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explained what the inside of a frog looked like, Homer hid from the stares and snickers of the other students. Great, another reason for the kids to make fun of him. He tried to distract himself by reading a paragraph about incomplete sentences. Totally boring. That, by the way, was an incomplete sentence.
    At the end of the school day, Homer waited for theschoolhouse to clear, then he collected his coin book from the shelf and stepped onto the porch. Soft light filtered through the school yard’s grand oak tree. Gwendolyn and Carlotta had already passed the feed store and none of the other kids had stuck around to tease him. A group headed into the mercantile to buy nickel candy. Homer searched the sky, happy to see only normal clouds. He hoped that Gwendolyn wouldn’t say anything to their parents, because Mrs. Pudding would probably get all worried and make him go to the doctor for an eye exam.
    Homer checked to make sure his coin was still in his pocket. Then he stuck his nose into his coin book and resumed his search. By the time he reached his driveway, he had come to the last page, but the coin’s identity remained unsolved. Uncle Drake would have told him not to be discouraged. “There are no unsolvable mysteries, only mysterious solutions.” Homer decided that tomorrow he’d go to the library and look through the coin books. Maybe Mr. Silverstein, Milkydale’s librarian, could special order some from The City. He tucked the book under his arm and reached into the mailbox.
    When the Pudding children arrived home from school they immediately began their afternoon chores. Farms cannot work efficiently unless all family members do chores. If you are a city dweller, your chores are probablyvery different from country chores. Perhaps you have to sweep your elevator, or pick garbage off your sidewalk, or get your doorman a nice cup of coffee. If your family is rich, you might not even know what the word
chore
means. Lucky you.
    Homer’s first chore was to collect the mail. On that day, the mail included a catalog for farm machinery, the latest issue of
Goat World
, and some letters. The front cover of
Goat World
had a picture of two border collies. MEET THE AWARD-WINNING COLLIES OF THE CRESCENT GOAT FARM . Uh-oh. Mr. Pudding wouldn’t like that.
    “He’s sick!” Squeak ran down the driveway, his boots kicking up bits of gravel. “He’s sick. Real sick!” He grabbed Homer’s hand, pulling with all his might.
    “Who’s sick?” Homer asked.
    “Dog. He’s real sick.”
    “Dog?”
    Squeak turned his little dirt-smudged face up at Homer. “The new one. I named him Dog.”
    “Uncle Drake’s dog is sick?”
    “No, Homer.
Your
dog is sick. Come on.”

Paint Milkshake
     
    D r. Huckle’s white truck was parked next to Mr. Pudding’s red truck. Dr. Huckle was Milkydale’s only veterinarian. She specialized in the treatment of goat ailments. Since every family in Milkydale owned goats, her old truck sputtered up and down the long farm driveways most every day.
    “Over there,” Squeak said, pulling Homer’s hand.
    Dr. Huckle knelt beside a white picket fence. The new dog lay on his side, panting. The farm dogs had gathered around, as had Mr. and Mrs. Pudding and Gwendolyn.The goats stuck their heads between the fence boards for a better view. Dr. Huckle picked up one of Dog’s long ears and peered into it with a skinny flashlight. “Are you sure he drank paint?” she asked.
    Mr. Pudding stuck his hands into his overall pockets. “Saw it with my own eyes. I was getting ready to whitewash the fence and I went into the barn to get my paintbrush. When I came back, that dog had its face right in the bucket, lapping away.”
    A splat of white paint had dried on Dog’s nose. His tongue, streaked white, hung out the corner of his mouth. He moaned as his belly rumbled. Homer remembered the time at the Milkydale County Fair when he’d eaten five corn dogs. Late that night, his stomach had puffed out like a