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earflaps on his hat and repeated her question.
    “I ASK YOU, IF MY HEART WASN’T HEALTHY, WOULD I BE ABLE TO DO THIS?”
    Ace raised his hands, palms up, and began to make these little shuffling steps. “YAI-DAI-DAI-YAI-DAI-DAI …,” he sang as he shuffled. He looked like Tevye in
Fiddler on the Roof
.
    “That’s great, Dad,” said my mom. “I just wonder if we should maybe check with Dr. Walters before you hit the dance floor.”
    Still shuffling, Ace put his thumb on his nose, wiggled his fingers, and went
thhhhhhft!
“I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I’M IN GOOD HANDS. MY MERENGUE INSTRUCTOR, LINDA, IS IN THE MEDICAL PROFESSION.”
    “Oh?” said my mom pointedly. “Is she a cardiologist?”
    Ace shook his head. “CLOSE,” he said. “SHE’S A DENTAL HYGIENIST.”
    “Dad! It’s not the same—”
    “MARILYNN, ENOUGH. VEY IZ MIR!”
    “That’s Yiddish,” I explained to Allie. “It means—”
    “It’s like
oy vey
, right?” asked Allie.
    My parents and Ace all stared at her.
    “YOU SURE YOU’RE NOT JEWISH?” said Ace.
    Allie shook her head and blushed.
    Ace shrugged. “LOVE TO STAY AND CHAT,” he said, “BUT MERENGUE WAITS FOR NO MAN. HASTA LA VISTA, SHALOM, AND GOOD NIGHT.”
    And with that, he shuffled out the door.

Beep! Beep!
    “I’m coming!” I yelled, even though I knew Ace-the-grandpa couldn’t hear me from the car. Class was starting in twenty minutes, and I was running around gathering up Ace-the-dog’s things, as directed by a handout my dad had printed when he signed me and Ace up. It said to bring:
                 1. The puppy
                 2. A leash
                 3. A mat
                 4. A water bowl
                 5. A puppy “pacifier” or favorite toy
                 6. Plenty of treats
    I had the puppy and he was attached to the leash. I had also found an old bath mat, a plastic bowl, and Ace’s squeakybanana, and I was going to fill a small bag with Cheerios, one of Ace’s favorite things. Except we seemed to be out of them.
    Beeeeep!!!
    “Hold on!” I muttered, hurrying to pull out boxes of cereal and granola, trying to find a new box of Cheerios. Raisin Bran, Uncle Sam—another Ace favorite—and Kix, yes, yes, yes. But no Cheerios. I finally gave up and reached for the Kix, but Ace, seeing an opportunity, jumped up on me, sending me—
    “Whoa!”
    Wham!
    I fell backward, landing on the floor. The box hit the floor too, spilling cereal in all directions.
Ouch!
I rubbed my elbow. Ace, thrilled to find me at eye level, thoughtfully focused his licking on my face rather than the cereal-strewn floor.
    “Ooh!” whispered Sam, who had just padded in, wearing his Luke Skywalker bathrobe over his pajamas and carrying his disgusting Susie-the-schmatte. You knew something was truly gross if Ace-the-dog had no interest in putting it in his mouth. Sam stared at me on the floor, surrounded by tiny cereal balls. “The universe!” he said in awe.
    “Yeah, space. The final frontier,” I joked, grabbing a handful of Kix off the floor and shoving them into a plastic baggie. Ace-the-dog would not care. In fact, he seemed to prefer food that came from the floor. Before Ace-the-grandpa could lean on the horn again and before Ace-the-dog could eat the whole galaxy, I stood up, yanked on the leash, and pulled my dog out the front door, into the waiting car.
    When we arrived at the puppy kindergarten parking lot, Ace started hopping around, looking out the window nervously. I could tell he knew where we were: the scene of the crime. The place he got thrown out of the last time we tried to take classes. I felt jumpy too. Other people were getting out of cars with their dogs. The dogs looked, well, obedient. Maybe my dad had signed me up for the wrong class? Maybe the Thursday class wasn’t for beginners? A Great Dane got out of the car parked next to us and stared calmly at Ace, who was scraping the window