Elvis and the Underdogs by Jenny Lee Page B

pushed me against the wall and licked my face. Blech, it was so gross and warm and slobbery, but also ticklish on my neck. I laughed, and suddenly I started to feel better again.
    â€œStop it! Stop it! That tickles.”
    â€œRule number one: Don’t leave a room without me and in midconversation. It’s rude,” Elvis said. “Rule number two: Don’t get mad at me when I say I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to run around the hospital in the middle of the night. Rule number three: Don’t tell me I’m not fun. I’m plenty fun. I can tell a knock-knock joke in French, so next week when I’m at my White House party, I’ll be a laugh riot. And just in case I’m not being clear, you need to understand something. I’m not with you to be fun, I’m here to do my job, which is to protect you. I spent two years training so I could do my job right. I took and passed every single class at my dog academy. I can lead a blind person. I can detect heart attacks and alert people who are about to have a seizure. I can water rescue. I can get you out of a burning building. I can dig my way out of any yard. If you get lost, I can use smell to find you miles away. I can handle any dangerous situation and get you to safety easily and with confidence. I graduated at the top of my class. No other dog worked harder than me. I take my job very seriously. And when I know you’re safe, you and I can chat and bicker and joke around and fight over dumb stuff, but my number-one job is to keep you safe. And yes, you are correct, technically I am not your designated service dog, but until this little mix-up is all cleared up, I strongly feel the honorable thing to do would be to fill in for now. I’m certain it is what the president would expect of me. So, are you feeling better now? Can I restart the elevator?”
    I nodded. With that, Elvis walked over to the elevator knob, gently grasped it between his front teeth, and pulled it. The elevator moved again. I didn’t say anything. Suddenly, I felt shy around Elvis.
    â€œI get it. And I didn’t mean to be rude. I just didn’t want to be late.”
    The elevator stopped at SB3. SB3 stands for subbasement level three, which was the very bottom of the entire hospital, because there was the basement level, subbasement level two, and then subbasement level three, where the morgue was located.
    Wait a second . . . suddenly it all made sense. SB3 was the morgue! Dino was taking me to the morgue! When the doors opened, Dino was standing there with a huge smile on his face.
    â€œNo way! Are you . . . ? Are we . . . ? We’re not really going to . . . ? I can’t believe it!” I said to Dino as Elvis followed me into the hallway and I stared at a sign that was posted on the wall. It clearly said MORGUE .
    â€œWhoa, is that a dog or a bear?” Dino said as soon as he saw Elvis.
    â€œIt’s a dog. His name is Elvis.”
    â€œElvis? Whoa, cool name.”
    â€œSee, I told you it was cool,” I said to Elvis.
    â€œAre you talking to the dog?” Dino cocked his head and looked at me.
    â€œThe dog’s official name is Parker Elvis Pembroke IV, but I call him Elvis. What do you think?”
    Dino held out his giant hand for Elvis’s giant nose to smell, and then he patted him on his head. Dino talked to Elvis loudly and slowly, kind of the way my mom talks to my dad’s mom, who currently lives in a rest home in California.
    â€œHello, doggie. My name is Dino. You are really big.”
    â€œYou’re one to talk,” Elvis barked.
    â€œHey, I felt like he understood me.” Dino smiled. “Too bad neither of us speaks dog so we’d know what he said, right?”
    â€œOh I doubt he said anything interesting anyway,” I said. “Let’s go.”
    â€œYou know, Benji, if you’re scared or freaked out, we don’t have to do