“I chased him down the back hall. He ran into my parents’ room and tried to jump on their bed. But I tackled him around his middle and wrestled him to the floor. I made a grab for the vulture claw, and it slid easily out from between his teeth. He snapped at it. But I swung it out of his reach and rolled away from him. “Not a toy!” I shouted. “Not a toy.” Arfy made a whimpering sound. He stared up at the claw. I studied it carefully. It was dripping with saliva. One of the talons was torn — just... a little bit. Not too bad. “Bad dog,” I scolded Arfy. But he was already trotting out of the room, his tail wagging. Dogs have very short attention spans. I tried to dry off the claw on the front of my shirt. Then I slid it back in place. “Close call,” I muttered. Arfy almost ruined my good luck. Of course, he didn’t know what he was doing. He was just being a dog. But I needed this good-luck charm. Needed it. Like breathing. I let out a sigh of relief. The claw felt good against my chest.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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