though she could see the answer curled up contentedly in my lap. She hung up her coat and turned on the burner under the teakettle.
“Kind of,” I said.
“And he’s pink because …”
“Don’t worry, it’s not blood!” I said. “What happened was—”
My mom gave Ace a quick pat on the head before cutting me off with “Zelly, sweetie, can it wait? I’ve got a splitting headache, and I still need to call the insurance company back.”
Just then, my dad walked in.
“Hello, monkeys!” he greeted us cheerfully. “Sorry I missed your call, hon,” he said to my mom. “Everything okay?”
“Dad! Dad!” yelled Sam, jumping up and down. “The police brought Ace home!”
“The police? What on earth?” said my mom.
“Ace-the-dog or Ace-the-grandpa?” asked my dad in a way that made it clear he was only half kidding.
“It’s no big deal,” I said quickly. “Ace must have gotten lost, but they found him at Bove’s restaurant. Maybe he smelled our scent because we eat there sometimes, so he followed his nose and went looking for us there. Smart, huh? And since he had tags on, they knew where to bring him back, safe and sound.” I left out a couple of details, but I figured it was okay since my mom already had a headache. She’d probably appreciate it if I saved the rest for, well, some other time.
“He ate a lady’s dinner!” yelled Sam.
So much for saving the rest.
“Which wouldn’t have happened if someone hadn’t taken him out without permission!” I said, glaring at Sam.
“Wait, what?” asked my dad.
“He let Ace out!” I said, pointing at Sam.
“Not that part. What was that about eating someone’s dinner?”
“It’s fine. Ace just got into the restaurant through the back door and went into the dining room. He was probably trying to find us. And, well, you know how some people are about dogs.”
“The policeman said Ace stood on a table and put his feet on the plates! And he ate a lady’s ps’getti and meatballs!” yelled Sam. “So he’s gonna have to pay for them!”
“Not him,” I corrected. I winced before adding, “But maybe us. The officers said we might have to pay.”
“Did they say how much?” asked my dad.
“Seventy dollars, I think,” I said quietly. “The bill’s on the counter. He might have eaten off a bunch of people’s plates.”
“They said he liked something called teer-uh-mee-ZOO!” added Sam. “It’s not a zoo, though. It’s a dessert!”
My dad picked up the bill and put one hand over his eyes. This was not good.
“Interestingly,” said my mom in an unhappy voice, “Ace-the-dog was not the only Ace who got into a little hot water today.”
“He didn’t get into the hot water,” corrected Sam. “The ps’getti was already cooked.”
My mom had to smile a little at that.
“Oh?” said my dad.
Grateful to Sam for lightening the mood, I looked expectantly at my mom. But instead of continuing, she said, “Zelly, please. Go give Ace a bath. And, Sam, go help her.”
I opened my mouth to protest. But then I realized that, one, I wasn’t getting a lecture about Ace’s bad behavior or a consequence—like
no sleepover
—and, two, if Sam and I left the room, my mom would tell my dad her story about what happened with Ace and the car. Still, she’d be suspicious if I didn’t put up a little bit of a fuss, so I gave her one “Do I haveto?” to seal the deal. As soon as we were out of the room, I picked up Ace to keep him quiet and told Sam to shush. The three of us froze, listening.
Sure enough, my mom explained about Ace’s accident. He had been parking the car when it happened. She said the officers figured he hit the gas instead of the brake, so the car kind of jumped forward and crashed into the car in front of it. Ace, however, insisted that the brakes were broken.
“So it’s going to be in the shop for at least a week, probably more,” said my mom, “and of course we’ll have to cover the damages to the
“Kind of,” I said.
“And he’s pink because …”
“Don’t worry, it’s not blood!” I said. “What happened was—”
My mom gave Ace a quick pat on the head before cutting me off with “Zelly, sweetie, can it wait? I’ve got a splitting headache, and I still need to call the insurance company back.”
Just then, my dad walked in.
“Hello, monkeys!” he greeted us cheerfully. “Sorry I missed your call, hon,” he said to my mom. “Everything okay?”
“Dad! Dad!” yelled Sam, jumping up and down. “The police brought Ace home!”
“The police? What on earth?” said my mom.
“Ace-the-dog or Ace-the-grandpa?” asked my dad in a way that made it clear he was only half kidding.
“It’s no big deal,” I said quickly. “Ace must have gotten lost, but they found him at Bove’s restaurant. Maybe he smelled our scent because we eat there sometimes, so he followed his nose and went looking for us there. Smart, huh? And since he had tags on, they knew where to bring him back, safe and sound.” I left out a couple of details, but I figured it was okay since my mom already had a headache. She’d probably appreciate it if I saved the rest for, well, some other time.
“He ate a lady’s dinner!” yelled Sam.
So much for saving the rest.
“Which wouldn’t have happened if someone hadn’t taken him out without permission!” I said, glaring at Sam.
“Wait, what?” asked my dad.
“He let Ace out!” I said, pointing at Sam.
“Not that part. What was that about eating someone’s dinner?”
“It’s fine. Ace just got into the restaurant through the back door and went into the dining room. He was probably trying to find us. And, well, you know how some people are about dogs.”
“The policeman said Ace stood on a table and put his feet on the plates! And he ate a lady’s ps’getti and meatballs!” yelled Sam. “So he’s gonna have to pay for them!”
“Not him,” I corrected. I winced before adding, “But maybe us. The officers said we might have to pay.”
“Did they say how much?” asked my dad.
“Seventy dollars, I think,” I said quietly. “The bill’s on the counter. He might have eaten off a bunch of people’s plates.”
“They said he liked something called teer-uh-mee-ZOO!” added Sam. “It’s not a zoo, though. It’s a dessert!”
My dad picked up the bill and put one hand over his eyes. This was not good.
“Interestingly,” said my mom in an unhappy voice, “Ace-the-dog was not the only Ace who got into a little hot water today.”
“He didn’t get into the hot water,” corrected Sam. “The ps’getti was already cooked.”
My mom had to smile a little at that.
“Oh?” said my dad.
Grateful to Sam for lightening the mood, I looked expectantly at my mom. But instead of continuing, she said, “Zelly, please. Go give Ace a bath. And, Sam, go help her.”
I opened my mouth to protest. But then I realized that, one, I wasn’t getting a lecture about Ace’s bad behavior or a consequence—like
no sleepover
—and, two, if Sam and I left the room, my mom would tell my dad her story about what happened with Ace and the car. Still, she’d be suspicious if I didn’t put up a little bit of a fuss, so I gave her one “Do I haveto?” to seal the deal. As soon as we were out of the room, I picked up Ace to keep him quiet and told Sam to shush. The three of us froze, listening.
Sure enough, my mom explained about Ace’s accident. He had been parking the car when it happened. She said the officers figured he hit the gas instead of the brake, so the car kind of jumped forward and crashed into the car in front of it. Ace, however, insisted that the brakes were broken.
“So it’s going to be in the shop for at least a week, probably more,” said my mom, “and of course we’ll have to cover the damages to the
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