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totally messed up his oral report on otters.
    Nobody else seemed to be paying attention to their lessons, either. Finally, Mr. Mason pulled out the neighborhood map the class had made the day before. “Let’s get back to our Find Ziggy project, shall we?” he asked.
    He had Charles tell him all the places where Ziggy had been sighted, and he stuck redpushpins in all those spots. Charles sat at his desk with his chin on one hand, remembering how frustrating it had been to arrive too late every time. What good was it to replay the whole thing in his mind?
    “Hmmm, that’s interesting,” said Mr. Mason. “It almost looks as if the pins are in a pattern.”
    Charles sat up and took a closer look at the map. Mr. Mason was right. The pins started on one side of the map and meandered toward the other, from right to left, east to west. West. Toward West Springfield, the town where Rosie lived, across the bridge. Charles remembered that he and Aunt Amanda had gone over that bridge the day they had picked up Ziggy. He jumped up. “I think Ziggy’s trying to find his way home,” he said. “He’s trying to get back to Rosie’s.” He told Mr. Mason where Rosie lived.
    Mr. Mason nodded slowly as he examined the map. “You might be right,” he said. “And it wouldnot be that surprising. There are lots of stories about lost dogs finding their way home, even over a distance of hundreds of miles. Nobody knows exactly how they manage to do it, but they do.”
    Charles called Rosie as soon as he got home from school. “Maybe we should set a humane trap near your house, too,” he told her. “In case Ziggy comes back when you’re not around.”
    “That’s an excellent idea,” said Rosie.
    Charles thought she sounded tired. “Any more Ziggy sightings today?” he asked.
    “I almost hate to tell you,” said Rosie. “Somebody called me to say that Ziggy had been caught in that trap we set for him. I zoomed over there as fast as I could, but by the time I got there, another person had come along and let him out.”
    “What?” Charles couldn’t believe his ears. “Why would they do that?”
    Rosie gave a short laugh. “I think they felt sorry for the poor dog and wanted to set him free,” she said. “Next time I’ll remember to attach one of our flyers to the humane trap so people understand what it’s there for.”
    It made Charles feel a little better to know that Rosie made mistakes, too. He was just about to tell her not to worry, they would try again and catch Ziggy for real the next time, when Mom came over, waving her cell phone.
    “Hold on,” Charles told Rosie. “What is it?” he asked Mom.
    “Somebody caught Ziggy,” she said. “It’s him, I’m sure. They gave me a perfect description. They’re driving over with him now.”
    Charles grinned at her. Mom seemed just as excited as he was. “That’s great,” he said. He spoke into the phone again. “Rosie? Did you hear that?” he asked.
    “I’m on my way,” Rosie said, and hung up.
    A few minutes later, a little blue car pulled up in front of the Petersons’ house. Charles looked out the window in the front door. Were these the people with Ziggy? He decided to wait until he saw that Ziggy was safely clipped to a leash before he ran out to meet them. He had learned his lesson. He did not want to scare Ziggy off.
    Charles watched and waited. Yes! There, in the backseat, was a small black and tan puppy, poking his sharp little nose up to look out the window. It was Ziggy, all right. Charles would have recognized those eyes anywhere. It looked as if he had a collar on, with a red leash clipped to it. Then, just as a woman got out of the passenger side of the car and opened its back door, Lizzie came downstairs from her room and joined Charles at the window.
    “What’s going on?” she asked. Then she must have spied the little dog. “Hey, is that Ziggy?”
    Before Charles could stop her, she opened the door and ran out, slamming it behind her.