Kristy's Great Idea by Ann M. Martin

hanging on the peg above, and at four-thirty they need their chow—a can apiece—and they can each have one mailman cookie as a treat. The emergency numbers are posted by the phone in the kitchen, just in case. Do you have any questions?”
    I shook my head dazedly.
    Buffy and Pinky leaped around, galumphing after Miss Hargreaves as she put on her coat and went out to meet the cab that had come to pick her up.
    Shaking, I let the dogs out in the backyard, remembering to bring their footballs. I tossed ared football gingerly toward them as they ran ahead of me. I wasn’t sure what they’d do with it. Louie usually runs halfheartedly after a football and then sort of forgets to fetch it.
    Not those two. They dove for the ball, crashing into each other. One of them got it away from the other, but I couldn’t tell which one. They looked identical.
    I got down on my knees and clapped my hands. “Okay, boy, bring it here!” I called, not caring whether the dog was Pinky or Buffy.
    Whichever one it was came barreling straight toward me. I knew that game all right. Louie likes it, too. He runs for you, then turns at the last second and veers around you. You can almost see him grinning.
    But not this dog. He ran right over me. I was lost in a whirl of fur and claws and playful woofs. You really haven’t lived until a dog has stepped on your face.
    I sat up and rubbed my cheeks and eyes. Nothing seemed to be bleeding, so I stood up shakily. I looked around.
    Oh, no. The dogs were gone! I thought Miss Hargreaves had said they would stay in the yard with me. Maybe they didn’t stay with people they’d practically knocked unconscious.
    â€œPinky!” I shouted. “Buffy!”
    Nothing.
    â€œPink-
eee
! Buff-
eee
!”
    I ran to the front of the house. No dogs.
    I looked up and down the street. No dogs.
    I ran to the backyard and looked again. And there they were. Not in the McKeevers’ yard but in the yard next door. They were racing toward me—heading for a clothesline.
    â€œPinky, Buffy,
no
!!”
    Too late. They streaked through all the clothes and came to a screeching halt about two feet from me. One was wearing a small blanket draped over his (her?) tail. The other had a slip in his (her?) mouth.
    â€œBad dogs!” I cried. “Sit….
Sit!”
    I took the blanket and the slip from them and glanced nervously at the house next door. It seemed pretty quiet. Maybe no one was home. Thank goodness the clothesline seemed okay except for the missing blanket and slip.
    I wanted to return the things, but what about Pinky and Buffy? If I went into the other yard, would they follow me? Would they run away? I didn’t know what to do. I almost didn’t care. But just then a car pulled in the driveway of the house. Luckily, the driveway was on the other side of thehouse from where I was, but I knew I’d better do something fast. Someone could come out at any moment to bring in the laundry.
    â€œOkay, you guys,” I said to the dogs. “Look, here are your footballs.” I began walking slowly backward toward the clothesline. The dogs crept after me as if they were stalking the balls.
    I reached the clothesline. The dogs were still following me.
    â€œCome on,” I whispered tantalizingly. I held the balls under one arm, pinned the blanket and the slip crookedly to the line, and raced back to the McKeevers’ yard at top speed.
    The dogs ran after me. They liked that game.
    Good for them. They could follow me all the way into the house, which was just what they did, and just where I wanted them.
    We stayed inside for the rest of the afternoon, since I didn’t trust the dogs outdoors anymore, even on their leashes. I watched TV. The dogs chewed on their footballs. Any time they started to get rowdy, I just held open the door to the laundry room and they calmed down. By the time Miss Hargreaves returned, I had decided something important. The