A Dog's Way Home by Bobbie Pyron

asked.
    â€œWell…” Olivia looked sideways at her granddaddy. “I can’t say for sure, Abby, but logically speaking—”
    â€œYou need to talk with your meemaw,” Mr. Singer said.
    We both looked at him like he’d said we needed to talk with the president of the United States.
    â€œShe has the Sight,” he said, nodding.
    â€œThe Sight?” Olivia asked. “What does that mean?”
    A little seed of hope bloomed in my chest. “It means she can see things other folks can’t.” Picking up a head of steam, I said, “Meemaw and her mother and her mother all had the Sight. Meemaw says folks would come from all over looking for the answer to their heart’s desire.”
    â€œBut would that work for an animal?” Olivia asked.
    I jumped up, nearly knocking my hot chocolate to the floor. “I don’t know, but there’s one way to find out!”
    I flew out that cabin door and up the road before Olivia had time to blink.
    I found Meemaw in the kitchen taking a tray of perfect-smelling cookies out of the oven.
    â€œWhy, Abby, where in the world have you been? We’ve been worried sick and—”
    â€œMeemaw, I need you to do something for me.”
    She frowned. “What is it, darlin’?”
    I took a deep breath. “I need you to use the Sight to see Tam.”
    Her eyes widened. Then she glanced around the kitchen. In a low voice, she said, “You know your mama don’t like talk about the Sight. Besides, I don’t know if it would work with a dog.”
    I grabbed her soft hands in mine. “Please, Meemaw.You always said people came with questions about the people they loved the most. The things they most desired. If, for me, that’s Tam, then why couldn’t it work?”
    She studied me for a long moment. Then she untied her apron and hung it on its hook. “Let’s go up to your room.”
    We closed the door behind us. She shook her head. “I don’t know about this,” she said. “It might help if I had something of his, though.”
    I looked around the room. Then I remembered. “Here, Meemaw.” I pulled Tam’s collar out of my pocket.
    She sat down in the old rocking chair Grandpa Bill made for her when Daddy was born. She closed her eyes and held Tam’s collar against her chest.
    I held my breath and watched her face. Snow ticked against the windowpanes.
    Just when I was beginning to think it wasn’t going to work, a little “Oh my!” escaped her mouth.
    And like shadows slipping across our pond, alarm, fear, sadness, determination, and love flowed one to another across her face.
    She pressed the collar closer. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
    I couldn’t help myself, I said, “Meemaw! What is it? Do you see Tam?”
    Her eyes opened and found my face. Her blue, blue eyes fixed like a laser beam on me. “Abby, Tam’s—”
    The bedroom door opened. “Oh, Abby, here you are. I was so worried, and…” Mama looked from me to Meemaw and back again.
    Her face went still. “What’s going on in here, Agnes?”
    I waved Mama away. “What did you see, Meemaw? Is Tam alive or not?”
    Meemaw looked from me to Mama. She bit her lower lip, then said in almost a whisper, “Yes, Abby. I believe he is. He’s trying to find his way home to you.”
    I yipped and about knocked Mama down, I hugged her so hard. “See, Mama! I told you! We have to leave now, Mama. We have to go find him!”
    But Mama didn’t look at me. Instead, she wrapped one arm around me and pulled me against her side, all the while shooting dagger eyes at Meemaw.
    â€œMama…,” I said, trying to squirm out from under her arm.
    In a cold, firm voice she used on telephone salesmen, Mama said, “I don’t mean any disrespect, Agnes. But I won’t have you filling my daughter’s head with nonsense and false