To Be a Swan
“And remember, auditions for Swan Lake are tomorrow!” Sydney’s ballet instructor, Elise, chirped. “Ballet class is dismissed!”
“Syd, who are you auditioning for?” Sydney’s best friend, Natalia, asked as they walked into the dressing room.
“Odette, the Queen of the Swans, of course,” Sydney laughed as she tucked a loose blond curl behind her ear.
“I heard Michelle is auditioning for Odette, too,” Leila, another friend of Sydney’s, said, catching up to them.
Sydney groaned. “Michelle! She’s the best dancer in this entire dance school! Why does she have to audition for the role I want?” She sat down and began taking off her pointe shoes.
Leila laughed sympathetically. “It is the main role in Swan Lake. Who wouldn’t want to be Odette?”
“Me!” Natalia spoke up. “I want to be Odile, the evil girl who tricks the handsome prince into thinking she’s Odette.”
“What about you, Leila?” Sydney asked.
Leila rolled her eyes. “Oh please. I’m not a fabulous dancer like all of you. I’ll just hope I’m a swan.”
Sydney stood up and put on her black coat. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, OK? Rest up.” On her way out, she bumped into Michelle.
“Watch it,” Michelle snapped, flicking away a loose ebony wisp of hair.
“Sorry,” Sydney mumbled as she walked out the door.
* * *
As the sun peeked over the glittering Lake Michigan, spreading its rosy glow over the city, Sydney sat in her mom’s car, twiddling her fingers nervously. Sydney’s mom eyed her. “You’ll do fine,” Mom reassured her.
“I hope,” Sydney said weakly.
The remainder of the twenty-minute car ride was in silence. Michelle’s sure to get the part of Odette, Sydney thought miserably. That thought did not cheer her up whatsoever. She doesn’t deserve it. I deserve it. I’ve worked so hard for this part!
“Sydney?” Mom’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We’re here.”
Sydney took a deep breath. “Bye,” she said.
* * *
Syd!” Natalia exclaimed as Sydney
walked into the dressing room. “Are ya ready for auditions?”
Sydney cracked a weak smile. “I’ve felt better.”
“Well, hurry up,” Leila said, tying the ends of her pointe-shoe ribbons. “Elise said we’re starting soon.” Sydney nodded, slipping a perfectly worn pointe shoe onto her foot.
A few minutes later, Sydney heard Elise’s delicate voice. “Group One audition: Abigail, Kelsey, Jessica, Leila, Molly. Group Two audition: Megan, Britney, Ashlee, Natalia, Selena. Group Three audition: Michelle, Britta, Samantha, Kylie, Sydney. OK, girls, let’s get started!”
Elise taught all three groups a combination from a scene in Swan Lake. It wasn’t hard, Sydney recalled later. It wasn’t easy either, seeing as her legs were still shaking with fear.
“Group One!” Elise called. Leila flashed Sydney and Natalia a smile as she started to dance to the light piano music.
“Group Two!” the ballet instructor shouted a few moments later, and Natalia walked to the center of the dance floor, along with the four other girls. As the delicate music began to play, Leila sat down next to Sydney.
“Did I do OK?” she asked. Sydney nodded, eyes closed, and Leila understood. “Don’t be nervous. Just pretend you’re in ballet class.”
Distantly, Sydney heard Elise’s voice call, “Group Three!”
Sydney took her place next to Michelle. “Break a leg,” Michelle smirked.
“Thanks.”
“No, really, break a leg.”
Sydney rolled her eyes.
Faintly, she heard the music start. Glissade, soutenu, développé, Sydney thought to herself, going through the steps in her head. She was soaring through the steps, dancing with her heart and soul, and enjoying every minute of it. Sydney was quietly aware of Michelle beside her, doing as well as, if not better than, herself. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was ballet.
The dance ended and Sydney smiled radiantly at Elise, who she saw was scribbling notes on her clipboard. “Very good, everyone,” Elise said, beaming.
“You did so good, Sydney,” Natalia raved as they were walking into the dressing room.
“Thanks, Nat,” Sydney said, “but you’re not the one who chooses the parts.”
As Sydney left the studio, she decided that she’d done the best she could do and she could only hope for the best.
* * *
Syd!” Natalia squealed the next day
as Sydney entered the dressing room. “Hurry up! Elise’s going to announce the cast as soon as everyone’s here!” She grabbed Sydney’s hand and they raced onto the dance floor where all the dancers were crowded.
“Well, it looks like everyone’s here,” Elise said. “OK. So the person who will be Odile is… Natalia Windson!”
“Yes!” Natalia shrieked. “I did it!”
Elise smiled. “Now we have our party guests, present at the party in Act Four. They will be Samantha Grayson, Kylie Johnson, Leila Mason, Selena Lopez, Megan Elsen and Ashlee Rolf.”
Leila looked grimly at Natalia and Sydney.
“Next is our group of swans. They will be Kelsey Bishop, Jessica Bergmann, Abigail Michaels, and Sydney Miles.”
Sydney stood there, stunned. “No,” she whispered. Her head was spinning and her heart pounding. A swan? Me?
She faintly heard Elise saying, “Odette will be played by Michelle Thompson.” Sydney’s eyes welled up with tears and she brushed them away, disgusted with herself.
“Next we have understudies. The understudy for Odile will be Jessica. The understudy for Odette will be Sydney.” Elise looked up from her clipboard and smiled at Sydney.
“See? You’re an understudy!” Natalia poked Sydney. “You still have a chance to be Odette.”
Sydney groaned. Great. I have to go to extra practices for nothing, she thought to herself.
“Syd. I’m so sorry,” Michelle said in mock pity. Sydney brushed past her and walked out the door, seething.
* * *
The days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months and the first show drew closer and closer. Sydney learned her swan part and the part of Odette. She even practiced the grand Pas de deux a few times with Michael, who played the Prince. Sydney loved Odette’s part and wished with all her heart it was truly hers. I should’ve been Odette, she’d say to herself.
* * *
OK! Michelle! Let’s do the
part that starts with ba bum bum bum.” Elise mimicked the music, making Natalia, sitting in the audience, stifle a laugh behind her hand. Sydney caught Natalia’s eye from where she was standing in the right wings. Natalia flashed her a thumbs-up as the music started and Sydney ran out on the stage, fluttering her fingers to look like feathers.
It was dress rehearsal, the day before the first show. Sydney was prepared for both roles, a swan and Odette. She never stopped hoping she would get a chance to be Odette.
“That’s a wrap, everyone! Good job, now go home and get some sleep! See you tomorrow!” Elise said.
That night, Sydney couldn’t sleep. She was so excited, yet disappointed at the same time. I should’ve been Odette, she thought bitterly.
* * *
The next day was warm with a cool breeze, a mild day for mid-June. Sydney arrived at the theater at five o’clock, two hours before the show started. She stretched a little, then proceeded to put her costume on. Her costume was a white-and-silver tutu with silver feathers and a white headpiece. Sydney’s curly hair was pulled back in a bun.
“Syd!” Natalia squealed. “You look fabulous!” Natalia was wearing a black tutu with black tights and pointe shoes to match.
“So do you, Nat.” Sydney turned around and saw Leila who, as one of the party guests, was wearing a silky blue dress and a frilly lace petticoat. Her hair was done in brunette ringlets with a turquoise bow perched jauntily on top.
“Unfortunately for us, so does Michelle.” Natalia gestured over to the large mirror where Michelle stood, attaching glittery fake eyelashes to her eyelids. She was dressed in a tutu as white as snow, with sparkles glistening like snowflakes. Her silky white pointe shoes seemed to shine in the overly intense lightbulbs.
“Ten minutes until showtime, girls!” Elise chirped. “And boys,” she added, glancing at Michael.
“I’m getting nervous,” Natalia shivered, rocking from side to side.
“Relax. You’ll do great,” Leila reassured.
“What if I mess up?” Natalia said.
“You won’t.”
Sydney left her two friends and started to walk over to where Michelle stood. I should’ve been Odette.
“Hey, Michelle…”
Michelle turned around.
“What?” the raven-haired girl spat.
“…Break a leg.” Sydney smiled halfheartedly. She walked away, leaving Michelle with her mouth wide open.
The music started and Michelle ran out on stage, fluttering her arms and flashing a diamond smile. Sydney and the rest of the swans followed and they proceeded to do their opening dance. Sydney danced her heart out, but she knew it would be hard to notice a lowly swan in the back. I should’ve been Odette…
They were about halfway through the dance when it happened. It seemed like Sydney knew what was going to happen half a second before it did. Michelle started to do a single pirouette en pointe and she mounted wrong. Her ankle bent awkwardly, and she fell, the shimmering body of a swan, lying crumpled on the stage. The audience gasped and Sydney rushed forward, helping Michelle off the stage. She heard Elise’s voice, “We will have a brief intermission,” ring through the theater.
“Are you OK?” Sydney whispered, even though she already knew the answer. Michelle nodded, breathing heavily. She tried to stand up, but moaned in pain and bent over Sydney’s arms.
“I’m fine,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’ve worked so hard to be Odette! I have to keep going.”
Sydney blinked. Michelle also wanted to be Odette. I wasn’t the only one… I should’ve known. Michelle’s just a person… just like me. She looked down and saw that Michelle was crying, her mascara running down her cheeks.
“Michelle?” Sydney asked tentatively. The dark-haired girl looked up. “I’m so sorry… for everything. I was so jealous and I thought… I was so sure that…” Sydney looked at Michelle and saw that she’d already been forgiven.
“I can’t believe you’re apologizing to me.” Michelle wiped a tear that had almost reached her chin. “After how rude I was to you, I never thought you would help me like you just did. I’m really sorry, Sydney. I was jealous of you, too. I mean, you’re always so confident about everything. And then there’s me… always second best.”
“What?” Sydney giggled. “I always thought you were the best dancer here!”
“Really?” Michelle laughed, too.
“Oh, Michelle!” Elise rushed over, a doctor following. “Are you OK? What hurts? Your ankle?” Michelle nodded.
“Well, let me take a look at it,” the doctor said, lifting up Michelle’s foot. “Could you take off your pointe shoe?”
“Sure,” Michelle whispered.
While the doctor was examining Michelle’s ankle, Elise turned to Sydney. “You have to be Odette,” she told her.
“What? Me?” Sydney squeaked. “But… but…”
“Sydney, you have to! You’re the understudy, you know the part.”
Sydney closed her eyes. I should’ve been Odette. How many times had she thought that? Now she was going to be Odette. I should be thrilled, she thought. But why does it feel so wrong? “I don’t have a choice, do I,” she said, more to herself than to Elise.
Elise put a comforting hand on Sydney’s shoulder. “You’ll do great. You know we do ten shows. Maybe Michelle can be in some of them.”
Sydney took a deep breath. “OK.”
Ten minutes later, Sydney stood backstage in Michelle’s Odette costume. She only vaguely heard Elise announce, “Thank you for your cooperation. We will now resume the show.” She only vaguely heard the audience applaud. She only vaguely heard the music begin to play. All she could hear was her own voice. I should’ve been Odette. “No,” she whispered, “Michelle deserved it as much as I did.” Sydney smiled and ran onstage, fluttering her fingers.
* * *
The applause was thunderous. It seemed like every person in the audience was standing, giving Sydney and the rest of the dancers a standing ovation. “It’s over,” Natalia whispered to Sydney as they stood backstage, waiting for their turn to go onstage for a bow.
“The first one, at least,” Sydney smiled at her. “Now, go!” she prodded Natalia in the side.
Natalia ran onstage and curtsied gracefully. People clapped louder than ever and there were even a few playful boys that booed.
Sydney took a deep breath and ran onstage. The applause for her was the loudest, she noticed. She took center stage and waited for Elise to come onstage like she always did.
Elise walked onto the stage and with her was… Michelle. Her ankle was wrapped up, but other than that, she was walking fine. Michelle smiled almost shyly and curtsied. She backed up so she was standing next to Sydney. “You were great,” Michelle whispered.
“Thanks,” Sydney said. “I’m sure you’ll be even better.”
“Friends?” Michelle asked timidly.
“Friends,” Sydney grinned, and the two girls hugged as the curtain closed.
The Sparrow
I glide gracefully, looking down at the world below me. I swoop over the trees, adjusting my wing to catch the breeze. I feel the strong winds blow over me, calming my thoughts. I am a sparrow, I think to myself. I am me. As I think this, I get a bad feeling. I look up. Up, high in the sky, regarding me with beady eyes: a hawk. I don’t take time to recognize what kind. Knowing I’ve noticed it, it dives at me, screaming. Knowing it will be easier to escape, I dive, too. Down, down towards the trees. Though I am already lower, the hawk is faster. It is a race for safety. We both fly to live. I fly to escape the hawk, a predator. It flies to catch prey, to eat. One of us must lose. The hawk is too close. It stretches its talons, ready to catch me and fly away before it crashes into the tall trees. I realize quickly that speed is not the answer to survival. I am a sparrow. I am agile. The question lies in the unknown, though. It may be intimidating, but is it any match for me? There is no time to think. It rakes its talons forward, hoping to win the contest of survival, but I am not ready to give myself up.
I flap my wings and flit to the right. It is not ready for that move. It puts on the brakes, which gives me time to escape and plan my next move because I know that it will not give up until it has caught me.
I may not be able to escape completely, but I can put death off until I have reached the bottom of the hill of life. I have already climbed to the peak, and I am climbing down, wishing there was not a bottom waiting for me.
The hawk flies a sharp turn around, and as it streaks at me, I feint to the right and dive down again. Swooping and diving, he chases me where I hoped he would: down into the trees, where there is an obstacle course of branches as an arena. As I pass under the treetops, I am surprised by the sudden dimness. I can’t see him for a second, but then he is there right behind me. We dodge branch after branch, but I can’t seem to get him off my tail. My wings are sore, and I am getting tired, and yet, I still fight for my life. Suddenly, I see him putting on an extra burst of speed, and I feel his sharp talons finally closing around me. I tuck my wings into my body, knowing he will carry me away. The claws cut into me, causing pain throughout my entire body. The talons pierce further into my body. The hawk flaps his wings, lifting us higher, up past the treetops into the bright light of the sun. I twist my head to look up at him. In the glare of the sun, I make out his eyes staring straight ahead of him. They seem to tell me, “That’s just the way it is.” And I know that it is true. The race has ended. And I have lost. I close my eyes.
* * *
The Hawk
I carried the sparrow away from the forest. I could sense him looking up at me, and I looked straight ahead. I would not give any mercy. I did not look down as, slowly, his breathing stopped. I carried him towards my nest to feed him to my little eyases, my babies. I tried not to respect the brave little bird who was now lifelessly clutched in my talons. I did not like thinking those thoughts because hawks should be fearless. I had to kill him to keep my precious youngsters alive. I flew towards the sun with my strong wings pumping at a steady beat.
Rumor
Frigid wind whips through my long brown hair and bites me with cold teeth. It carries the strong smell of the sea in it, which stings my nose. Gray, salty water is churned into waves by the gale and sprinkles my chilly bare feet that are sinking into the wet sand. A seagull struggles to fly to its nest. I watch the large bird as it finally defeats the wind and lands in a small hollow high on a weathered rock.
I sniff, disappointed by the wind, then turn around and walk up the beach, avoiding flurries of gritty sand. Huge rocks like the one the seagull is perching in stud the beach and reach into the sky like the rough fingers of an old man.
I come to the gravel road leading away from the beach and the sea and awkwardly hobble across it, not wanting to press my feet too hard against the sharp little rocks. I walk across a lawn of grass that is long and plush like a carpet.
As I enter my small house, I welcome the warmth and savor the familiar smell.
“Is that you, Nicole?” my mom calls from the kitchen.
“Yes.” I enter the steamy room and sit at the table. My mom is at the stove, grilling the sea bass my brother, Brent, caught that morning for dinner.
“Why back so soon?” She starts humming a pretty tune as she adds spices from glass shakers.
“The wind is too cold,” I groan miserably.
“I thought it might be,” Mom says knowingly, looking at me. I see that she is wearing her peach-colored apron. It has the handprints of Brent, Zoë, and me on it in red paint. Mine are smaller than my two older siblings’.
“It seems it always is,” I say, fiddling with the zipper of my jacket.
“Well, that’s Maine’s beaches for you,” she sighs. I nod in agreement. Maine’s beaches are always cold and windy.
I get up from the table and walk down the narrow hallway that leads to my room. School pictures of us three kids hang on the walls alongside my dad’s fishing boat, a large, proud vessel. Mom and Dad are standing next to each other in the bow of the boat, squinting in sunlight yet smiling.
I enter my room, which is small like the rest of the house. Sand dollars of various sizes and hues are tacked to the walls, and the bedside table, desk, and dresser are all covered in dark, glossy seashells which I have collected along the beach and in tide pools. Several of my watercolor paintings add to the decoration, resting on the sea-green walls. They are mostly of the sea, but there are a few lighthouses as well.
My bed is messy and unmade, as it usually is. I let myself fall onto it. I punch my pillow a couple times and lay my head down sideways. In this position I can see my painting of the large sky-blue lighthouse. It is taller and wider than most lighthouses, and unlike the rest of my paintings, it actually exists. I discovered it one day while exploring along the beach. It is old and rickety, abandoned, with wide sheets of wiry ivy growing on it. I think the ivy looks like it’s strangling the lighthouse, so I left that part out when I painted it a few weeks ago.
That night, after dinner, and after I have brushed my teeth with thick toothpaste, my sister, Zoë, and I sit in the living room and look out the big window. We stare at the choppy waters, illuminated by the pale moon that sits in a throne of twinkling stars. The light of the moon dances on the water, glittering brightly.
“The sea is so beautiful,” Zoë murmurs, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. I pull a blanket draped over the back of an armchair and wrap it snuggly around myself.
“I know,” I agree, “especially in the night.”
* * *
The next day the wind has stopped. I am relieved and return to the beach, after Mom tells me to stay away from the water and be safe. Despite the wind’s absence, it is still cold. The sun shyly peeks through thin, stretched clouds, providing no warmth.
Instead of heading back home, I start the short journey to the blue lighthouse. It is hidden in a small bay that has huge boulders blocking the entrance from the sea. Large trees grow around it, hiding it like a leafy wall.
There is no door to the lighthouse, just rusty hinges connected to an empty frame. The sky-blue paint is faded and peeling, revealing cracked wood and rusty nails. The inside of the lighthouse is hollow and dim. I am sure there used to be doors and floors, but now it is just one large room that leads up to a glass roof, for the large light is gone too. A few bird nests are built on the wall, but I don’t hear anything from them.
A squeak brings my attention to the floor of the lighthouse, which is dirt and weeds now. A small ferret is looking at me cautiously. I can see its small legs are tensed, ready to run. I freeze, not wanting to scare it or make it angry. I am afraid it might be rabid.
The ferret takes one step nearer to me. It seems to relax.
It is brown and skinny with a long tail tipped with black. It has dark eyes ringed with white fur, as are its ears. I’m not sure if it is a boy or a girl, but I’ll pretend it’s a boy.
“What’s your name?” I ask thoughtfully. My voice echoes in the lighthouse. “Is it… Rumor?” I realize using the word as a name is odd, but I like the sound of it. I kneel down to him, all thoughts of him being dangerous gone. My movement seems to frighten Rumor, and he hisses and scampers off, running through my legs and out into the cold day. I turn and watch him.
Suddenly, a bird with dark, russet-colored feathers and a sharp beak thuds into the ground with outstretched talons next to Rumor, sending a plume of sand into the air. I yelp in surprise, as well as fear for the ferret. The bird appears to be some kind of hawk. I see the bird struggle to grab Rumor with its wicked talons. I run out onto the beach, waving my arms and yelling. The hawk’s attention is momentarily on me. Rumor must sense this, for he scurries out of the hawk’s grip and runs into the woods that fringe the beach. The bird pursues, and I grab a few small pebbles and dash into the woods. I immediately lose sight of the hawk, and I search desperately for Rumor. I hear a commotion a few feet away and see the hawk crying angrily into a hollow log. I throw one pebble at it but miss. Luckily, the stone startles the bird, and it backs off. I throw the other pebbles. They all miss, but they drive the hawk off. It flaps off into the sky, cawing in frustration.
I find I am exhausted and fall to my knees into a patch of ferns. Rumor comes out from the hollow log and looks cautiously for the hawk. He cocks his head then sees me. I think he’ll run from me, being the timid thing he is. But instead he slowly comes towards me. I reach out my finger and pet his neck, delighted at how soft his fur is. The ferret makes a sound that is much like the purring of a cat, and if ferrets smile, I’m sure that is what Rumor is doing. I pet him with my entire hand now, smoothing down the unsettled fur. He eventually runs away, leaving me with a smile on my face. I stand up and walk back out to the beach, then begin the journey home.
I tell no one in my family about Rumor or the hawk, just for the sake of having a secret. But I tell paper and paint about Rumor, using a thin brush as my tongue. The painting shows a small ferret with a black-tipped tail, running from a fierce hawk. I hang it on the wall once it has dried.
I return to the spot in the woods, the place with the disturbed patch of ferns and the hollow log, in a few days, just to see if Rumor is still there. But he is not. I am slightly upset but not terribly. It is what I expected. I sit outside the lighthouse, staring at the bay. It is not windy, so the gray water is relatively calm. I then jump to my feet, excited, for I notice it is warm. The sun is out, and it is warm! I run out onto the beach, leaving the sky-blue lighthouse behind. I laugh with joy and spread my arms out and spin in circles, leaving a spiral in the sand. And as I turn to go home, to tell Mom it is warm, I am not sure, but I think I see a black-tipped tail dart through bushes out of the corner of my eye.
Finding a Friend
I had always considered myself a pretty good runner, but when you’re running for your life you can never move fast enough. I glanced back, almost tripping over myself. I could see out of the corner of my eye his black mask, beady eyes, and his muddy fur coat. Though what scared me the most were his sharp canine teeth. Go ahead and laugh but I was running from… a dog. My flip-flops had fallen off my feet when I started running and the pavement was burning hot. I rounded the corner into my driveway, sprinting for my front door. I wasn’t always scared of dogs, but something happened that makes me run every time I see one.
Two years ago a dog ran into my yard where I was playing. When the dog started to wag his tail and bark I thought he was nice. So I tried to pet him, but apparently he didn’t want to be touched. When my hand got too close to his forehead he lashed out and bit me. I can only remember screaming and crying, waiting for the pain to go away. The next day when I woke up I was lying in the hospital bed with stitches on my right arm from my wrist to my elbow. Even though the dog had to go to the pound the fear and the scares he gave me never left.
I don’t know why but I never told anybody about what happened. You can imagine with my fear of something like this I was an easy target for bullies. No one wanted to hang out with me anymore. Even though before they were really only my friends because I was the school’s best track and cross-country runner (we had a really small school). It didn’t really bother me because I could always find something to do by myself, but my parents disagreed. “You need at least one friend, honey. Someone you can talk to other than us.” My parents always said that when they saw me reading, alone, up in the branches of a maple in our backyard. Though they were right, I was lonely. However, I didn’t want to become friends with anyone at my school, until I met someone who changed everything.
I knew the day would come when the teasing would become too much and I wouldn’t be able to take it any longer. On a Friday in October it happened and I ended up running to my house three miles away instead of taking the bus home. I went straight into the woods when I got home. I sat down in a pile of leaves, letting all the sadness and frustration that I was holding inside go. I listened to the hush of the trees and admired the beauty of the falling leaves.
Suddenly I heard whimpering, and it wasn’t mine. I glanced around quickly. At first I saw no one but then I saw the last thing I wanted to see, a dog. From instinct I stood up, legs tense, as if I was waiting for the starting gun in track, but the dog didn’t move. Even with my fear of canines a part of me wanted to go and comfort the wounded stray. Eventually, my heart overpowered my conscience and I couldn’t bear his pain. I knelt down ever so gently, so as not to frighten him, still he didn’t budge. Then carefully I reached out my right hand. My scar started to tingle, remembering the last time I was this close to a dog. Then, before I was ready the dog stretched out his neck, nudging his head into my hand. At that point I knew he needed me and I needed him.
The dog happily followed me home; sadly, he was limping the whole way. Some animal probably more frightening than any dog had wounded his back right foot. However, the expressions on my parents’ faces said it all. Their mouths had dropped to the floor speechless, and when I asked if we could keep him, they assured me that if he didn’t have rabies we could. Even after a few days with Scruffy (which is what we chose to name him) the statement “Dogs are man’s best friend” was proven true.
One day, a couple months after I found Scruffy, I was taking him for a walk and I noticed a sign on a telephone pole. The sign read:
Lost Dog
Medium height, brown eyes, mutt, male, scruffy light brown hair,
Answers to the name Copper.
If seen, please contact me at 544-0222,
or bring him to my house at
18 Sugar Hill Road, Easton, NH
Thank you,
Annie Samson
Next to the writing there was a picture of Scruffy or Copper. No doubt about it, that was a picture of the dog who was sitting right beside me. My heart shattered into a million pieces. The dog who had rescued me from drowning in sadness belonged to someone else.
That evening I sat in bed, staring at the sign that I had torn down in anger. Just then it occurred to me that Annie was probably feeling just as miserable as I had before I found “Copper.” At that moment I knew I had to return my friend to his rightful owner.
The next day I brought Copper to Easton to find his owner. He seemed to recognize the smell near the house, but I didn’t want to let him go. When I knocked on the door I knew I had done the right thing. The girl answered the door and almost cried with happiness that her dog had come home. She thanked me about twenty times before she took Copper. Then, right as she was closing the door, I whispered, “He’s a great dog.” She must have recognized the sadness in my eyes because she offered for me to come over after school and walk Copper with her. Annie and I quickly became best friends and to this day we still are. Surprisingly enough, I owe it all to a dog.
