Forget Me Not by Coleen Paratore

your phone number, honey. Papa B and I are going to make you famous!”
    The animal control truck pulls up. A man in a gray uniform gets out, says his name is Mark Sweeney. He asks me where I found the dog. I tell him as much as I can recall. Mr. Sweeney approaches the dog slowly and gently puts a harness around him.
    “Where are you taking him?” I ask, feeling like I’m going to cry.
    “Bramble Animal Shelter.”
    “Where’s that?”
    “On Mill Road, across from the waste treatment plant,” he says, then laughs. “Not much of a location, but we just planted some flowers out front.”
    I know where the waste treatment plant is. It’s on the way to Mariel’s.
    “What are you going to do with him?” I ask in a very stern voice, like, You better treat him well.
    Sam comes over next to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. My mother goes in the house.
    “We’ll scan him for a chip,” Mr. Sweeney says. He explains that many pet owners now have a microchip implanted in their dogs and cats for easy identification if they get lost.
    “We’ll check him for fleas, give him a bath. This one’s a smelly guy, huh, boy?”
    “He’s just salty from the sea,” I say, defending my dog.
    “We’ll give him a rabies shot. Check him over. Be sure he’s not injured. If he is, we’ll bring him to the vet; otherwise, we’ll just kennel him and hold him for five days.”
    “How do you try to find the owner?” Sam asks.
    “We’ll post a photo on our Web site and hope for a call.”
    “What happens after five days?” I say, all worried. What if they put him to sleep?
    “It’s Bramble town policy, after the fifth day, if the owner doesn’t show, we get the animal ready for adoption. We’ll make sure he’s neutered, flea-free, run him through a behavioral test, and then put him up for adoption.”
    “ Adoption? ” I say. I look at Sam. He nods and smiles reassuringly.
    I feel hope rising inside me like a balloon. “You mean if no one comes in a week, we could adopt him?”
    “Sure,” Mr. Sweeney says. “And I hope you will. You’d have to pay a fee, of course, and we’d have to come do a home inspection, a background check…”
    “A background check?” Sam says.
    “Well, basically, we’d talk with your neighbors and make sure there’s no history of animal cruelty.”
    “We love animals,” I say, already auditioning for the role of “Mom.” “And there’s a pet spa opening right next door, so you can be sure he would be pampered.”
    “Well, that sounds fine,” Mr. Sweeney says, “but for now, I’ve got to take this guy in. See if his owners show up.”
    My eyes fill with tears. Don’t show up, don’t show up. This is my dog now. I hug Salty Dog and whisper, “Don’t worry, boy, you’ll be okay. I’ll come visit you tomorrow.”
    Up in my room, I take out my journal and pour out fast what’s happening.
    I might adopt a dog! He’s already mine. In my heart, I know he is. Mare’s right. He came to me. From the mermaids, straight out of the sea.
    I think about that boat anchored in the bay.
    Could Salty—that’s what I’d name him—have fallen overboard? No. That would have been a very long way to swim. Dogs don’t like to swim that far, right? I have no idea. I don’t know much about dogs at all. Except that I love this one. Sam and I have a whole week to work on Mother. Maybe when she sees how much we both want…
    When I finish writing, I take out my bag of saltwater taffy. I’m in the mood for peppermint. I open a smooth white-and-red striped candy and pop it in my mouth. That reminds me. The messages for Nana’s “taffy tags.” I like this idea. I should get a patent on it or something—I bet that’s what Tina would tell me to do.
    I wonder how Tina and Ruby’s book is coming along.
    I grab a notebook and pen. Let’s see…taffy, taffy…
    Eat Taffy. Be Happy.
    A taffy a day keeps the troubles away.
    One taffy’s good; two is better.
    Don’t Worry. Be Taffy.
    Sandy