Bailey's Story by W. Bruce Cameron Page A

But he was laughing.
    My weight and the force of my jump pushed his kart ahead faster than ever. We whizzed past Todd and then past Billy, who waved his flag. He must be having fun, too.
    The ground leveled out, and our kart slowed and stopped. Ethan squirmed around to hug me. “Good dog, Bailey!” he told me. I wagged. Were we going to do it again?
    All the other go-karts rolled up behind us, followed by the rest of the children, yelling and laughing. Billy came over and held Ethan’s hand up in the air. He dropped the stick with the flag on it, and I picked it up, shaking it, dancing around and daring anyone to try and take it from me.
    â€œNot fair, not fair!” Todd shouted.
    The crowd of children grew quiet. A hot fury poured off Todd. He pushed other children aside and stood facing Ethan.
    â€œThe dog jumped on the kart! That’s why you won. That doesn’t count,” Todd insisted.
    â€œSo what? Bailey was just playing,” Chelsea said. She tensed as Todd moved his furious gaze to her.
    â€œI would have caught you anyway,” Ethan said.
    â€œEverybody who says Todd’s right, say ‘aye!’” Billy called.
    â€œAye!” shouted Todd. But he shouted it alone, and as he looked around, his anger doubled.

    â€œEverybody who says Ethan won, say ‘nay,’” Billy said.
    â€œNay!” the rest of the children all shouted. It was so loud that I dropped my stick in surprise. Ethan grinned, not taking his eyes off Todd.
    Todd took a step forward. His fist bunched up and he swung, hitting Ethan right in the center of the chest. Ethan jumped back, ducking a little, and then he lunged forward and tackled Todd. The two of them fell to the ground.
    â€œFight!” Billy yelled.
    Ethan and Todd rolled over the ground together. I knew about wrestling, but when dogs tussled, there was no anger, no desire to hurt. Here it was different.
    I jumped forward, but Chelsea reached out to grab my collar. “No, Bailey. Stay!” she told me.
    I squirmed and twisted, trying to slip loose. I liked Chelsea, but she didn’t get to tell me to stay when my boy needed me!
    Ethan was soon sitting on top of Todd, his hands braced on the other boy’s shoulders. “You give?” Ethan demanded.
    Todd looked away. Waves of humiliation and hate wafted off of him. Finally, he nodded. Ethan got off him and both boys got up, slapping dirt from their pants. Chelsea’s hand slackened on my collar.
    I felt the sudden surge of rage from Todd, and he lunged, slamming both his hands on Ethan’s shoulders. Ethan staggered and almost fell.
    I was there beside him, ready to defend him. Ethan straightened up slowly. He put a hand on my neck.
    Ethan looked at Todd. Then Billy stepped forward.
    â€œNo,” Billy said. “You gave in, Todd. That’s it.”
    â€œNo,” Chelsea said.
    â€œNo,” some of the other children said. “No.”
    Todd looked around. Then he turned away, his fists clenched at his sides. Without speaking, without looking at anyone, he picked up his go-kart and headed back up the hill.
    Once Todd was gone, the rest of the children dragged their karts back up the hill and rode them down, again and again. I rode with Ethan each time.
    That night, Ethan was excited at dinner, talking rapidly to Mom and Dad, who smiled as they listened. It took the boy a long time to fall asleep, and after he finally did, he was restless enough that, at last, I slid off the bed to lie on the floor. This meant I wasn’t deeply asleep when I heard a huge crash from downstairs.
    â€œWhat was that?” the boy asked, sitting bolt upright in bed. He threw the covers back as lights came on outside the bedroom door.
    â€œEthan, stay in your room,” Dad called from the hallway. His voice was tight; he was tense, angry, and afraid. “Bailey, come.”
    Obediently, I trotted downstairs after Dad. He moved cautiously and turned on the