Mom: Daddy is taking you kids to a movie today.
I’m going to—
Daddy: I am?
Buddy: He is? I don’t think I can go, I have
stuff to do—
Mom: And while you’re gone, I’m going to give
your bedrooms a thorough cleaning. Especially yours, Buddy.
Buddy: No,
Mom, totally not necessary. I cleaned my room last night.
Mom: Buddy, I don’t consider rolling nine
socks into a ball and tossing them into the corner of your room any form of
cleaning. And besides, I want to take a look under your bed.
Buddy: Mom, there’s nothing under there.
Mom: Really? Because this morning while you were
taking your so-called shower, I detected a peculiar smell coming from your
bedroom.
Buddy: Uh . . . that was
probably my football jersey. It’s covered in mud.
Mom: Son, while I can see that storing a
football jersey under your bed is an excellent idea, along with a couple of questionable
magazines, not to mention a—
Buddy: I’m keeping those magazines for a friend.
Mom: I see. And does this friend of yours have four legs, by any chance? And a wet nose? Oh,
and a tail?
Daddy: What’s going on here?
Mom: It seems we have a new addition to our
family.
Val: Did you have another baby, Mom?
Mom: Yes, Valerie. You’ve guessed it. You
should be a detective when you grow up. Last night, while you were all watching
Bonanza, I had a baby, and I stored it under Buddy’s bed for
safekeeping.
Daddy: Will someone please tell me what’s happening
here?
Mom rises from the kitchen table, goes out into the yard, and returns carrying a little dog of indeterminable age.
Val: It’s a doggy.
Mom: Valerie, again your powers of observation
amaze me.
Buddy: She followed me home last night. Can we
please keep her? I promise I’ll take care of her; you won’t have to do a thing.
She’s so sweet, you’ll hardly notice she’s here—
Mom: She already chewed one of your gym shoes,
and by the way, she’s finished reading one of the magazines under your bed. I
hope your friend wasn’t overly
attached to Miss October, who seems to have an unnaturally small waist.
Val: Can we keep her, please, please, please.
She’s so cute and—
Buddy: I promise you won’t even know she’s here.
Please, Mom. Dad, please, can we?
Daddy looks at Mom, who is holding her coffee cup up to her face in both hands. The dog is sitting quietly on her lap.
Mom: Maybe. We’ll put out some flyers and see if she’s just lost. But she is your responsibility, Buddy. And you can pay for some new gym shoes out of your allowance.
Buddy: I will, no problem. And I’ll buy her food
and a basket for her to sleep in and—
Mom: Well, let’s hope Sears is hiring twelve-year-olds,
because your allowance is not going to cover it.
We called her Buttercup, after Dick Butkus, Buddy’s favorite Bears player. She lived with us for five years before she passed on. And her basket, kept in Buddy’s room, was only ever used as target practice for his rolled-up socks. Every night Buttercup crawled under Buddy’s bed to sleep. Peacefully.
Read about grown-up Buddy in the latest Val & Kit Mystery, Knowing People.
