The Dog Squad

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“Mrs. Welkin,” I say, “I shall never judge a book by its cover again! You sure know how to fight!”
“And you know when to ask for help!” she says. Her eyes twinkle.
“By the way,” she says, “there’s a visitor for you.”
“Who is it?” I ask (as if I didn’t know!).
“He wants to know if he can come in,” she says.
“He can,” I say.
A moment later, Wilkins’s long nose pokes through the door.
“Mrs. Welkin,” I say, “do you think he could stay over?”
“I think Wilkins would be delighted to stay over,” says Mrs. Welkin. “But you both need to sleep or I’ll take him home!”
“We definitely will!” I promise.
He is looking at me with his head cocked to the side.
“Here, boy,” I say to Wilkins.
You don’t command that dog twice.
Right away Wilkins leaps. His top end soars onto my bed.
But his bottom end falls short by a good eighteen inches.
Wilkins scrambles up and lies down. I do too and Mrs. Welkin turns off the light.
I sniff the fur on Wilkins’s head (which smells of cookies). I also smell his fart (which smells of beans). And I think of the battle of the thieves’ apartment. I think of Mrs. Welkin with her slipper raised in the moonlight . . .
Then I think of Dad. He’s driving cars in the World Rally Championship, and crowds are cheering!
Then I think of Dad leaving me in a car while he runs off. But where did he go? I am thinking. And will I ever find him?
But then I think: I don’t care if he’s far, far off, across deep, wide seas.
I feel like Napoleon when they put him on Elba. I don’t care how far I must go, I am thinking. I don’t care what dangers might lie in the way.
I will go with my friends by my side. And we’ll find him.
Then, knowing my friends are close by right now, I fall asleep.
And I dream of cars. I dream of dogs.
I dream of Dad.
The End

I am Rory Branagan. I am actually a detective.
This is my tree house den. It’s where I come to read, relax, and spy on people.
That is my mom.
That is my brother.
That is Mrs. Welkin, my neighbor, and—yes!— I detect that she is with . . .
Wilkins Welkin, her dog, who is probably my best friend in the whole world!!
You might think it’s a bit weird having a best friend who’s a sausage dog. But Wilkins comes over most afternoons and usually we go out and mess around with balls in the park.
He’s just like a normal best friend.
The only difference is . . .
 . . . he’d never come around on a bike.
And if we’re watching TV, he only really pays attention . . .
. . . if there’s a cat on the screen.
He even comes for sleepovers, and I don’t mind admitting that when he does Wilkins Welkin and I . . .
 . . . we do hug.
As he dreams he kicks his little sausage legs, and just thinking what Wilkins might be dreaming about makes me smile.
I basically have an amazing life.
But . . . there is just one bad thing about it, which makes me worry at night, and that is . . .
NO ONE
TELLS ME
ANYTHING!
They don’t.
And the thing they definitely don’t tell me about is the thing I most want to know, which is . . .
Why did my dad disappear when I was three?
He did.


About the Authors
Andrew Clover is an actor and comic-nominated for a Perrier at the Edinburgh Fringe. He performs his show The Seven Secrets of Storytelling in schools worldwide from the UK to United Arab Emirates working with Authorsaloud.
Ralph Lazar is the creator of the Happiness Is... project, which is viewed by over 10 million people each week and followed by over 3.4 million people on Facebook.


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