1
Why were there so many stray dogs in my town?
And why did they always choose me to chase?
Did they wait quietly in the woods, watching people go by? Then did they
whisper to each other, “See that blond kid? That’s Larry Boyd—let’s go get
him”?
I ran as fast as I could. But it’s so hard to run when you’re carrying a
guitar case. It kept banging against my leg.
And I kept slipping in the snow.
The dogs were catching up. They were howling and barking, trying to scare me
to death.
Well, it’s working, guys! I thought. I’m scared. I’m plenty scared!
Dogs are supposed to sense when you’re afraid of them. But I’m not usually
afraid of dogs. In fact, I really like dogs.
I’m only afraid of dogs when there’s a pack of them, running furiously after
me, drooling hungrily, eager to tear me to tiny shreds. Like now.
Scrambling over the snow, I nearly toppled into a drift up to my knees. I
glanced back. The dogs were gaining on me.
It isn’t fair! I thought bitterly. They have four legs, and I only have two!
The big black dog with the evil black eyes was leading the pack, as usual. He
had his lips pulled back in an angry snarl. He was close enough so that I could
see his sharp, pointy teeth.
“Go home! Go home! Bad dogs! Go home!”
Why was I yelling at them? They didn’t even have homes!
“Go home! Go home!”
My boots slipped in the snow, and the weight of my guitar case nearly pulled
me over. Somehow I staggered forward, caught my balance, and kept moving.
My heart was pounding like crazy. And I felt as if I were burning up, even
though it was about twelve degrees.
I squinted against the bright glare of the snow. I struggled to run faster,
but my leg muscles were starting to cramp.
I don’t stand a chance! I realized.
“Ow!” The heavy guitar case bounced against my side.
I glanced back. The dogs were leaping excitedly, making wide crisscrosses
across the yards, howling and yowling, as they scrambled after me.
Moving closer. And closer.
“Go home! Bad dogs! Bad! Go home!”
Why me?
I’m a nice guy. Really. Ask anybody. They’ll tell you—Larry Boyd is the
nicest twelve-year-old kid in town!
So why did they always chase me ?
The last time, I dived into a parked car and shut the door just as they
pounced. But today, the dogs were too close. And the cars along the street were
all snow-covered. By the time I got a car door open, the dogs would be having me
for dessert!
I was only half a block from Lily’s house. I could see it on the corner
across the street. It was my only chance.
If I could get to Lily’s house, I could—“NOOOOOOOO!”
I slipped on a small rock, hidden under the snow. The guitar case flew from
my hand and hit the snow with a soft thud.
I was down. Facedown in the snow.
“They’ve got me this time,” I moaned. “They’ve got me.”
2
Everything went white.
I struggled to my knees, frantically brushing snow off my face with both
hands.
The dogs barked hungrily.
“Scat! Get away! Get going!” Another voice. A familiar voice. “Get going,
dogs! Get away!”
The barking grew softer.
I brushed the wet snow from my eyes. “Lily!” I cried happily. “How did you get here?”
She swung a heavy snow shovel in the dogs’ direction. “Scat! Go away! Go!”
The growls turned to low whimpers. The dogs backed up, started to retreat.
The huge black dog with the black eyes lowered his head and loped slowly away.
The others followed.
“Lily—they’re listening to you!” I cried thankfully. I climbed
slowly to my feet and brushed the snow off the front of my blue down parka.
“Of course,” she replied, grinning. “I’m tough, Larry. I’m real tough.”
Lily Vonn doesn’t exactly look tough. She’s twelve like me, but she looks
younger. She’s short and thin and kind of cute. She has chin-length blond hair
with bangs that go straight across her forehead.
The strange thing about Lily is
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