The Dog in the Freezer by Harry Mazer Page B

could say something nice to him. If you want Mr. Kleiner’s dog to like you—”
    â€œWho said I did?” He rubbed Nelson’s head hard. “That dog hates me.”
    Connie gave him the big look. “Are you afraid of him, Jake?”
    â€œNo way,” he said, but he avoided her eyes. He wasn’t going to admit that he was scared of a dog he could put in his pocket.

• SIX •
Big Boy
    The next few mornings when Jake dropped Mr. Kleiner’s paper, the dog had his usual fit, snarling and clawing at the door. But instead of rushing past, Jake lingered. “Hi,” he said through the door. “Remember me?”
    The dog hit the door like a battering ram.
    â€œThis is Jake Estabrook. How’re you doing today?”
    The dog barked like a machine gun. It sounded like he was going to blow himself up.
    Jake waited until he stopped. “Wow,” he said, “that was great. You’re some barker.”
    One day, returning from school, Jake saw Mr. Kleiner’s dog in the elevator. He hesitated to get on, even thoughMr. Kleiner had the dog on a leash. “In or out?” Mr. Kleiner said.
    Reluctantly, Jake got on.
    â€œWhat floor?” Mr. Kleiner said.
    â€œFifteen, please. Thank you.” Mr. Kleiner pushed the button. He didn’t want Mr. Kleiner to think he didn’t like him and his dog.
    On the way up, the dog was perfect. He didn’t bark. He kept back behind Mr. Kleiner. No snarls or anything. In fact, he looked half cute tucked in behind Mr. Kleiner’s big feet. Even a little shy, maybe.
    â€œHey, little dog,” Jake said softly.
    The dog looked up at him and smiled. Not a big smile, just white teeth arranged in a pleasant half-moon. The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and Mr. Kleiner got off with the dog. “See you,” Jake called after them.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    On Thursday, when Jake delivered the paper, the dog scratched and sniffed under the crack of the door. He didn’t bark. “Good little dog,” Jake said. He was going to have to tell Connie her method really worked. “Good little dog,” he said again. Maybe he shouldn’t call him little. Nobody liked to be called little. He still remembered how, when he was little, he always wanted to be bigger and see what was on the table or do what the big people were doing.
    â€œHow’re you doing, Big Boy?”
    The dog stopped scratching at the door. He was listening.
    â€œBig Boy,” Jake said, even though the dog was no bigger than a dried-out prune. “You like that name, don’t you, Big Boy? Hey, big dog,” he said softly, “it’s Jake Estabrook.”
    The dog was clawing the door again.
    â€œYou’re going to wear your nails off scratching like that, Big Boy.” He thought the dog was responding to his voice and he kept it calm and even.
    After that, every time Jake said Big Boy, the dog stopped and listened. It was a good sign. It meant they were getting to be friends.

• SEVEN •
The Phone Call
    Jake was on his way out of the apartment when the phone rang. He turned back and picked it up.
    â€œIs this the world-famous Jake Estabrook?”
    â€œPop!” Jake dropped his knapsack. His face flamed. “Where are you?” His father’s voice sounded as if he were right here in the building, downstairs in the lobby, using the house phone and winking at the doorman. “Are you here?”
    â€œI’m out here in God’s country: Sand Creek, Arizona,” his father said in his slow, unhurried voice. “Right now, Jake, I’m in a telephone booth on the side of the road. Nobody here but me and the jackrabbits. I sure wish youwere here with me. I just finished running, and I thought, What time is it back there? What’s my son doing right now? I want to hear his voice.”
    Jake glanced at the clock. He’d be late for school, but he didn’t care.