Philip and the Angel (9781452416144) Read Free Page B

house,” his mother screamed. “Go get it.”
    Philip dropped the rope and started for the
stairs, but he stepped on his floppy sock and stumbled.
    “ Fix your sock,” his mother
ordered.
    Philip ripped his sock off and charged up the
stairs. Halfway up, Philip stopped. The dog stood at the top of the
stairs, its tongue hanging out, staring at him.
    “ Rorff.” The dog leaped down the
stairs, knocking Philip in a circle. He clung to the banister until
he regained his balance and took off after the dog
again.
    His mother screamed, and Philip watched the
dog disappear into the kitchen.
    “ Philip, open the front door and chase
it out! Hurry, hurry!”
    Philip threw the front door open then ran
into the kitchen. The dog stood on the kitchen table with a giant
piece of meat in its mouth, looking as proud as if he’d caught the
winning touchdown in a football game.
    “ Hey, put that down,” Philip
ordered.
    The dog leaped from the table and charged out
of the kitchen. Before Philip could react, he heard his mother
scream again.
    “ That’s our dinner! Philip! Philip! ”
    “ I’m coming, Mom.”
    The dog ran in circles around the living room
before covering the length of the sofa in two giant steps and
bumping an end table, making the table lamp wobble dangerously.
Philip ran to catch the lamp in case it fell, but it managed to
settle down on its own. By now the dog had run around the hallway
twice. Philip’s mother waved it toward the door.
    “ Shoo. Shoo.”
    Philip ran to help her. “Go, go!” he shouted.
“Out! Rahhhhhhhh!”
    Philip’s final scream sent the dog tearing
out the door and back into the neighborhood, the Felton’s roast
beef dinner still in its mouth. Philip stood on his doorstep and
watched his new pet speed between two houses a little way off and
disappear.
    “ Come back,” he yelled. “Shep!
Shep.”
    Suddenly, he grew conscious of the silence
behind him. He turned slowly. He had never seen a look on his
mother’s face like the look she wore now. He went inside and
followed his mother’s weary steps into the living room. There were
muddy paw prints across the sofa. His mother went to the wobbly
lamp and put it back in the center of the table. She turned and
walked out of the living room toward the kitchen. Philip followed
her. An empty plate with a small puddle of brown juice on it sat on
the kitchen table. A half-gallon container lay on its side on the
floor amid a white sea of spilt milk.
    “ Let’s look upstairs,” his mother said,
in a voice so quiet it frightened Philip more than if she’d started
screaming.
    Philip followed behind as his mother climbed
the stairs. They poked their heads into each of the three bedrooms.
They looked untouched, but on the floor of the bathroom they
noticed a small, yellow puddle.
    Philip’s mother stared at the puddle and then
at him.
    “ At least it knew to use the bathroom,”
said Philip in a small voice.
    “ Philip Felton. I want you to go to the
kitchen closet and bring me the mop. I am going to have you clean
up every little bit of mess that dog made, and then your father and
I are going to sit down with you . . .”
    They both heard a distant voice say,
“Whooaaa! Honey?”
    “ Upstairs,” Philip’s mother called.
Philip wondered how she could talk with her teeth clamped so
tightly together.
    They stood silently and listened to Mr.
Felton’s steps approach. Philip’s father entered the bathroom and
sniffed.
    “ What happened in the kitchen? And what
smells?”
    Philip’s mother pointed.
    “ What’s that? What
happened?”
    “ Philip brought a dog home. A wild dog.
A crazy dog. A mentally deranged dog. A dog that belongs in an
insane asylum. It ran all over the house, put mud on the sofa,
nearly broke our one-hundred-and-fifty dollar lamp, stole the roast
we were going to have for dinner, and peed on our bathroom floor. That’s what happened.”
    Philip’s father looked his way.
    Philip gave him a weak smile. “It was