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felt suddenly weak with relief.
    â€œErik, listen to me,” Oma went on. “In the meantime, don’t you go near that dog, you hear? If it’s in pain, you don’t know what it might do.”
    â€œOkay,” he said. “I won’t.” He didn’t mention that he’d already gone near the dog, and it had done nothing more than wag its tail. Erik wasn’t sure why, but he felt certain the dog wouldn’t bite him. There was no need to say this to Oma, however.
    â€œYou stay put, now, until I get home.”
    â€œI will. And, Oma? Please hurry .”

8
    Erik couldn’t stay put, despite his promise to Oma. He went back out to the barn, where the dog remained curled up by the hay bales. Erik approached slowly, speaking softly. The dog’s brown eyes found his and didn’t waver as he walked up and knelt down. Now that he was a little more calm, Erik noticed that the dog wasn’t wearing a collar. Did that mean it was a stray? Its ribs showed clearly, and Erik wondered how many days it had been suffering, hungry, yet unable to eat because of the quills.
    With great care, he reached out and gently stroked the dog’s side. “The vet is on his way, boy,” he said. “Hang on.”
    It seemed as if hours passed before Erik heard a car pull into the driveway. He got up and watched from the barn door as Oma’s friend dropped her off. Just seconds later the vet arrived, and Erik called them both over to the barn. Oma introduced him to “Dr. Bob,” and they all went inside to where the dog lay.
    Dr. Bob examined it quickly. “It’s bad, but I’ve seen worse,” he said cheerfully. “Erik, I’ll need you to hold her still while I pull out the quills.”
    â€œMe?” Erik asked with surprise. He hadn’t anticipated being asked to help.
    â€œOh, Doc, I don’t know,” Oma said uncertainly. “Is that safe? I don’t recognize this dog. I don’t think it belongs to anybody I know. I can’t have anything happening to Erik. He’s my daughter Darlene’s boy, you know.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Grace. She seems very good-natured,” Dr. Bob answered, echoing the very thing that Erik had sensed about the dog. And he had called the dog a she .
    â€œSorry, girl,” Erik murmured. “I didn’t realize.”
    â€œSome dogs react to pain and fear with aggression,” Dr. Bob went on, “but I think she’s going to be okay.” Looking at Oma, he added, “If I’m wrong, I’ll take her back to my office and anesthetize her. But, in my opinion, it probably won’t be necessary. Compared to some dogs I’ve seen, the porky let her off easy.”
    â€œWell, Doc, you know best,” said Oma. “But I’m going back to the house. I can’t bear to watch.”
    Dr. Bob, speaking in the same low, soothing voice Erik had tried to use before, positioned the dog and showed Erik how to hold her. “Keep talking to her,” he said.
    Erik did as he was told. Dr. Bob drew a pair of forceps from his bag. Gripping firmly onto the base of the first quill, he pulled, hard and fast.
    The dog flinched violently and yelped. The sound wrenched Erik’s heart, but he got hold of her again, gently but firmly, and kept up a steady stream of comforting words. One by one, Dr. Bob carefully and methodically pulled out the rest of the quills.
    â€œThe small ones are the hardest,” he explained as he worked. “They’re the ones that tend to break off. She’s lucky; this must have been a pretty quick encounter. There aren’t any in her tongue.”
    Erik shuddered at the thought.
    â€œSometimes,” the vet continued quietly, “if the dog shakes the porcupine, the quills will get in their ears and all along the sides of their face and neck. Then, if they start to roll to relieve the pain, they end up driving the quills in