forgot to chase them.
    The karts were bumping and rolling down the slope, going faster and faster. Todd had braced his feet on the ground to give his go-kart a big shove as he started, and he was in front. Chelsea’s kart was bumbling along near the back. Ethan’s was gathering speed and getting closer to Todd’s.
    I headed out after them, running as fast as I could to catch up with my boy. Finally, I understood what all the hammering and sawing and sanding was for. It was just like sledding, but without snow. It meant that all of us could go fast together!
    I galloped along, wind flapping my ears, my tongue hanging out. I passed one kart after another. Then I was racing right behind Ethan. The only kart in front of his was Todd’s.
    At the bottom of the hill, Billy, Ethan’s friend who smelled of peanut butter, was standing with a flag on a stick. Ethan’s cart (and Todd’s, too) was headed straight for him.
    Just like I did in the winter, when the boy was lying on his sled, I leaped, landing right on the back of Ethan’s go-kart. The go-kart was a little trickier than the sled. Ethan was sitting up, not lying down, so I couldn’t land on him. I flopped against his back and the kart lurched under us. “Bailey!” Ethan yelled.