Shadow
Authors: Ellen Miles
For Katie
“Charles, why did you move the forks?” Lizzie felt around on the table until her hand touched a pile of silverware. She could tell by the smooth shape that she was feeling spoons. Where were the forks?
“I didn't move anything,” Charles called from the living room. “I'm not even near the table.”
Lizzie felt around again. “Ah, there they are!” She picked up the handful of forks and began moving carefully around the table, setting one down at each place.
“Told you,” Charles said. “What are you doing, anyway?”
Lizzie could hear her younger brother walking into the dining room. “I'm pretending to be blind,”
she told him. She had tied a silky blue scarf over her eyes. It made a good blindfold.
“Um, okay,” Charles said. “Why?”
“I want to know what it's like,” Lizzie explained. “Our class is reading a book called
The Story of My Life,
by Helen Keller. Did you ever hear of her?”
Charles shook his head.
“Well, did you?” Lizzie asked when she didn't hear him answer.
“Oh â” said Charles when he remembered that Lizzie couldn't see him shaking his head. “No.”
“I guess you will when you're in fourth grade,” Lizzie said. She always liked to remind Charles that she was older and wiser. Knowing his sister couldn't see him, Charles made a face and stuck out his tongue.
“Anyway,” Lizzie went on, “she was this girl who was blind and deaf. She couldn't talk, either. Can you imagine?”
This time, Charles remembered to say no as he shook his head.
“Well, I'm trying to,” Lizzie said. “I mean, I'm at least trying to imagine what it would be like to be blind.”
“Did Helen Keller have a Seeing Eye dog?” Charles asked.
“Good question,” Lizzie said. “No, she loved dogs and had lots of them, but no guide dogs. They didn't really have guide dogs for blind people when she was growing up.” Lizzie heard Charles sigh. She knew he was probably rolling his eyes because she sounded like a book again. Lizzie couldn't help it. She liked facts. Especially facts about dogs.
Lizzie and Charles were both crazy about dogs. So was the Bean, their little brother. In fact, the Bean â whose real name was Adam â liked to pretend that he
was
a dog. He liked to play with dog toys and sleep on a dog bed, and he barked more often than he talked.
But even though the Bean acted like a dog, he was not a dog. So Lizzie and Charles still begged
their parents for a dog almost every day. Mr. Peterson, their father, loved dogs, too. But he and Mrs. Peterson â who had always been a “cat person” â agreed that the family was not ready for a full-time dog. As Mom always said, dogs were a big commitment. That meant they were a lot of work and responsibility.
Lizzie knew that. And she was ready. Ready to walk a dog every day, feed it, groom it, and train it. She had proved it, too. The Petersons had been the foster family for two puppies recently, taking care of them for a little while until they found them forever families. Charles and Lizzie had worked really hard to take good care of the puppies. With help from their parents, they had started to train the puppies, too.
“How's Snowball?” Lizzie asked Charles, thinking of their most recent foster puppy. The little west highland white terrier now lived with Mrs. Peabody, who was Charles's Grandbuddy. Grandbuddies was a school program where kids
visited with older folks who lived at apartments called The Meadows.
“He's great!” Charles reported. “Mrs. Peabody taught him how to put his own toys away. He carries them over to a basket in the corner. Then he comes and waits for a treat.”
“Snowball's such a little smartie,” Lizzie said. She felt for the stack of plates and began to go around the table again, putting a plate at each setting. “I think he might be even smarter than Goldie.” Goldie was a golden retriever puppy the Petersons had fostered. She lived next door with Charles's best friend, Sammy, and his family, and their older golden retriever, Rufus.
“I don't know about that,” Charles said. “Goldie's pretty smart. She already learned how to open the cabinet where Sammy's mom keeps the dog food.”
“That's just because she's hungry,” Lizzie said, laughing. “Golden retrievers are big chowhounds. They love food more than anything. But Goldie's no dummy, that's for sure.”
“You can say that again,” said Mr. Peterson, coming into the room from the kitchen.
“Goldie's no dummy,” Lizzie repeated with a straight face, “that's for sure.” Then she cracked up.
Mr. Peterson laughed, too. “Why the blindfold?” he asked.
Lizzie explained again about Helen Keller.
“Hmm,” said Mr. Peterson. “Interesting. Well, you did a very nice job setting the table, even without being able to see. But you're going to have to squeeze in one more place. We're having company for dessert tonight.”
“Who?” Charles and Lizzie asked together.
“Dr. Gibson,” their dad told them. “Remember, the veterinarian we took Snowball to? Your mom and I invited her over. She called today and said she has something to talk to us about.” He smiled at them. “And I have a feeling it might have to do with a puppy.”
“A puppy?” Lizzie pulled off her blindfold. Suddenly, she was too excited to concentrate on pretending to be blind. “What
about
a puppy?”
Dad shrugged and held up both hands. “I have no idea,” he said. “Your mom spoke to her.” Then he checked his watch. “By the way, Mom and the Bean will be home any minute, so let's get dinner on the table. I made macaroni and cheese.”
“But Dad!” Charles said. “Are we getting another puppy to foster, or what?”
Lizzie sighed. Sometimes Charles just didn't listen. “Dad doesn't
know
,” she said. “Come on, help me finish setting the table.”
They all rushed around for a few minutes, and
by the time Mom and the Bean walked in, dinner was all ready.
“We heard about the puppy!” Lizzie said, as her mom took off her coat and put a bag of groceries down on the counter.
“Oh?” asked her mom, raising her eyebrows. “What exactly did you hear?”
“Well,” Lizzie admitted, “not much, really. Just that Dr. Gibson is coming over later and it might be about a puppy.”
Mom nodded. “Well, that's about all I know, too,” she said. “I was rushing around when Dr. Gibson called and I really didn't have time to talk. But we'll find out more soon, I'm sure.”
“We're getting another puppy, we're getting another puppy,” chanted Charles, hopping around the room.
“Uppy! Uppy!” yelled the Bean. He knew that word. He
loved
that word.
“I wonder what kind,” Lizzie said. “I hope it's a big dog this time. Great Dane? Poodle? Saint
Bernard? Even an Airedale would be cool.” Lizzie loved looking at her “Dog Breeds of the World” poster and learning about all the different kinds of dogs there were. She loved big dogs best â in fact, she didn't even really think little dogs counted. “Really,” she finished, “any puppy would be great. Look at Snowball. He was a little dog, and he was adorable and smart and so, so much fun.” Lizzie knew she was rattling on a little but she couldn't help herself. She was excited.
“Whoa, whoa,” said Mom. “Hold on there, kids. Let's wait and find out what Dr. Gibson has to tell us.”
Lizzie loved her dad's macaroni and cheese, but that night she hardly tasted it as she wolfed it down.
Charles didn't even bother arguing about how many bites of broccoli he had to eat. He just finished what was on his plate without even seeming to notice.
The Bean crawled around on the floor by their
feet, the way he always did at mealtimes, pretending to be a dog. Every so often he would come over to Lizzie's chair and put his chin on her knee, asking to be patted. “Good dog,” she said as she stroked his hair. The Bean liked that.
“Nice job on your broccoli, Charles,” Mom said. “You ate it all.”
That reminded Charles of a joke.
Everything
reminded Charles of a joke. “Hey, why was six afraid of seven?” he asked.
“Why?” Dad asked. He always humored Charles.
“Because seven eight nine,” Charles said. “Get it? Seven ate nine!”
He cracked up.
Lizzie rolled her eyes. She'd heard that one a million times. “That joke is so old, the last time I heard it I fell off my dinosaur,” she said.
Charles stuck his tongue out at her.
“Well, I thought it was funny,” Dad said. “Seven eight nine. I'll have to remember to tell that one down at the firehouse.”
Mr. Peterson was a fireman, and Mrs. Peterson was a reporter for the local newspaper. Sometimes Mom wrote articles about big fires that Dad helped put out.
“I think it's your turn to clear the table, Charles,” Mom said when they were done eating.
“I'll help,” Lizzie said, jumping up. “He helped me set it.”
Mom smiled. Lizzie knew how much Mom loved it when they helped out without being asked. She figured this was a good time to get on Mom's good side, if there might be a puppy in the picture.
Lizzie was loading the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. “I'll get it!” she yelled as she dashed past Charles. She threw the door open.
“Hello,” said Dr. Gibson.
“Oh!” said Lizzie, taking a deep breath. Cuddled in the vet's arms was the cutest puppy she had ever seen. His coat was a shiny, silky black, and the pup looked back at Lizzie with intelligent, sparkling brown eyes. His forehead was wrinkled
in the cutest way, as if he were worried about something. He was a serious little pup.
