"WOOF!"

 

The next thing I knew I was flat on the ground with a huge paw on my chest and

an oversize Brillo- pad tongue licking my face.

 

"Ow!" I said. "Hey, girl. Good to see you too. Owl"

 

It took a few minutes for Mrs. O'Leary to calm down and get off me. By then I

was pretty much drenched in dog drool. She wanted to play fetch, so I picked up

a bronze shield and tossed it across the arena.

 

By the way, Mrs. O'Leary is the world's only friendly hellhound. I kind of

inherited her when her previous owner died. She lived at camp, but Beckendorf .

. . well, Beckendorf used to take care of her whenever I was gone. He had

smelted Mrs. O'Leary's favorite bronze chewing bone. He'd forged her collar with

the little smiley face and a crossbones name tag. Next to me, Beckendorf had

been her best friend.

 

Thinking about that made me sad all over again, but I threw the shield a few

more times because Mrs.

 

O'Leary insisted.

 

Soon she started barking — a sound slightly louder than an artillery gun — like

she needed to go for a walk. The other campers didn't think it was funny when