Part 9 (1/2)

”No, a happy one,” I said. ”Louie wouldn't want us all to be sad.”

”But funerals are supposed to be sad,” she insisted.

We talked and talked. Finally we reached a few decisions. Instead of singing a song, we voted to play ”Brother Louie” on the tape deck. Then we decided that we would each say one nice thing about Louie, instead of having someone give a boring eulogy. Saying nice things was Andrew's idea. His nursery-school teacher had just read his cla.s.s a book called The Tenth Good Thing About Barney, in which a family remembers their pet, Barney, after he dies. (I thought it was very lucky that Andrew had heard that story just before Louie died.) At ten minutes to three, us six Thomas/Brewer kids called Mom and Watson, and our family walked out to the backyard and stood by a forsythia bush Louie had liked to sleep near. Sam was holding the cross he and Charlie had made, Charlie was holding a shovel, and David Michael was holding Louie's leash and food dishes. We were going to bury them under the cross. That was, we'd decided, almost like burying Louie himself.

”Okay,” I said. ”Charlie, why don't you dig the grave? Then we can say the nice things about Louie.”

”No!” cried Karen. ”Not everyone's here.”

”Yes, we are,” I told her. ”Eight people. We're all here.”

Just then I heard someone say, ”Are we late?”

I turned around. Filing into our yard were Shannon and Tiffany, Hannie and Linny, and Amanda and Max. They were followed by two of Shannon's sn.o.bby friends. They gathered behind our family.

I looked at Karen in horror.

”I invited them,” she said simply.

I shook my head. I didn't want Shannon at Louie's funeral. She'd made fun of him. Besides, what would she think about a dog funeral? But there was nothing to do except go ahead with it.

Charlie, red with embarra.s.sment at the sight of our guests, finished digging the grave. David Michael stepped forward and placed the leash and the dishes in it. Then Sam covered them up and pushed the cross into the earth.

”Now,” said David Michael, ”we each say one nice thing. I'll go last.”

Karen, of course, volunteered to go first, and said, ”Louie had good manners.”

”He slept on my feet to keep them warm,” said Andrew.

I dared to turn around and peek at the rest of the audience. To my surprise, not a single person was laughing. And Shannon was wiping tears away.

”Louie was a good football player,” said Charlie.

”He had a sense of humor,” I said.

”He was good company,” said Sam.

”He was an adorable puppy,” said Mom.

”He was nice to Boo-Boo,” said Watson.

David Michael let out a sigh. ”He was my best friend,” he said.

After a moment of silence, David Michael pushed a b.u.t.ton on the tape deck, and ”Brother Louie” came on. We all thought of our good old collie while ”Louie, Louie, Louie” was sung. When the song was over, I felt both happy and sad. A hand touched my arm. It was Shannon. ”I'm really sorry about Louie,” she said seriously. ”If anything happened to Astrid, I don't know what I'd do.” Then she turned away, and Louie's mourners began to leave.

Chapter 14.

It was on Monday, two days after Louie's funeral, that I sat for the Sn.o.bs again. I didn't really think the Delaneys were so bad anymore, but the name had stuck.

”Tell us again what happened to Louie,” said Max.

He and Amanda and I were playing Snail in the driveway, but the Sn.o.bs kept stopping to ask questions about Louie. They weren't being rude; they were just curious. They'd probably never known anyone or anything that had died.

”Louie was sick,” I said for the fourth or fifth time. ”He was really old and he didn't feel well anymore. He hurt a lot. . . . Your turn, Amanda.”

Amanda hopped to the center of the snail sh.e.l.l, expertly avoiding Max's and my squares. She selected a square for herself and drew an ”A” in it. ”How did Louie fall down the stairs?” she wanted to know.

”He couldn't see them. He just walked right down.”

I stood at the edge of the sh.e.l.l and hopped around and around to the center. Amanda handed me the chalk.

”And David Michael banged his eye?” said Max.

”Yup,” I replied, choosing another square.

”Did he cry?”

”A little. His eye turned black and blue.”

”Priscilla has never been sick,” said Amanda. ”I think it's because she cost four hundred dollars.”

”Well, I doubt that,” I told her, ”but I'm glad she's so healthy.”

”If Priscilla dies,” said Max, ”let's give her a funeral.”

Amanda scrunched up her face in thought. ”Okay,” she replied. ”We could make a cross for her. And we could play music from The Aristocats.”

”And I,” said Max, ”would say, 'Priscilla had a beautiful tail.' ”

”And I'd say, 'Priscilla cost four hundred dollars,' ” added Amanda.

I rolled my eyes.

Amanda was taking her turn again, when Shannon Kilbourne rounded a corner of the Delaneys' house and walked over to us. She was cradling something in her arms.

”Hi,” I said uncertainly. I didn't dislike Shannon anymore, I just never knew what to expect from her.

”Hi,” she replied cheerfully. ”This is for you.” She held out the thing she'd brought over.

”Oh!” I squealed. I couldn't believe it. The ”thing” was a puppy! A very tiny puppy, probably only a few weeks old.

”What do you mean he's for me?” I exclaimed. ”Where'd you get him? Where'd he come from?”

”He's a she,” replied Shannon, ”and she's one of Astrid's.”

”One of Astrid's? You mean one of Astrid of Grenville's puppies? But I thought Astrid was a boy.”