On the Road to Mr. Mineo's by Barbara O'Connor

the road to Mr. Mineo’s.

 
    CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
    Little Brown Dog
    Amos was always grumpy when he woke up from his morning nap.
    Ethel could see him out in the yard, muttering.
    Every now and then, he threw his arms skyward and hollered, “Why me?”
    Or glared at the ground and grumbled something Ethel couldn’t make out.
    She poured a tall glass of sweet tea and went out to the backyard. “Here,” she said, thrusting the glass toward Amos.
    He took the glass and didn’t even say thank you.
    Ethel had to try very hard not to snap You’re welcome! She didn’t want to make Amos any grumpier. Sometimes when Amos was really grumpy, he went out to his workshop in the corner of the barn to putter. He fixed drawers that were stuck or put a new nozzle on the garden hose or started making a birdhouse that he would never finish.
    And if he went to his workshop in the corner of the barn, he might see the pie tin full of food that Ethel had put there for the little brown dog. If that happened, she and Amos would argue.
    Why was she encouraging that mangy mongrel to stick around? he would ask.
    If that fleabag kept him up one more night, he was going to call the dogcatcher, he would warn.
    And if that one-legged pigeon showed up again, they would be having pigeon stew for dinner, he would threaten.
    Usually, Ethel liked a good argument. But today she just wasn’t in the mood. It was too hot and her gout was bothering her again. She was going to ask Amos to come inside and help her shuck corn, but before she could get a word out, he went on a tirade about moles in the garden.
    â€œThey’re tunneling right through the tomato plants,” he griped.
    â€œWhy can’t they go somewhere else?” he grumbled.
    â€œAnd what about that dern dog of yours?” he said.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Ethel said.
    â€œI mean, if that flea-infested mongrel is going to come snooping around here every night, why can’t he at least keep moles out of the garden?”
    Ethel jammed her fists into her waist. “Amos Roper,” she said, “stop picking on a poor little ole dog that hasn’t even got a home. If you spent half the time you spend complaining, doing something useful instead, like fixing that kitchen drain, you could…”
    And so it went.
    Amos and Ethel argued for the rest of the morning.

 
    CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
    Harvey
    â€œThere he is!” Gerald jumped up, pointing into the branches overhead. The trash can turned over and cards scattered across the roof of the garage. Some of them fluttered down into the shrubbery below.
    â€œDang it, Gerald,” Stella whispered. “Be quiet. You’re gonna scare him away.”
    She peered up into the branches. Sure enough, there was the pigeon. “Don’t move,” she mouthed silently to Gerald.
    Stella held her breath. The pigeon blinked down at her and cocked his head.
    Please.
    Please.
    Please.
    Stella begged silently.
    Please fly down here.
    She sent her thoughts up through the branches.
    And then …
    â€¦ miracle of miracles.
    The pigeon flew down out of the tree and landed on top of the shed at the back of the garage roof.
    Stella looked at Gerald. His mouth was open, his eyes wide.
    She put her finger to her lips. “Shhhhh.” She tiptoed toward the shed.
    One foot in front of the other.
    Slowly.
    Slowly.
    Slowly.
    When she got closer, she stopped. Her arms hung limply at her sides.
    She took a breath in.
    She let a breath out.
    Her heart was pounding in her ears.
    The pigeon hopped around on the tin roof.
    Tap
    Tap
    Tap
    Stella held her finger up toward the pigeon.
    And he hopped right on!
    Stella’s insides swirled with excitement. She looked back at Gerald, grinning. “He likes me,” she whispered.
    The pigeon’s one claw clung to her finger. She stroked his soft gray feathers. He pecked at her. A gentle peck. Like a pigeon kiss.
    She held him gently with