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see that," Mom said.
    Amy figured it was time for her to jump in. "And he's smart," she said. "I saw that right away when he followed me home from school. Well behaved and smart."
    "You can tell," Mom agreed, "just by looking at him."
    Sherlock sat there doing his best to look irresistible.
    "Sherlock," Amy commanded, "shake hands with my mother."
    Sherlock offered his paw and Mom shook it.
    Then Mom said, "I thought his name was Big Red."
    Amy said, "Uh..."
    Sean said, "It is. But..." He bit his lip, thinking.
    "But I thought Sherlock fit better," Amy said. "Seeing as he isn't big. Or red." She finished lamely, "But he is smart."
    "He's so smart," Sean said, "he knows when you're talking to him, no matter what you call him." He looked ready to burst into tears again. "If only I could find a good home for him."
    "Hmmm," Mom said noncommittally, maybe even a bit suspiciously, despite the ingratiating way Sherlock was rolling on his back to expose his soft, white belly.
    "Oh, please, Mom," Amy said.
    "He's a good watchdog," Sean told Mom. "And he's loyal and trustworthy and obedient."
    "Just like a Boy Scout," Mom said.
    "Please," Amy begged. "Please, please. I get so lonely, home alone, waiting for you and Dad to get home from work, and sometimes it's scary."
    Mom looked amazed to hear this never-before-mentioned news. She said, "He truly sounds like a wonderful dog, but I can't make a decision like that without talking it over with your father."
    Dad, Amy figured, would be a pushover compared to Mom. "Could we try it," she asked, making her voice little, "if it's OK with Daddy, for a day or two? If it doesn't work out, we could always ... you know ... let the Humane Society kill him."
    "Amy!" Mom gasped, with an anxious glance toward Sean, despite any doubts she may have had. She sighed. Loudly. Twice. Then she told Sean, "If it doesn't work out, we'll put an ad in the paper saying that he's free to a good home. No matter what, we can at least keep him that long."
    "Thank you! Thank you!" Amy and Sean cried, dancing around with excitement. Sherlock gave a dog version of a happy dance.
    "Hmmm," Mom said again. To Sean she added, "Well, if you don't need that ride, I'm going in to make dinner. Good luck in your new home."
    It took Sean at least two seconds too long to remember. "Thanks," he said, making up in brightness what he lacked in promptness. He hugged Sherlock. "Good-bye, Big Red," he said. "I'll miss you, but I'm sure these people will grow to love you."
    Sherlock licked his face and looked sad, but then he walked up to Amy's mom and wagged his tail.
    "I'm sure," Mom repeated, without conviction. She went inside, but Amy and Sean and Sherlock didn't dare speak anymore.
    Amy waved as Sean started pedaling down the sidewalk, until Mom must have reached the kitchen and noticed the remains of Sherlock's dinner in the family dinnerware.
    "
Amy!
Get in here this minute!"

In the Front Yard
    Amy told Sherlock, "We need to have you impress my father, so that he'll let me keep you."
    Sherlock sat with his tongue hanging out and eagerly asked, "Would he be impressed by the eight times table?"
    "Probably too impressed," Amy said. "We decided you shouldn't talk, remember? I was thinking more like you could bring him his newspaper when he comes home from work. Dogs in movies always fetch newspapers and slippers for the father when he comes home from work."
    "Always?" Sherlock asked.
    "Well, except, of course, for Lassie," Amy said. "She's too busy rescuing children who've fallen into abandoned wells to worry about stuff like fetching newspapers." Before he could ask, she added, "I don't know where there are any abandoned wells, with or without trapped children in them."
    So she coached him in newspaper delivery.
    As soon as Dad walked in the front door, a tail-wagging Sherlock thrust the newspaper into his hand while Amy explained—all in one breath so Dad wouldn't have a chance to say no—what a wonderful dog Sherlock was, and