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  Once, the mean family who had adopted him had had a ball that looked like that. The dog had been so excited that he jumped on it—and it popped. Loudly.

  The noise scared him, and the mother yelled at him for wrecking the ball—and, well, it had been another terrible day, in a long series of terrible days.

  So, the dog had learned his lesson and would leave this ball alone. But, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t stand here, and watch, and imagine that he was being allowed to play, too. Seemed like a harmless little fantasy.

  The woman was waving as she got into a white minivan, and the man waved back at her, as he headed towards the lawn. But, just as she started to back out of the driveway, the ball rolled away from Jack and the toddler, who both chased after it.

  Right behind the moving car!

  There was no time to make a plan or hesitate, so the Bad Hat just sprang into action and tore across the road.

  “Wendy, no!” the man said, sounding terrified. “Rhoda, stop the car!”

  He was running towards the child, but the Bad Hat could see that he wasn’t going to make it in time. So, the dog ran even faster.

  “What’s going on?” Jack asked, looking confused.

  The dog head-butted him as hard as he could, and Jack catapulted through the air, away from the car. Then, the Bad Hat focused on the little girl. He was going to grab her arm, but was afraid he might bite her, by mistake. So, he dug his teeth into the back of the little girl’s waistband and jerked her up off the driveway in one clean motion.

  It was hard to leap with about thirty pounds hanging from his muzzle, but the dog did his best. He felt the metal bumper of the car scrape painfully across his sore ribs—ow!—as he sailed over to the safety of the grass.

  They landed hard, but the dog twisted at the last second, so that the little girl would fall on top of him, instead of the ground.

  There was a frightening explosive sound as the back wheels of the car ran over the beach ball, and the dog cringed instinctively. Then, there was the screech of brakes, and the car stopped, a couple of inches away from his tail and left hind leg.

  Whew. That had been close.

  “Wow,” Jack gasped. “Are you all right?”

  It had all happened so quickly, that the Bad Hat wasn’t even sure how he felt. Shaken up, mostly.

  But, was the little girl okay? Well, probably, since she was laughing and clapping her hands and shouting, “Funny! Funny!”

  The grown-ups were both yelling, their voices so frantic that he couldn’t quite understand what they were saying, and the dog swiftly boosted the toddler up to her feet. Then, he warily sidled away, in case the parents were going to kick him or something. But, instead, they started hugging the little girl, everyone jabbering at once, and no one even seemed to notice him.

  Okay, good. It was better that way.

  He retreated back across the road, and sat down for a moment, to catch his breath. Wow, he had never run that fast before. It felt like he had maybe scraped the pads on one of his front paws, which hurt. But, he would wait until he was sure he was out of public view to lick the injury mournfully, and feel very, very sorry for himself.

  In the meantime, Jack was nuzzling the little girl’s face, and she gave him a big kiss in return.

  “Whose dog is that?” the woman asked.

  “I don’t know,” the man said. “But, he saved Wendy’s life.”

  Seriously? The Bad Hat wasn’t sure whether to laugh—or be outraged.

  The parents patted Jack lavishly, and the Bad Hat couldn’t help being amused, as he watched him enjoying all of the attention and affection.

  “Thank God. I’m so sorry. I—I’ll never—” The woman stopped, shaking her head. Then, she stood up, and snapped her fingers invitingly. “Come here, boy. Let’s get you home.”

  Jack wagged his tail enthusiastically, but stayed just out of reach. “Should I let her? To see if we can get some lunch out of it?”

  Was every single person they ever met in New Hampshire going to be determined to rescue them? He was the Bad Hat. Bad Hats never needed rescuing, or intervention. A simple nod of respect, and perhaps a brief wave, was all he requested.

  “Up to you, little man,” he said. “But, I’m hitting the road.”

  Jack sighed, but then ran after him. “Wait for me!”

  They traveled down the road at a steady trot. Sometimes, they were on damp dirt roads; sometimes, they were on pavement. The dirt roads certainly felt a lot better on the Bad Hat’s paws—one of which was scraped, and he was planning to allow himself a solid ten minutes of glum self-pity and moping about the small wound, as soon as he got a chance.

  “Thank you for helping out,” Jack said.

  Helping out? The Bad Hat just looked at him.

  “Okay,” Jack said, and grinned at him. “Thank you for saving me.”

  Better. Much better. “You’re welcome,” the Bad Hat said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  They ran around unfamiliar roads for what seemed like a long time.

  “This is nice and all,” Jack said, after a while, “but I’m really tired.”

  That made two of them.

  “Can we go home?” Jack asked. “And sneak out again, after we eat, and maybe rest a little?”

  No, no, and no. This was supposed to be a nonstop, glorious, wildly eventful series of adventures. So, the Bad Hat shook his head.

  Jack sighed. “Okay. I love you like a brother, Bad Hat, but I’m starving. I’ll try to come back later.”

  With that, he turned to go.

  Wait, just like that? “Um, you’re going to leave me?” the Bad Hat said. “By myself?”

  “It’s lunchtime,” Jack said. “I need my nourishment. See you soon!”

  As he galloped away, the Bad Hat could hear him shouting at the top of his lungs, “Gravy, gravy, gravy! Lots and lots of gravy! I can’t wait to have some very delicious gravy!”

  When Jack disappeared around a curve in the road, the Bad Hat couldn’t help feeling a little sad and lonely. But, even though the compatriot system was sort of nice, it wasn’t like he didn’t know how to be by himself. And he preferred it that way!

  So, the dog continued down the road, trying not to let his tail drag on the ground. Because he wasn’t sad. Nope. He was happy. He loved being a loner. Every single moment of his life was magical!

  He was only trudging because he had hurt his foot, and didn’t want to put too much weight on it, that’s all.

  And he wasn’t upset about not getting to have any gravy.

  As he limped along, enjoying every single second of his total isolation from the rest of the world, his delightful silence was suddenly broken by about a trillion voices all shouting at once.

  Or, anyway, at least a couple of hundred.

  All he knew for sure was that it was a school of some kind. Children often looked alike to him—mostly because not many kids had ever been nice to him, and so, he had learned to ignore them as much as possible.

  These particular children seemed to be about twelve years old, maybe. The playground was crowded, and noisy, and there were balls of various kinds being hurled around. Footballs, baseballs, soccer balls, basketballs, red kickballs, and even two girls playing catch with lacrosse sticks and a tiny hard rubber ball.

  The Bad Hat stared, with his mouth hanging open in wonder. Balls! So many balls! Wow!

  Most of the kids were playing games, although some were sitting in small groups and talking. A few others were by themselves, staring at electronic devices. The Bad Hat had never been able to figure out the complete fascination people seemed to feel for their silly gadgets. Whether they were walking, or in cars, or sitting down, so many of them gazed at ridiculous little gizmos nonstop. Such a waste of time, in his opinion.

  Unless they were watching movies on the devices. Then, maybe, it was okay.

  He really wanted to chase after some of the balls, and maybe even play fetch—but, he didn’t want to risk having anyone be
mean to him. So, he watched the children intently to see if any of them were eating snacks. After all, he was terribly hungry, and it would be easy enough to swoop by and snatch granola bars and cookies and whatever else right out of their little hands.

  It would be funny, too.

  But, mean. And it wouldn’t be right for a cowboy-like revered icon to be mean. It might even be too mean for the average villain who wasn’t fit to be seen in polite society. Maybe, though, if he was lucky, someone nearby would drop part of what he or she was eating. Everyone knew that all dropped food belonged to dogs. Always had, always would.

  He noticed a scruffy little boy standing near the sidelines of a touch football game. It was clear that he wanted to play, but was either too shy to ask or was waiting for someone to invite him.

  The kid had rumpled brown hair, wire-framed glasses, a half-untucked shirt, and blue jeans that were too short for him. One of his sneakers was untied, too.

  All in all, he looked like the kind of kid who ate paste.

  Not that the Bad Hat didn’t enjoy some unconventional snacks himself—but, he drew the line at paste.

  In fact, all the kid needed was a KICK ME REALLY HARD! sign on his back, and he could be the dictionary definition of a walking target.

  But, did he have any food? If he had food, he would be an easy mark. But—oh, yeah—stealing food was mean.

  Too bad. The dog was starving.

  Except, wait, the kid was pulling something out of his pocket. It was wrapped in plastic. Could it be—yes! Beef jerky! Which was only the very best food in the entire world.

  The Bad Hat gave him a chance to unwrap it—since plastic tasted awful—and then swept past him, snatching the jerky away.

  “Hey!” the kid protested. Then, he shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and took out another piece of plastic-wrapped jerky, which he opened and began to chew.

  If the boy had two pieces, it wasn’t stealing. It was sharing. And sharing was a nice thing to do.

  The Bad Hat gulped down his piece of beef jerky in seconds, and then looked at the kid, who had only managed to gnaw away about a third of his piece. So, the Bad Hat cocked his head to one side, in an attempt to look as cute as possible.

  Nope, the kid was still chewing.

  So, the dog raised both of his front paws in the air. Some might call that begging, but when it came to beef jerky, there was no such thing as dignity.

  The kid laughed. “Okay, you win,” he said, and tossed the rest of it over.

  Yes! The Bad Hat caught the meat effortlessly. It might not be gravy, but it was still mighty good.

  Three boys from the football game came swaggering over to the kid with glasses—who, judging from his welcoming smile, was naive enough to think that they were being friendly. But, as far as the Bad Hat could tell, Paste Kid was definitely in some trouble here.

  “How’s it going?” Paste Kid asked, still smiling.

  “Bet you wish you could play,” one of the boys said. He was one of those hulking, unwieldy kids with really big feet, who hadn’t grown into his height yet.

  “Sure,” Paste Kid said. “I mean, if you need an extra guy.”

  The Bad Hat nodded approvingly. Apparently, the kid had at least a shred of cool. Knew enough not to sound too eager, and to keep his response vague and open-ended.

  “What, you think we want some little wishes-he-was-Harry-Potter twerp out there?” one of the other jocks said, and he and his friends laughed.

  Paste Kid blushed, straightened his glasses, and blushed again. “I have amblyopia,” he muttered. “That’s why I need the glasses.”

  The Bad Hat wanted to groan. The kid had had the high ground—and he’d blushed himself right back into being a victim.

  “Well, let’s see how tough you are,” a boy wearing a Bruins hat said, and then shoved Paste Kid as hard as he could.

  The kid went flying, landing flat on his back in the mud, losing his glasses along the way.

  Whoa! Not good. Not good at all. The Bad Hat watched alertly, trying to decide whether it was time to intercede.

  Bruins Punk laughed. “Did that hurt?”

  “N-no,” Paste Kid said shakily, as he fumbled for his glasses, but couldn’t find them.

  The Bad Hat gave him a B-minus for that. An A for pluck, but a D for letting his voice tremble.

  As Paste Kid started to get up, one of the punks pushed him right back down again.

  “Did that hurt?” one of the other bullies asked, laughing.

  “Nope,” Paste Kid said, lying in the mud.

  Okay, another B-minus. A for sounding brave. D-plus for not getting up right away.

  But, it was starting to look as though the confrontation was going to move from insults and pushing to actual pummeling. And the Bad Hat did not approve of pummeling. So, he strode purposefully over to the group of boys, and used his muzzle to poke Paste Kid in the back.

  The kid twisted around to see who else was attacking him, and then squinted at him fuzzily. “Oh, it’s just you,” he said, sounding surprised.

  Well, how about Yay! Thank you! A very noble canine has raced to save me!  ? The Bad Hat nudged him more forcefully, to try and urge him up to his feet. But, the kid seemed to be confused, and just sat there looking at him.

  “That your dog?” one of the bullies asked. “He looks dumb.”

  Dumb? Someone was calling him dumb? The Bad Hat most assuredly did not cotton to that. No, sir, he did not.

  “He’s not dumb,” Paste Kid said, climbing to his feet. “I think you guys are dumb.”

  All right, the kid had heart! The dog definitely approved. Not much originality, or the gift of clever retorts—but, heart!

  The bullies apparently decided that that was a good enough reason to start a fistfight, and one of them threw a punch and hit Paste Kid right in the face. Paste Kid staggered back, clearly stunned.

  Nope. Not on his watch. The dog quickly jumped in between Paste Kid and the other three boys. He gave the bullies a long, ominous stare—and they all stopped short, with their fists drawn back.

  “Hey, call your dog off,” one of them said uneasily.

  “He’s not—” Paste Kid paused. “I mean, I think he just wants you guys to leave me alone.”

  Yep. He’d have to give that answer an A. The dog blinked at the bullies—once.

  Which seemed to scare them. So, he did it again.

  “He’d better not bite me,” the boy in the Bruins cap said. “My parents will totally sue you, if he bites me.”

  The Bad Hat found that insulting. He never bit anyone—not even people who kicked or hit him. Shoot, he didn’t even growl at anyone.

  Unless they really got on his nerves.

  “Hey, what’s going on over there?” a voice asked.

  An adult. Finally. The Bad Hat had been wondering why teachers hadn’t noticed that some poor kid was getting shoved around.

  “Jake’s trying to get his dog to bite me!” the boy in the Bruins cap shouted. “He—”

  The Bad Hat moved so that his shoulder barely brushed against the Bruins punk’s leg—and then he fell down onto his side, yelping and whimpering, and holding up his right front paw limply.

  The teacher looked shocked. “Bruce, did you just kick that dog?”

  “No!” Bruce said defensively. “He was trying to knock me over, and—and well, I didn’t do anything!”

  Imagining how Jack would react to this, the Bad Hat whimpered even more pitifully and tried to stand up. Then, he pretended that his paw wouldn’t hold his weight, and collapsed to the ground.

  “I can’t believe you would deliberately injure a beautiful animal like that,” the teacher said sternly.

  “I didn’t!” But, Bruce was starting to look unsure of himself, as the Bad Hat let out another sad moan and let his head slump into the mud. “I mean, maybe my foot slipped a little, or—”

  The teacher glared at him. “In other words, you kicked the poor dog.”

  “Well, um—�
�� Bruce frowned. “I don’t know.”

  The Bad Hat was having a very hard time not showing how amused he was by all of this.

  “I’ve heard enough,” their teacher said, her voice brisk. “Bruce, I want you to march down to the office, and wait for me to get there.” She turned towards Paste Kid. “Were these three picking on you, Jake?”

  Paste Kid hesitated. “Well—”

  Whoa, a lot on the line here. The Bad Hat watched, his supposedly mangled paw still up in the air. Would the kid rat out the three jerks? Which might help—but, might also make things worse. And from the way the bullies were glaring at the kid, the Bad Hat was guessing worse was the way it would go, in this case.

  “We had a confrontation, but everything’s under control now,” Paste Kid said. “I think we came to an understanding, and we aren’t going to have any more problems.”

  Really? Maybe the Bad Hat’s instincts weren’t any good, but that wasn’t what he thought would happen.

  The teacher didn’t seem to buy it, either, but she nodded. “All right. But if there are any problems, I want to hear about it right away. We have zero tolerance for bullying here.” She frowned at the kid in the Bruins cap. “Bruce, I don’t see you marching to the office. Let’s go! Kyle and Roger, I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you two from now on. And Jake, why don’t you call your par—” She stopped. “Um, your mother, that is, and have her come and pick up your dog.”

  As she went off with the Bruins creep, one of the other bullies leaned close to Jake.

  “This isn’t over,” he said. “And you’d better not fink on us.”

  Jake looked right back at him. “Someday, when I own a huge tech company, you two are going to show up begging for jobs—and I’m not going to hire you.”

  Which left both bullies speechless.

  The Bad Hat wanted to laugh, but he decided just to cradle his paw, and milk his imaginary injury a little more, instead.

  After the two bullies had slogged off, grumbling and embarrassed, Jake looked over at the Bad Hat.

  “I don’t think he kicked you,” he said. “You’re a total faker.”