TITLE: FRIED LIVER
GENRE: MG Contemporary
He was the mangiest mutt you ever saw--matted up fur the color of mud and bone skinny. That dog came out of the blue, walked up onto our porch and plopped his ugly self down.
Dad couldn't see it over the big box he carried, and almost tripped. "What was that?" He set down the box labeled MIKE'S WINTER CLOTHES.
"That animal," Dad said, "is a filthy fleabag." Dirt and Dad were enemies. He clapped his hands and yelled, "Scram!"
The dog didn't scram. He didn't even flinch.
"Skeedaddle!" Dad tried. "Move on home now, ya hear!"
The dog lifted his head and looked at us. It was one sad look.
"Can't we keep him?" I blurted. And for the first time in forever, I didn't stutter. "We can clean him up."
Dad eyed me, then scratched his buzz. "Well, Son, does it look like we have any choice?"
The dog thunked his tail a couple of times like he was saying "thanks." Then he put his big head between his big paws and fell asleep.
Now, if that mutt had known Dad was Major Tom McTavish, he might have moved. 'Cause when the Major says move, people move. Take me. I'm only twelve, but I've already moved seven times. It's like the Air Force has this calendar that says, "Mike McTavish is starting to feel at home. Mike McTavish is making friends. Move his butt right now!"