Underdog by Marilyn Sachs Page B

I planned on helping you in your search. It wasn’t as if I said no.”
    I hugged Gus hard against me. My tears were bouncing off his head. “Saturday would have been too late,” I yelled, beginning to hiccup too. “By Saturday he would have been dead.”
    My uncle moved a little closer. He looked at me standing there, holding Gus, hiccupping, and crying, and you could see he was disgusted. “You know, Izzy,” he said, “you deceived us. You acted so meek and mild, like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. We thought you were a quiet, obedient child —maybe even too obedient.”
    “Not anymore,” I told him. “I don’t have to be that way anymore because nobody wants me either. And Gus doesn’t have to be that way. Now that he’s got me he can be himself. I know what he’s really like. I remember. He likes to play and jump around and make a lot of noise. That’s what he’s really like and now that I found him, he’ll be like that again. You’ll see. No —you won’t see because we won’t be here anymore. But don’t try to separate us, Uncle Roger. It won’t work. He’s my dog and I won’t let us be separated ever again.”
    “I think ... ,” my aunt murmured, putting a hand on my uncle’s arm.
    “You really had us fooled,” said my uncle, “but for the time being, until we decide what would be best ... ”
    “I’ve already decided,” I told him. “Nobody will ever take Gus away from me again.”
    “I think ... ,” said my Aunt Alice.
    My uncle stopped looking at me and began looking at Gus.
    “So don’t try!” I yelled. “Just leave Gus alone.”
    “But,” said my uncle, “that isn’t Gus.”
     
    Chapter 11
     
     “I remember,” said my uncle. “Just take one look at the picture if you don’t believe me. Gus had floppy ears like a cocker spaniel.”
    The little dog nestled in my arms had small, pointy ears like a scotty.
    “I don’t know where the picture is,” I told my uncle.
    “It’s not Gus,” he insisted. “You have the wrong dog.”
    “No, I don’t,” I said. “It’s the right dog. Mrs . Firestone said so. And he was afraid of Loretta just like he was when he was a puppy. It’s Gus.”
    “It’s not Gus,” said my uncle impatiently. “All you have to do is find that picture. You’ll be able to see very plainly that Gus’s ears were different from the ears of the animal you’re holding.” My uncle’s finger was pointed at my little dog. Guilty, said my uncle’s finger.
    “No,” I told him. “It’s Gus.”
    My uncle said, angrily, “Then there’s only one way to settle this, once and for all. Take that animal with you and let’s go right now.”
    My aunt came too. She sat quietly in the front seat, next to my uncle, while Gus and I clung to each other in the back. All the way over to Mrs. Firestone’s my uncle kept complaining about the important meeting he was missing and about my stubbornness in not facing the facts. I stroked Gus’s head and whispered in each of his pointy ears that it was going to be okay.
    “No,” I told my uncle when we arrived. “I’m not taking Gus into her house. We’ll wait here.”
    “You have to come,” my uncle insisted. “I want you to hear what she has to say.”
    “No,” I repeated. “Loretta scares Gus and I’m not going to bring him in there again.”
    “Izzy!” he said.
    “No!” I answered.
    “Roger,” said my aunt, “I’ll come with you and perhaps we can persuade Mrs. Firestone to come back to the car — without Loretta.”
    It was growing dark but I could see my tall, dignified uncle and my neat, fashionable aunt as they opened the crooked gate to Mrs. Firestone’s yard and made their way through the cans and papers, past the two rusty bikes, the lopsided baby carriage, the child’s pool filled with water, and Eleanor and Franklin who stuck out their necks and made undignified noises. I watched them as they knocked on Mrs. Firestone’s door but I couldn’t hear what they were