When I opened the front door after school that day, I knew something was wrong.

I could hear my parents arguing. They almost never argued. And my dad was home. He was never home when I got off the bus.

Another weird thing was that our dog, Dillon, wasn't there to greet me. Usually, as soon as my feet hit the front step I could hear his greeting. It was an excited mixture of yelping, barking and whining. It was like he hadn't seen me in months instead of a few hours.

As soon as I opened the door, he was ready to knock me down. He'd slobber me with kisses with his front paws on my chest, his tail wagging a hundred miles per hour.

This time, though... nothing. It was complete silence. Until I heard my mom and dad. Then, I heard Dillon's name. Their voices had that tone that spelled trouble. 

I leaped three steps at a time and skidded to a stop in our kitchen. Mom and Dad sat at the counter. They stared at me like I had just broken a window or something. I looked from one to the other.

"Where's Dillon? You didn't give him back to Wendy, did you?"

My dad let out a huge sigh and just shook his head.

"Dillon's at the dog pound. This is the second time this month. They caught him wandering around Rita's yard.  And how come he keeps losing his collar? This has to stop."

"It's not his fault!" I protested. "All he does is wander over to Rita's, sniff around and come right back. She just spots him in her precious yard and immediately calls the pound.  He hates his collar. It won't stay on unless I really cinch it tight. Then he starts breathing funny.

"What is with her? Rita doesn't even tell them Dillon lives right next door! C'mon, Dad, we have to go get him. No dog should spend even a minute in that dog jail."

My dad slowly stood up. He put both hands on my shoulders and said, "Not this time, Patrick. We don't pick him up until you and your brother come up with a plan. Then, you talk to our next-door neighbor. She doesn't bite. She's just afraid of dogs."

Ugh. Talk to the old woman who never came out of her house except to harass our gentle dog.

"But Dad..."

"No buts. Then, and only then, do we pick Dillon up from the pound."

It was my turn to sigh. I walked slowly down the hall to tell Nate the bad news. I knew I'd find him on the floor surrounded by Legos. He'd be totally unaware of what was going on with our other brother, Dillon.

I should tell you a little bit about our dog, Dillon.

Nate and I had been begging for a dog for a long time. My parents had been planning a move from our old house for about a year. They agreed that we could get a dog when we found a bigger house. Nate and I thought they were just stalling. We were sure they thought we'd get busy or distracted. After all, we were always busy.

We spent most of our days at school and riding our Big Wheels on our sloping driveway. We both loved basketball. We couldn't wait for our own hoop. Hopefully, on a new, flat driveway.

But we also talked all the time about getting a dog. Nate wanted a German Shepherd. He loved that they were also called police dogs. He told anyone who listened that he wanted to join the poice force when he grew up. He had plenty of time to change his mind. He was only in kindergarten.

I really didn't care about the breed. I was almost three years older than Nate. I knew my parents wouldn't buy a dog.  Definitely not a purebred like a German Shepherd.

"We'll adopt a pound puppy when we move," my dad announced at dinner one night.

Every Saturday for the past year or so, Nate, me, and my dad would visit the local animal shelter. Dad always told Mom we were going to the playground.  We did go, but only after stopping by the pound to "browse."

As soon as we drove in the parking lot all the dogs started to howl, yip, and whimper. It's as if they knew this was the family that could spring them from dog jail.

We would circle around back where the dogs coud be seen in their fenced runs. Many looked sad, like they had given up even wishing to leave and become someone's pet. Some, however, looked excited, barking up a storm. 

To me, each bark sounded like "Take me home, take me. Take me!"

Others just growled. It was like they were just plain angry that this stinky dog pound was where they ended up. 

Then a crazy, amazing thing happened. My dad found an ad in the local paper: 

     9 month old English Setter. Free to good home. Owner going back to school and cannot care for it. Must interview. If interested call Wendy at 860-429-0888.

"We have to be interviewed?" my mom chuckled.

Mom's family never had a dog. She grew up with three brothers and three sisters. I don't think her parents could imagine adding a dog to the mix.

Dad, on the other hand, loved dogs. Even though he was one of six kids, they had several dogs over the years. They even had a St. Bernard! Dad's parents probably thought, How much crazier can it be?

Dad was definitely on our side. 

"I'm still not sure these boys are old enough to have a dog," Mom added. "It's a huge responsibility. Are they going to walk it every day? Brush it? Feed it? Pick up its poop?" 

That last one drove Nate and I into a fit of giggles.  Dad quickly jumped in.

"Honey, we'll all take on the responsibility. It will do the boys good to have to take care of something else. As far as the poop goes, we live on the edge of acres of woods. We'll walk him there. We can train him to do his business in the woods, too.

"All those walks will also get us into shape! You'll see, having a dog will be work, but also a lot of fun. Plus, it's a purebred Setter! Only nine months old! It's probably already halfway trained."

Mom looked at me and Nate. It was the same look she always gave us when we swore we had brushed our teeth before bed. Like she could read our minds.

"Okay, call this Wendy woman. Set up a visit. But I swear if that dog jumps up on me or slobbers on me, it's no deal."

I could barely sleep that night. All I could think about was getting our own dog. I pictured taking him for long walks in the woods. He would curl up next to me by our fireplace. I could tell him all my secrets and he'd never repeat them to anyone.

Wednesday finally arrived. It felt like the day before Christmas. Only a dog would be the best present I ever got.

I kept looking at the classroom clock. Was it broken? Why did it move so slow?

My teacher, Miss Baker, noticed my clock watching. 

"What's going on, Patrick?" she asked. "You're usually the first one done! Those math problems are not going to solve themselves." 

Five minutes later, she called me up to her desk.

"Okay, what's the matter with you today?" she asked.

I blurted out, "We're going to get a dog after school today! It's an English Setter. I... I just can't concentrate."

Miss Baker smiled and started writing something on a small piece of paper.

Oh no, I thought, she's writing a note to my parents!

Before I could open my mouth, she handed it to me.

"Take this pass down to the library. I want you to jot down all the facts you can find about English Setters." She smiled and added, "I remember my first dog, too. The cutest beagle you ever saw. We named her Tammy."

My feet barely touched the hallway floor. I floated down to our school library.

The library was one of my favorite places. It had big shelves full of books. Hundreds of them, of all shapes, colors and sizes. And they were filled with tons of information. There was no better feeling than holding a book in my hand.

I'd never been out of New England, where we lived. But books transported me to exotic pIaces. Many clear across the world. Some even to the deepest parts of the ocean, like Journey to the Bottom of the Sea.

I loved to read. I mean, really loved to read.

I kept a flashlight under my pillow at home.  My parents called for lights out every school night around 8:00. They used to want me to shut down at 7:30.  I always pleaded for one more chapter and they always gave in. Finally, we all settled on 8:00.

As soon as they closed the door, out came my book and my flashlight. Funny, I never remembered closing my book and putting the flashlight under my pillow. But there they were every night, back in place. Weird, huh?

I gave Mrs. Richardson, the librarian, my note. She showed me a shelf that was full of animal books. There seemed to be every breed of dog in the world on this shelf. I found one that had the title, English Setters: Bird Dog Supreme.

Huh, "bird dog?" Never heard of such a thing. I began reading. There were some hard words here and there but I decoded them. "Decoded," that's what Miss Baker always called breaking a word into its parts and sounds.

I took out my notebook and jotted down as many facts as I could. I wished I could spend all afternoon reading this book. But I knew I only had about twenty minutes. Here's what I wrote:

-English Setters came from England. (I know, like, duh.)

-English setters were bred to fetch ducks and other birds shot by hunters. (Really? Not sure how I felt about that)

-They are called "bird dogs." (Reason? See above)

-They have big lips and soft mouths. This is to help carry the birds back to the hunter. (Hmm...)

-They love people and are very friendly and loyal (Yes! Everything I want in dog! And a friend!)