Well, I couldn't really do it. I do not know anything about children, not having any of my own and not remembering what it was like to be eight and never having been a boy, but here's my try. It's twice as long as it should be but I guess I'm too lazy to edit. I know lots of people here will beat me on this one. I look forward to reading their results....especially Chuck's!! 9/16/02 C.B. and the Dog C.B. kicked the can. It rattled and rolled down the sidewalk and stopped in a clump of dry weeds. Stupid can. If Tank were there, hed have marched on ahead and smashed the can with his big foot. But Tank wasn't there. He was with his mom and dad and they were going to New Orleans. Stupid Tank. His name wasnt really "Tank." But nobody called him by real name: Thomas Arthur Nickel. What kind of name was that? They all called him Tank. And he was C.B. even though his real name was Charles Brace, Jr. No, just Charles Brace. There was no Charles Brace, Sr. now. Not anymore. Not since his dad died. Last August his dad said hed take him to the mountains this summer. But then in September it all changed and his dad died and he wasnt going anywhere now. Stupid mountains. Anyway everyone called him C.B. Not Junior. Only his dad had called him Junior. No one would call him that again. Even his mom called him C.B. because she said she hoped it would get him to talk up more. He didnt get what she meant by that. But he liked being C.B. Most of the time. But he missed being Junior. He was up to the can again. He missed his kick, kind of. The can hit off the side of his foot, spun into the gutter, and started to roll down toward the drain. Stupid can. He started after it. Nothing better to do. But the can dropped out of sight down the dark hole. Stupid can. He started to walk off when he heard the cry. A sad thin howl came from the dark hole. Sounded like a dog. A dog? What was a dog doing down there? Stupid dog. Hey, dog. What are you doing down there? Another moan. Stupid dog. He lay down beside the hole and reached down. He felt whiskers and a wet nose. A tongue licked his fingers. He felt around, pushing as far as he could until he could feel the fur on the dogs back. He made a grab but the dog pulled away. Stupid dog. Come on. You want out? Come on. Another little cry. He pulled out of the hole and searched his pockets. A couple of pennies. A piece of bubble gum. A plastic airplane with smashed wings. Crumbled bits of cookie. He chewed on the bubble gum to help him think. Another little moan from the dog. Im going to leave you down there. I am. You can just stay down there. See if I care, you stupid dog. He pulled a little bit of the gum out of his mouth and pressed the cookie crumbs in it. He lay back down and reached into the hole again. There was the nose. The tongue licking at the gum and cookies and pulling the sticky combination out of his hand. He knew from before how big the dog was. Now he knew where to grab. He caught fur and loose skin behind the dogs head and he pulled up. The dog gave a cry of surprise and pain but didnt try to get away. C.B. pulled the dog to the surface. Not a dog. A puppy. A thin, dirty, yellow puppy with chocolate eyes and a long old tongue. He sat up and just held it. The puppy licked all over his face. The tail beat against his bare legs. You there. Give me my dog. A boney man with some hair on his chin came toward him. Hes my dog. Isnt either. Ive been looking for that mangy animal. You give him back. As he stood up, C.B. held onto the dog with his left hand while he picked up the airplane with his right. Ill give you this if you let me keep the dog. The man blew a sound out his nose. What do I want with a broken toy? Give me that mongrel. The man reached forward. C.B. kicked hard as he could between the mans legs and threw the plane down. And then he ran. He ran holding the dog all bunched up against him. He ran down the street and into his yard and into his house where his mother was watching television. My lord, C.B., what did you get into? She got up and stepped toward him. Youre all over dirt. She knelt in front of him. What is that you have? My dog, he said. Yourdog? For the first time in more than a year tears were running down C.B.s cheeks and the puppy licked feverishly to wipe them away. My dog. Hes my dog. He was in the drain and I got him out. And hes mine. She opened and closed her mouth. She took out a tissue and wiped the dirt and tears from his face. Whats his name? Hes . hes Stupid Dog. And C.B. smiled. And it was the first smile he had in more than a year. Okay.why dont we call him S.D. for short. How bout that? He held on to the puppy, she held on to him, and thats how they stayed for quite awhile.