Social Issues
She takes another ragged breath. "That..." She waves toward the front door and gulps. "That's the man who killed your father."
One minute she was not there and the next she had dashed in among them, her dangling leash sailing through the air after her. Her silky coat rippled in the breeze and she had incredible ears, black and tall, shaped like butterfly wings. Her feathery tail curled up over her back one minute, streamed out behind her the next and, a second later, tucked itself out of sight between her legs.
To Dickon, that tail shouted, "I want to be friends … I'm running away … I'm afraid."
He understood the little dog completely. He, too, had felt confused and desperate.
"I saw Eve on the street this summer," says Zoe. "She's gotten so fat. She looks like a blob."
I feel like a herd of horses are stomping through my chest. I want to turn and run, but my feet are glued to the pavement.
"Altitude," Jerome said, answering the confused looks on our faces, "is how high you fly. You need to have a good attitude if you want to fly high. You have to believe."
