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she liked. “I think you’re going to have to hitchhike.”
    “Don’t tease, Joe,” said Nancy shortly.
    “I’m not teasing, honey,” he assured her, tucking Snoopy into the crook of his arm. “I’m going to try to find an eastbound trucker to take the old girl back for us.”
    At the local truck stop, Joe sat Snoopy on a stool beside him while he fell into conversation with drivers who stopped to pet her. “Gee, I’d like to help you out,” one after another said. “She’s awful cute and I wouldn’t mind the company, but I’m not going through Fort Wayne this trip.” The only driver who could have taken her picked Snoopy up and looked at her closely. “Naw,” the man growled, “with an old dog like her, there’d be too many pit stops. I got to make time.” Still hopeful, Joe tacked up a sign and gave the motel’s phone number.
    “Somebody’ll call before bus time tomorrow,” he predicted to the kids when he and Snoopy got back to the motel.
    “But suppose nobody does?” Jodi said.
    Joe answered, “Sweetie, we’ve got to be on that bus. The Travelers’ Aid can only pay for us to stay here one night.”
    The next day Joe went off to collect the wired funds while Nancy and the kids sorted through their possessions, trying to decide what could be crammed into the six pieces of baggage they were allowed on the bus and what had to be left behind. Ordinarily Snoopy would have napped, but now her eyes followed every move of Nancy and the children, and if one of them paused to think, even for a minute, Snoopy nosed at the idle hand, asking to be touched, to be held.
    “She knows,” Jodi said, cradling her. “She knows something awful is going to happen.”
    The Travelers’ Aid representative arrived to take the belongings they couldn’t pack for donation to the local thrift shop. A nice man, he was caught between being sympathetic and being practical when he looked at Snoopy. “Seventeen is really old for a dog,” he said gently. “Maybe you just have to figure she’s had a long life and a good one.” When nobody spoke, he took a deep breath. “If you want, you can leave her with me and I’ll have her put to sleep after you’ve gone.”
    The children looked at Nancy but said nothing; they understood there wasn’t any choice and they didn’t want to make it harder on their mother by protesting. Nancy bowed her head. She thought of all the walks, all the romps, all the picnics, all the times she’d gone in to kiss the children goodnight and Snoopy had lifted her head to be kissed too.
    “Thank you,” she told the man. “It’s kind of you to offer. But no. No,” she repeated firmly, “Snoopy’s part of the family, and families don’t give up on each other.” She reached for the telephone book, looked up “Kennels” in the Yellow Pages, and began dialing. Scrupulously, she started each call with the explanation that the family was down on their luck. “But,” she begged, “if you’ll just keep our little dog until we can find a way to get her to Fort Wayne, I give you my word we’ll pay. Please trust me. Please.”
    A veterinary clinic, which also boarded pets, finally agreed, and the Travelers’ Aid representative drove them to the place. Nancy was the last to say good-bye. She knelt and took Snoopy’s frosted muzzle in her hands. “You know we’d never leave you if we could help it,” she whispered, “so don’t give up; don’t you dare give up. We’ll get you back somehow. I promise.”
    Once back in Fort Wayne, the Topps found a mobile home to rent, one of Joe’s brothers gave them his old car, sisters-in-law provided pots and pans and bed linens, the children returned to their old schools, and Nancy and Joe found jobs. Bit by bit the family got itself together. But the circle had a painful gap in it. Snoopy was missing. Every day Nancy telephoned a different moving company, a different trucking company, begging for a ride for Snoopy. Every day Jodi and Matthew