“Tell me, or I’m not getting in the car!”  I scream, on the verge of tears.  My ten-year-old mind is racing, thoughts of drugs and alcohol pop into my head.  Is she a drug dealer?  Is she buying drugs?  Is she drunk or high?  Is she giving us away to some crazy people in the woods?  I shudder, tears streaming down my red, blotchy face.

“I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t tell me!”  I’m desperate, trying to scare her into not doing something to me and my sisters.  I would do anything to protect them.  Right now, I’m fulfilling that promise.

“What?  Why would you call the cops?  Why can’t you just be a good girl and get in the car like your sisters?” 

Mom demads.  That’s another thing. Why are my sisters being so calm about this?  They should be scared, too.  I guess they don’t know about what can happen to defenseless, innocent kids.  The twins are only eight, and Callie is only six.  Thank goodness they have a big sister to protect them.

“Ahhhhh…” I let loose a blood-curdling scream, hoping this will attract the neighbor’s attention.

“Bella!  I’ll tell you where we’re going, if you stop screaming!”  Mom shouts over my noise.  I quit screaming, but I’m ready to sound the alarm any second.  “We’re going to get a puppy,”  Mom says in a tired tone, exhausted by my efforts to thwart her evil plan.  “But only if you stop being a diva and get in the car!”  I hesitate, still trying to figure out if this is a trick.

“Dad’s coming too, right?”  I ask.  Dad’s level headed, he would be a good person to protect me if Mom went crazy.

“Yes, he’s coming.  Get in the car, we’re going to be late.”

“Fine!”  I climb in and buckle up.

When we finally make it to Dad’s office, he’s leaving right as we pull into the parking lot.  “Hey, I thought you would be here fifteen minutes ago,”  Dad says, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Sorry, we had a situation.”  Mom replies.  She looked at me in the rear view mirror.  I can see her eyes, she’s giving me the death stare.

“I’m very sorry,”  I apologize.  I want her to know that I truly meant it, but it comes out sounding like I’m forcing the apology.

“You better be, Missy,”  Mom growls from the driver’s seat.  I hope Dad will be able to calm her down.  Dad climbs in beside her and buckles up.

“Do they know?”  Dad asks, he seems hesitant.

“Yes that was part of the situation.  I haven’t told them the puppy’s name yet.  I was gonna let you do that.”  Mom says, eyes focused on the road.  She was probably still hung up about the whole situation thing.
“Girls, can I have your attention please?”  Dad calls to us in the back seat.  We pause the movie and look up.  Here it comes, the moment of truth:  “The puppy we are getting is a brown furred, green eyed, Boxer/Labrador mix.  We’re naming her Camper after Camp.  Sound good?”  Huh? Is Dad in on Mom’s plan?  Oh, no.  Things just went from bad to worse.

“Yes, yes, yes!”  Abby, Maddie, and Callie squeal.  I’m still a little wary of it all.  Puppy?  Really?  Mom and Dad have been clear that they don’t want a puppy.  Why the change of heart?

“Now, you’ll have to take care of her.  She’s your responsibility.  She’ll also remind you to keep up the good, Camp attitude, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it,”  I say, in complete understanding of what’s happening.  We had all gone to Camp that summer, and my parents wanted us to act as well as we did at Camp.  This was their solution: a puppy.
Fifteen minutes later, we reach our pick-up spot: a run down Wal-Mart in a town I’ve never even heard of, it definitely looks like a place where you buy drugs.  I spot the puppy and her owners.  Mom and Dad park next to their rusty red pickup truck.  I wonder how well they’ve been taking care of her.  She looks sick and hungry.  I’m so glad Dad brought some food with us. Maybe she’ll eat some and feel better.

While Mom and Dad talk to the owners, my sisters pick her up and put her on the blanket in my lap.  She’ll ride with me on the way home.  She curls up and starts to snore.  Mom and Dad pay and we leave.

It’s a hectic ride home.  Camper gets sick a few times, and we have to stop on the side of the road to let her use the bathroom a lot.  When we get home, she settles right in and never complains.  She’s the perfect dog.

We’ve had Camper for almost three years.  I’ve grown out of my ten-year-old pessimist stage.  I’m thirteen now, and I’ve learned quite a lot from her.  She’s taught me about patience, responsibility, and most importantly, love.  Even though she’s the family’s dog, she loves me the most.  I couldn’t have asked for a better friend.  Thank you, Camper, for all your life lessons, for all your love, for everything.