"She's in the sandbox," said Mom.
"They found her when the stream went dry," said Dad.
"Can we keep her?" I asked.
The tortoise lay hidden inside her beautiful shell.
'No Pets, Please!'
"Aren't you going to be friendly?" I begged.
But she wouldn't budge.
"Come on, little lump!" I picked her up. "Won't you come out and play?" I shook her. "Come on!" She slipped from my fingers -- slam -- crack!
I stared at the pavement. A jagged break ran down the tortoise's shell. I had done that. Tears poured from my eyes.
The vet fixed her shell, but I couldn't stop crying. Mom gave her away.
"I never want a pet, ever," I told Mom.
She wasn't listening. On my birthday, something wet and warm splashed against my face.
"Woof?"
It was a ball of fur with a bow tied around its neck.
I felt sick.
"Happy birthday!" Mom and Dad smiled.
I went cold. "I told you," I sobbed. "No pets, please!"
"Woof?"
"No!" I hid beneath the blankets. "You can't trust me, little puppy." I started to shiver.
"Sorry, love. We'll take her back," whispered Mom.
Months later we were driving home when a lump of feathers fell from the sky. It bounced on the car and landed by the road.
When I turned, I saw a flapping shape rise and disappear.
"It flew away," I said. "It must be OK."
Dad was relieved. When we reached home, he searched the car for dents. Instead, he found a baby hawk stuck to the front. It was alive!
"There must have been two of them fighting in midair," said Dad.
He undid its wing. Mom brought a box. I watched from a distance.
Hawk moved into our kitchen, and Mom roped me into helping out. Slowly, Hawk got better. He began flapping his wings. Mom had me keep watch for the neighbor's cats as Hawk remembered how to fly outside.
On a sunny day, Hawk decided it was time. He soared into the air. Soon, he was a speck on the horizon. He never looked back.
"The Santa Anas are blowing," moaned Dad, days later.
"You know what that means," Mom said with a sigh.
"Fire season," I said with a groan.
There was a whimpering sound. A black nose sniffed the backdoor screen, a shaggy tail wagged.
"Poor thing, she must be lost," said Mom.
We took her in. "Remember, you are only a visitor," I told the dog.
A week and many phone calls later, Mom came into my room.
"No one has claimed her. Her house may have burned down."
I felt sick. "We only take in guests," I said. "What about the shelter?"
Mom looked me straight in the eyes.
"Woof?" said the dog.
Crack! I heard instead.
"Woof?" She stared up at me, begging.
I squeezed my eyes shut -- and in my mind I saw a turtle slam into the pavement.
"Woof?"
I shoved my fingers into my ears. "I hurt things," I whispered. "You can't trust. . . ." All at once, the wind whistled in my head. Hawk climbed into a sunny blue sky.
I opened my eyes.
The dog was still there. "You can't trust me," I said. Her eyes were pools of love and trust. I stopped shivering.
"You don't understand."
She didn't blink.
"No!" I said. But I couldn't shake the picture of Hawk, cured of his broken wing, flying free. I'd helped do that. "Maybe I can be trusted."
The dog put her head in my lap. Her tail wagged her butt.
"Sandy Wigglebutt," I giggled. "I guess I'm not too old to learn new tricks, after all."
"Woof!" said Sandy Wigglebutt, and she curled up on the carpet.
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