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long story,” I added.
    Mrs. Wright stared at us for a minute. Then she sighed and checked my name off her list. She put down the clipboard and began to talk about what she called “training the trainer.” Ace immediately began to doze in his folding chair. Bubbles always used to say that one of his great talents was his ability to fall asleep anywhere. However, I was pretty sure that Mrs. Wright was not going to be impressed.
    “Ace!” I whispered quietly. Then louder. “Ace!”
    “I see one of our students is already ready for lesson two,” said Mrs. Wright.
    I looked over and saw she was staring right at … Ace. The dog, that is. Ace’s floppy ears were as perky as they were capable of being, and his head was cocked keenly to one side as he stared at me with rapt attention.
    “I’m sorry,” I said.
    “Don’t be. Your pup clearly knows his name, which is a skill we’ll be focusing on next week, when we play the Name Game. Give him a treat, dear.”
    I dug in my pocket and produced a Kix. I tossed it in the air, and Ace handily caught it.
    “No, no, you can’t do that,” scolded Mrs. Wright. “You need to mark the behavior. That way he understands that the reward is specific to what he did right. Call his name, and when he gives you his attention, mark it by telling him he’s a good dog and delivering the treat.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Ace?”
    But now Ace was ignoring me and scratching his ear furiously. I tried again. “Ace?”
Scritch, scritch, scritch
.
    Now the whole class was watching me. To make sure I got Ace’s attention, I used a much louder voice. “ACE?!”
    “HUH? WHA—?” Startled, Ace-the-grandpa sprang to life in his chair, causing Ace-the-dog to stop scratching and turn to stare at him.
    “Not you,” I told him.
    “NOT WHO?”
    “Not you. Ace,” I said.
    “I
AM
ACE,” said Ace.
    “Not you Ace,” I repeated firmly. “Him Ace.” I half expected Ace to try to launch into “Who’s on First?” right then and there. All I would’ve had to do was say “I don’t know” and I’m sure Ace would’ve answered “Third base!” right on cue.
    “OH. THAT ACE,” said Ace, sounding disappointed, like he wished he was the one getting a treat.
    “Ruff!” barked Ace, like
Enough already. Shouldn’t I be getting a treat?
    “See? He responded to his name. Mark it!” instructed Mrs. Wright.
    “Good boy!” I threw a Kix at Ace-the-dog.
    “No, no, him,” said Mrs. Wright.
    “Okay,” I said, tossing cereal at Ace-the-grandpa.
    Mrs. Wright stared at me. “No, dear,” she said. “He should provide the treat. Because when he said the name, he got the dog’s attention.”
    “Oh,” I said.

As we pulled into the parking lot the next week, I decided to do what my math teacher, Mr. Tortoni, always did before we’d start a new unit. He’d put on this ridiculous hat with the letters
R
and
E
written on it, which he called his RE-cap. Then he’d summarize the entire lesson to make sure we understood all the material we’d covered. Even without a hat, I figured it might be a good idea before we went inside to summarize for Ace what I had talked about the whole way there.
    “Tonight’s class is called the Name Game, remember?” I said. “I practiced with Ace and got him ready. So all you have to do is stay in your chair while I do the class with him. You don’t participate.”
    “RIGHT! SIT. STAY. GOT IT.”
    “Good,” I said, almost slipping and saying
Good boy
.
    Think positive
, I thought. Me. My class. Ace on the side,watching, listening if he wanted, but, above all, behaving himself.
    Unlike last week.
    It sounded too good to be true. But, like my dad said, old dogs could sometimes learn new tricks … right? Of course, the only actual old dog I knew well was Bridget, the beagle that belonged to the Stanleys, our next-door neighbors. Poor old Bridgie had to be about a hundred in dog years. She couldn’t see or hear very well, but she was still the