The First Adventure by Gordon Korman Page A

the name of the breeder. It turns out Luthor was born in Germany. He was sold off because he was the runt of the litter, and that’s how he came to America.”
    All the friends looked over at the former runt, whose mouth was open wide enough to accommodate a human head as he polished off the last of his meat loaf ring. Peering on from Ben’s collar, Ferret Face heaved a sigh of disappointment.
    â€œAnyway,” Savannah continued, “there must have been a mix-up, because he was trained to be a guard dog.” For a moment, her eyes filled with tears. “It’s tragic. But it’s all part of the sweet, wonderful, sensitive creature you see before you today.”
    An awkward silence followed, as everybody remembered being chased, cornered, barked at, and even snapped at by this sweet, wonderful, sensitive creature.
    There was a cake for the people, too, with six candles — one for each of Luthor’s five years, and one to grow on.
    â€œLike
he
needs to grow!” Ben whispered.
    They were in the middle of singing “Happy Birthday” when Luthor suddenly leaped up, overturning the cake plate and the table it stood on. The growl that came from his throat rattled the windows. The short hairs at the scruff of his neck stood straight up.
    Ben crouched behind a chair. Inside his shirt, Ferret Face tried to burrow under one arm.
    â€œSweetie, what’s the matter?” Savannah asked, alarmed.
    The doorbell rang. The growl turned into a sharp bark.
    Savannah threw open the door. There on the front step stood a short, stocky man in his thirties with curly hair exploding out from around an L.A. Dodgers baseball cap. He was smiling broadly, but his eyes, which appeared double-size behind Coke-bottle glasses, were not smiling at all.
    â€œSavannah Drysdale! Lovely to see you again! Did you miss me?”
    The shocked silence was punctuated only by Luthor’s angry roaring. Cleopatra set down her tray and rushed to comfort her best friend.
    Everyone knew the newcomer all too well. He was the last person anyone had expected to see — or wanted to.
    S. Wendell Palomino, better known to Griffin and his friends as Swindle.
    The name brought back horrible memories. Swindle had once owned the collectibles shop where Luthor had been a guard dog. The storekeeper had cheated Griffin out of a Babe Ruth baseball card worth nearly a million dollars. In the end, Swindle had left town in disgrace, deserting Luthor at the dog pound. Savannah had adopted him instantly. It had all worked out okay.
    Or so everyone had thought.
    â€œWhat’s
he
doing here?” Pitch demanded, voicing the question on all their minds.
    Swindle beamed. “Simple, little lady. I’m not here to trouble any of you young people. I just came to pick up my dog.”
    The collective gasp nearly sucked all the air out of the house.
    Savannah found her voice at last. “
Your
dog? You abandoned him!”
    Palomino’s smile didn’t waver. “We got separated a while back,” he admitted. “I appreciate your looking out for him while I was tracking him down again.”
    â€œI don’t
look out
for Luthor!” Savannah almost blew a gasket. “He’s a part of me, and I’m a part of him, and we love each other with all our souls! Someone like you wouldn’t know anything about that! I’m amazed you bothered to drop him at the pound instead of leaving him to starve! If it hadn’t been for me —”
    Swindle’s smile turned suddenly ugly. “If it hadn’t been for you kids, I would still have my business and my home and my good reputation in this community! All I have left is my beloved pet.”
    Griffin could always smell a rat, and the rat smell coming off of Swindle had nothing to do with Savannah’s menagerie of pets. “Wait a minute!” he said. “You don’t care about Luthor! You’ve been reading about how he almost won