So that’s what orange meant! It was one of those human words I heard all the time but never understood. I sniffed a big noseful of the foul, revolting, monstrous air and thought about orange so I would remember for the next time.

“Down where?” I peeked over my shoulder. From above, the slope looked a lot more like a cliff. It seemed impossible that we’d climbed so high moving so slowly. “I’ll go wherever you go. Please don’t leave me here alone.”

I tried to imagine it, but the situation Mom was describing sounded more like the middle of a story than the end. “Then how will we get out?” I asked.

“You could check the phone book. They might have one inside…” She trailed off when she saw the look on his muzzle. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“No! Don’t tell me! Let me guess…” I tilted my head in a hmmm and waited, because I know how to do suspense, too. “It’s Batsquatch, right? He waits for them in his doorless cave at the tippity-top. When the herd least expects it, he pops out of solid rock and says Boo! Then the deer die quickly of a painless heart attack so they won’t feel it as he rips them to pieces like a stuffy toy. Right?”

When the Weather Jinx spoke, the sky awoke. Right on cue, it darkened to a mominous grey and threw down a spat of rain while it gathered its clouds to show what it could really do. “I sure hope this weather breaks soon,” the Jinx jinxed.

Dogs go potty in words, leaving public messages for any passing creature to enjoy, but Mom doesn’t like to pee where someone can see. Humans go potty like punctuation, as if its only meaning is a moment of privacy between important things.

“Keep the windows closed!” I panted as the glass-and-steel canyons sucked the Wagon through a forest of billboards. “I told you, it doesn’t work that way.” Mom turned down the blowers anyway.

“No, Mom!” I said with a subtle pull on the leash. “It’s a trap! He’s trying to dognap you!”

“No, Mom!” I said with a subtle pull on the leash. “It’s a trap! He’s trying to dognap you!”