Chestnut Read online

  Could Chestnut possibly have wanted to get back to her that badly? Chestnut wiggled free of Meg’s arms and gave her whole family warm Christmas kisses—even Meg’s grandma. The Briggs family laughed at his excitement.

  “We’ll have to try to get ahold of Mr. Melendez,” Meg’s dad said, sighing as he patted Chestnut’s head. “You sure are a persistent pup, aren’t you?”

  Just then, Meg heard a car door shut outside. Sarah looked out the window and frowned. “He’s saved you the trouble. He’s here.”

  A moment later, a knock sounded on the mudroom door.

  When Meg’s dad opened it, Mr. Melendez stood there with a sad look on his face. “I am sorry to bother you all on Christmas morning,” he said. “But it looks like my hunch was right.”

  “Please, come in,” Meg’s dad said. “Would you like some coffee?”

  Mr. Melendez shook his head. “No, thank you. When Lobo took off this morning, I figured he must be heading back here.” He looked at Meg, then at Chestnut. He sighed heavily. “I’m starting to think that maybe my Lobo wasn’t meant to be a hunting dog, after all.” He knelt on the floor to pet Chestnut’s head. “I’m starting to think that he’s found the place that he belongs.”

  Meg gasped as the meaning of his words began to dawn on her. “Do you mean . . . ?”

  Mr. Melendez nodded, smiling. “If you’ll have him, I’m pretty sure that being with you is the only place old Lobo wants to be.”

  Meg couldn’t hide her joy as she looked from Mr. Melendez to Chestnut, then to her parents. “Is it okay?” she asked, almost not daring to hope.

  Her mom smiled as her dad shrugged. “Well,” he said, grinning, “it would save us a trip to the dog shelter.”

  Meg squealed, hugging Chestnut tight to her chest. “Thank you so much, Mr. Melendez.”

  Mr. Melendez stood. “Thank you,” he said, scratching Chestnut’s ears one last time. “For taking such good care of him.”

  “I promise that I always will,” Meg said. Then an idea dawned on her. “Wait,” she said, turning to run upstairs. “There’s something I want to give you.”

  She ran to her room, where she’d been keeping the very first pinecone ornament she had made—the one that looked just like Chestnut. She hadn’t been able to bear parting with it, so she had never taken it to the tree lot to sell. But she knew in her heart now that it had always been meant for Mr. Melendez.

  Back downstairs, she handed it shyly to him. “I made this, and I . . . I’d like you to have it.”

  The man smiled as he looked at the pinecone, painted to match Chestnut’s brindled stripes. The small glass beads that Meg had glued to the front twinkled like Chestnut’s own eyes, and the mouth she’d painted on matched his silly grin.

  “That’s beautiful. Thank you,” the hunter said, holding it up to compare it to Chestnut. “I’m going to take it home and hang it up right now. It’ll be nice to have a reminder of this boy.”

  With a final scratch under Chestnut’s chin, he turned to the door. “I hope you folks have a very Merry Christmas.”

  Meg’s dad shook his hand and walked him to the door. As Mr. Melendez turned to leave, Chestnut barked once, and the man turned back, smiling. “You be a good boy.”

  Chestnut nuzzled against Meg, and she could almost imagine him saying, “I will.”

  After Mr. Melendez drove away, Meg, Sarah, and Ben put on their winter gear and took Chestnut out to play fetch in the snow. After a few minutes, their mom and dad joined them. As Sarah ran with Chestnut, Meg stood next to her parents.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  “You’re welcome, Megs,” her parents said as they huddled around her.

  Then Chestnut was there, jumping and barking, begging for their attention. Meg hugged him to her, breathing in his scent. “Merry Christmas, Chestnut. And welcome home.”

  She stood and threw the ball for her dog, knowing that he’d bring it right back to her—that he belonged with her—and that he was finally home. For good.

  ★ Chapter 29 ★

  * * *

  * * *

  As the school bus turned onto their road, Meg and Colton were cracking up. Their math teacher had told a hilarious story about getting lost in the Mall of America over Christmas vacation, and they were still laughing about it. When they hit the huge bump just before Meg’s driveway, their laughter rang out so loudly that the kids around them turned to stare.

  The bus pulled to a halt and Meg stood up. “You should come over to my house today,” she said to Colton, who raised his eyebrows. “I’ve got a surprise for you!”

  As Meg and Colton walked down the bus aisle, a girl in the third row gently tapped her arm.

  “Hey, Meg,” Holly Gardner, one of the most popular girls in school, said. “I really like your new coat.”

  Meg smiled. “Thanks, Holly.” For so long she had dreamed of hearing those words, but now, they seemed so unimportant.

  “And your dog.” Holly giggled. “He’s adorable!”

  Meg glanced out the bus window to see Chestnut waiting for her at the end of the driveway. “He’s pretty great, isn’t he?”

  Holly nodded. “I read about him in the paper. What you guys did was awesome!”

  Meg blushed and headed for the door, but Holly tapped her arm again. “Do you want to hang out sometime?”

  Meg glanced at Colton, who was grinning behind Holly, making a ridiculously goofy face. She smiled back at her best friend. “I’d like that, Holly. Maybe you can come over sometime and hang out with me and Colton. He’s got a whole bunch of dogs, and they’re all amazing!”

  Holly beamed, her smile wide and genuine. “I’d really like that.” Somehow, Meg got the impression that Holly had been nervous to speak to her. But that couldn’t be right, could it?

  “See you tomorrow,” Meg said, hopping down the bus steps.

  Chestnut was waiting for them with his tail swinging in wide swoops. Meg and Colton chased him across the yard and they all stumbled into the mudroom in a pile of kid and dog, fur and coat, boots and paws. Meg and Colton’s laughter mingled with Chestnut’s happy little barks. She hung up her gear. “Want a snack, buddy?”

  Chestnut danced around the room like a waltzing dog.

  He followed them into the kitchen. Colton sat on a stool while Meg went to the fridge.

  “So, uh, what’s this surprise?” Colton asked.

  Meg lingered for a moment behind the door of the fridge, a grin across her face. She pulled out a strawberry pie—her mom’s famous recipe, Cool Whip piled high on top—and placed it in front of Colton.

  “Thank you for everything you did for me and Chestnut,” Meg said. “Seriously, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Colton beamed. “Anytime, Meg the Leg.”

  “Wait,” Meg said. “There’s something else.” She ran to the mudroom and grabbed the small package that she’d wrapped herself. She’d even woven one of her pinecone ornaments through the ribbon to act as a bow.

  “Cool!” Colton said when Meg presented it to him.

  Meg giggled. “You haven’t even opened it yet.” Colton ripped open the package. It was a book about chess strategy. “I figured this might help you talk me out of keeping the next dog I find in the woods.”

  Colton chuckled. “Or think of a plan for how you can keep him.” Colton scratched behind Chestnut’s ears. “So, you going to help me eat all this?”

  Meg grinned. “With pleasure!”

  The two of them quickly tucked into the pie, serving themselves heaping slices. Meg gave Chestnut a few small bites of fresh strawberry, laughing when a spot of Cool Whip got stuck on the tip of his nose, and then poured a scoop of kibble into Chestnut’s bowl. He gobbled up his snack while she and Colton savored their own. She was remembering the last time she’d come home from school—to an empty, dogless house. She couldn’t believe the difference one furry friend made in her life.

  When they
were done with their snack, Colton said good night and headed home. Then, Chestnut went to the door and barked. Meg glanced at her backpack, where an essay on the Revolutionary War was waiting for her. But the essay could wait—she could finish it after dark. Some things couldn’t wait. Chestnut couldn’t wait.

  Meg put her coat and boots back on and said, “Come on, boy. Let’s go track down some squirrels, eh?”

  Chestnut barked and jumped, eager to get outside and into the fresh air. He was the kind of dog that needed to run, to track, to explore. A tree farm was the perfect place for a dog like that, and Chestnut was the perfect dog for a tree farm like this.

  ★ All About the Plott Hound ★

  * * *

  The Plott hound is a smart, resourceful, and courageous dog that is known for its fearlessness and loyalty. They love to go on adventures, track scents, and get dirty, which is why Plott hounds are often happiest outdoors.

  When sixteen-year-old Johannes Plott immigrated to America in 1750, he brought five dogs with him to North Carolina, where he settled. For over two hundred years, the Plott family bred these dogs, who were lovingly referred to as “the Plotts’ hounds.” Eventually, they became known as Plott hounds. Today’s Plott hounds are descended from those five original dogs.

  Plott hounds have a keen sense of smell and are unusually good at tracking. They are also very intelligent and easy to train. Because of these qualities, Plott hounds have historically made excellent hunting dogs, used to track the scents of big game like boars and bears. However, they are increasingly becoming a more popular choice as family pets.

  A Plott hound has a strong, muscular build. Plotts are known for their glossy brindled coat, which gives the look of small stripes across the body. Plotts can be anywhere from twenty to twenty-eight inches in height, and the average Plott hound is between forty and sixty pounds.

  The Plott hound is the only coonhound that is not descended from the foxhound. Though Plotts were bred in the United States, they actually descend from a German bloodhound called the Hanoverian Scenthound. Of the coonhounds, the Plott hound is one of the strongest and most active breeds, which makes them ideal companions in rugged conditions.

  In 1989, the Plott hound was designated the official state dog of North Carolina. Since then, the breed has grown in popularity and recognition. Beginning in 2008, Plotts have even exhibited at the Westminster Dog Show.

  Though they can be quite fierce when hunting, at home Plott hounds are eager to please and incredibly loyal. They often make great family pets and can get along with other animals and children alike. That said, Plotts are best suited for an active household, since they need at least an hour of exercise daily. Long walks or plenty of space to play outdoors is absolutely crucial for this breed. They are known for their beautiful “baying” bark—a long, low howl—which may or may not sound beautiful to any neighbors close by.

  Their brindle coats are typically short to medium length and have a smooth, glossy appearance. Since their hair is quite short, they are one of the lower-maintenance breeds. Still, you should brush them weekly and give the occasional bath to keep their coat and skin healthy.

  There are a huge variety of both purebred and mixed-breed dogs available for adoption from your local pet rescue. It is really important to think carefully about how your family will care for and interact with a dog, so you can choose a breed that’s just right for your household. If you have questions about whether a certain type of dog is right for you, contact a local veterinarian or your local rescue organization, or do a thorough internet search to find the dogs that would fit best with your family. This helps keep more dogs from returning to shelters and will help you enjoy a lifetime of happiness with your pet.

  ★ Acknowledgments ★

  * * *

  The American Dog team is Best in Show! Thank you, Emilia Rhodes, Catherine Onder, Samantha Ruth Brown, Julie Yeater, Celeste Knudsen, Kaitlin Yang, Helen Seachrist, Elizabeth Agyemang, and the wonderful design, sales, marketing, and publicity teams at HMH; and Les Morgenstein, Josh Bank, and Sara Shandler at Alloy Entertainment. Trophies for Agility, Herding, Showmanship, and Best of Breed go to Laura Barbiea, Romy Golan, Robin Straus, Katelyn Hales, Hayley Wagreich, the talented Stephanie Feldstein, Kayleigh Marshall, Rosina Siniscalchi, Ryan Dykhouse, and my dear, wise friend Laurie Maher.

  These folks might be tired of hearing how much I love and appreciate them, but too bad. Thank you for everything, Brian, the Goons, Virginia Wing, Geoff Shotz, Xander Shotz, Katherine Mardesich, Kunsang Bhuti, Tenzin Dekyi, Susan Friedman, and Vida the Great and Terrible.

  ★ Chapter 1 ★

  * * *

  * * *

  Julian hunched over his desk, shielding his notebook with his arm. He hoped it looked like he was taking notes as Ms. Hollin introduced the next book the class would be reading. But there were no words on his notebook page, just sketches of trees and lakes and old roads. Julian was trying to recreate one of his favorite maps from memory—an old county map drawn by people who had come to Michigan a hundred years ago searching for Great Lakes treasure.

  Julian concentrated on getting the lines just right. He imagined treasure hunters and pirates tromping through town in search of gold. He didn’t bother paying attention to the title of the book that everyone in class would be reading over the next month. Everyone except him.

  Ms. Hollin called Isabelle and Hunter up to her desk to help pass out the books. The battered paperbacks had probably been read by hundreds of other students. Maybe Julian would get a copy with missing pages, and then he couldn’t be blamed for not doing the reading.

  He knew he should try to keep up with the assignments, but what was the point? He’d spent his whole life trying to keep up, only to keep falling further and further behind. It wasn’t fair. Reading was so easy for other kids, but to him, every page looked like a puzzle with pieces missing. Or worse—like someone had taken five different puzzles and jumbled all the pieces together into one big pile.

  Hunter slapped a book on top of Julian’s notebook and shot him a smirk before moving on to the next desk. As soon as Hunter wasn’t looking, Julian picked up the book to make sure it hadn’t smeared his hand-drawn map. That’s when he heard Isabelle whisper, “This is almost twice as long as the last book. There’s no way Julian can read it.”

  “Maybe his mom will read it to him,” Hunter whispered back.

  “Don’t be mean,” Isabelle said. But it sounded like she was trying not to laugh.

  Julian shoved the book into his backpack without looking at it. He was so tired of the looks and whispers. He was tired of kids like Hunter treating him like he was stupid. He was especially tired of feeling like no matter what he did, reading never seemed to get any easier. He only felt dumber each year.

  At least Julian had a name for it now: dyslexia. Over the summer, his parents had taken him to a doctor, who told them that Julian struggled to read because his brain was different from other kids’ brains—and that it wasn’t his fault.

  Not that Hunter cared about any of that.

  After the diagnosis, Julian had spent a few days at reading camp—or “stupid kids’ camp,” as he thought of it—but it all went by so fast that it didn’t really help him. Meanwhile all his classmates were outside at soccer camp or going fishing and canoeing in Michigan’s clear, cool lakes.

  Now that he was back in school, Julian’s teachers were giving him more time to do his work, but he still couldn’t get the assignments done. And his parents were supposed to take him to see a specialist who could help him, but they’d already spent a ton of money on the camp, and Julian knew the appointment would be expensive too. He was dreading the visits anyway. He pictured himself sitting on a hard-backed chair in a dusty office, staring at the pages of a book while a mean old lady leaned over him and shook her head at his stupidity.

  But would an expert even help? Could anyone? Part of him wished his mom would read the book with him—or, even better, for him.

&n
bsp; At least English was Julian’s last class of the day. He had to survive only ten more minutes; then he could forget about books and get back to his maps.

  “For tonight, class—” Ms. Hollin called out above the rustling of notebooks and backpacks and zippers, “just read the first two chapters.” She started straightening the stack of papers on her desk and cleared her throat.

  Julian felt her eyes on him.

  He sank lower in his chair. He knew what was coming.

  “Julian, please see me after the bell,” Ms. Hollin said, tapping the stack of papers. Julian had a sinking feeling that there was supposed to be one with his name on it in the pile.

  A few kids snickered. There were more whispers from the back of the classroom, where Hunter sat with his friends. They loved it when Julian got in trouble for not doing his homework, or for not wanting to read out loud in class—which was all the time.

  He kept his eyes on the floor, imagining it curving into a slide that would carry him away from school and out to Silver Lake, where he could swim in the cool water and search for bullfrogs in the marshy grasses along the shore. He pictured himself scooping up a fat bullfrog, only to reveal a gold coin from a lost treasure in the mud beneath it.

  But the floor stayed flat and boring, except for a small beetle crawling under the desk in front of him. Julian watched the beetle. He knew he should’ve done the homework. But it felt endless and dumb, like digging a hole in the rain. Eventually, it was easier to just give up and set down the shovel.

  The bell rang, and the beetle barely escaped being squished by the stampede of kids leaving the classroom. The bug scurried toward the wall, where it slipped into a crack in the corner and disappeared. Julian wished he could shrink down and follow it.