Aces Wild by Erica S. Perl Read Free Book Online Page B

My mom said something like that when we moved. But half a year had gone by already, and I still felt like the new kid.
How much time?
I wanted to ask.
    “SHE WOULD’VE FOUND THIS DOG-TRAINING BUSINESS INTERESTING. SHE HAD A REAL THING FOR ANIMALS.”
    “Bubbles?” I asked, surprised. “I don’t remember you guys ever having any pets.”
    Ace shook his head. “NOT PETS. SHE DIDN’T BELIEVE IN KEEPING ANIMALS. SAID IT WOULD BREAK THEIR SPIRITS. BUT YOU REMEMBER HERMAN?”
    “No … Wait, yes,” I said as a whisper of a memory drifted back to me. “Behind The Farm?” I asked, picturing the house where Bubbles and Ace had lived when Bubbles was still alive.
    “EXACTLY,” he said. “THERE HAD TO BE A DOZEN OF THEM, ALL LIVING OFF FIELD MICE BEFORE YOUR GRANDMOTHER AND I MOVED IN. ALL OF THEM STARTED SHOWING UP, NIGHT AFTER NIGHT, GETTING FED BETTER AT THE BACK GATE THAN I WAS AT THE TABLE! ‘IT’S JUST ONE CAT’ IS WHAT SHE’D SAY. SHE WAS A SMART COOKIE, YOUR GRANDMOTHER.” Ace smiled proudly. “HOW COULD I BEGRUDGE HER FEEDING ONE STRAY CAT?”
    “I almost forgot about Herman,” I told Ace. All of the cats had some white parts and some spots, so they seemed like brothers and sisters, which they probably were. When Iwould visit Ace and Bubbles, I would chase them, but I never got close enough to pet them, much less catch them. Bubbles could, though, so she’d occasionally fetch “Herman” and hold him or her still for me. A memory swam back to me just then: me feeding tuna fish out of a can to one, while Bubbles beamed down at me and petted my hair like
I
was a cat. I liked this idea so much that I got on all fours and ate some tuna fish myself, right alongside the real cat. Bubbles laughed but she didn’t stop me. She just stroked my hair and called me her favorite kitty of all.
    The surprise of the memory felt like finding money under your pillow even though you didn’t remember losing a tooth. And then poking your tongue around your mouth and discovering the hole. It made me happy and sad and scared all at once. In time, would I lose everything I had of Bubbles? Ace hadn’t, which was good, but he had known her longer. Was a little over eleven years—some of which didn’t even count because I was just a baby—enough time to seal up those memories forever, like those prehistoric bugs trapped in amber they have at the natural history museum in Manhattan?
    Just then, I remembered something I had been wanting to ask Ace. “Who said that thing?”
    “WHAT THING?”
    “You know, the thing you said in class. About how before the dog can learn, the master has to.”
    “OH,
THAT
THING.” Ace looked surprised, then pleased. “I DID,” he said proudly.

“Ace … Ace … ACE!”
    “Ace … Come on, Acey.”
    “A-ACE! Hey, Ace!”
    “Ace! Attaboy! Good boy!”
    For two days, I practiced the Name Game with Ace. He was excellent at responding to his name inside the house, especially in the kitchen, where he knew the snacks were readily available. He was pretty good on the sidewalk or in the backyard. And he was downright terrible if another dog—or a cat, squirrel, or tennis ball—was anywhere in the vicinity.
    By Sunday, all Ace seemed to have learned was that his name meant “food.” He hadn’t gotten any better at doing what came after his name, like dropping things, sitting, or—his most challenging task—staying. Although, he was getting much better at coming when he was called. Too good, in fact: at least twice, my dad had yelled, “Ace!” from the kitchen,meaning Grandpa, only to find Ace-the-dog hurtling toward him at breakneck speed.
    “You couldn’t have gone with Spot or Snoopy or something?” he asked.
    “Or O.J.,” added my mom.
    “There was only supposed to be one Ace,” I reminded him. “If anyone should be using another name, it’s Grandpa.”
    “I hear George Foreman has five sons and he named them all George Foreman,” said my dad, gesturing to his