Read Online How to Look for a Lost Dog by Ann M. Martin - Free Book Online Page B

day, which is Monday, is sunny with a blue sky, and at 8.00 a.m., the moderate prime number temperature of 59 degrees Fahrenheit. When I stand on our porch with my back to the yard, I would not think that there had been a superstorm just 60 hours before. But when I turn around I see the fallen trees and our soggy lawn and the stream that runs straight down Hud, with no bridge over it at the bottom of our drive. I remember that my father and I are still stranded.
    Also, Rain is still missing.
    Also, the power is still out and so is our phone. The refrigerator has warmed up, and last night my father threw out everything that was in it and everything that was in the freezer. We have no ice left and only a few more bucketfuls of water for flushing the toilet.
    â€œWhat do we do when we can’t flush the toilet any more?”
    I ask.
    My father is sitting at the kitchen table eating a breakfast of tuna, which he’s scooping straight out of the can, an apple and a bottle of ginger ale. He doesn’t mind warm soda. “We go in the woods,” he replies.
    I study his face. I look for humour clues, such as a smile. I don’t think he’s being funny, so I say, “How do we go in the woods?”
    â€œWhat kind of question is that? You just stand behind a tree and pee.”
    â€œI don’t want to pee in the woods.” It doesn’t seem sanitary.
    â€œUnh.”
    â€œWhat are our other options?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWhat else could we do besides pee behind a tree?”
    â€œI don’t know. Pee in a bucket.”
    That sounds a little better. “Could I put the bucket in the bathroom?”
    My father shrugs. “Knock yourself out.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Now my father sighs, which is probably an indication of annoyance. “It means do what ever you want, okay? If it makes you happy to pee in a bucket in the bathroom, then pee in a bucket in the bathroom. But you’ll have to clean the bucket out. I’m not going to do it for you.”
    I pour cereal into a bowl, sit down across from my father, and eat the cereal dry. “What are we going to do today?” I want to know.
    â€œKeep sawing up the trees.”
    â€œI wish we could visit Uncle Weldon.”
    My father gestures out the window. “Has a bridge magically appeared at the bottom of the driveway?”
    I turn and look. “No.”
    â€œThen we can’t visit Weldon. End of discussion.”
    After breakfast my father refills the gas tank in the chainsaw. He gets back to work buzzing through the trunks of the fallen trees. I am not allowed within ten feet (feat) of the chainsaw, which is good because it makes a very loud noise. My job is to stack the smaller logs on the woodpile. When I can’t stand the noise I take a break, put my hands over my ears, and wander around our yard. I stand by the road and look at the water, which isn’t gushing so fast any more. I wonder how far Rain could have been carried by the water on Saturday. I wonder how far she might have walked in the wrong direction after she got out of the water.
    I wait until I hear the chainsaw stop for a moment and then I call to my father, “Why didn’t you wake me up when you let Rain outside during the storm?”
    â€œFor Pete’s sake, Rose, haven’t we been over that already?”
    â€œBut why didn’t you?”
    â€œI will answer that question one more time and then I don’t want to hear about it again. I didn’t wake you up because Rain has been outside plenty of times by herself and she always comes back. I didn’t think it was necessary. Besides, the storm was almost over.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you put her collar on before she went out?”
    â€œRose! Enough!”
    â€œBut this is a new question. This is the first time I’ve asked you about her collar.”
    My father pulls the cord on the chainsaw. Nothing happens.
    â€œShe isn’t