Sometimes a friend of Wally’s, Belinda, would come, too. The game of Find got harder and harder to play. Wally would run faster, or start farther away, or duck behind a tree or a bush. He couldn’t fool me, though. I always would Find him. And that always meant praise and petting and a good wrestle with a stick. The stick still was the best part, as far as I was concerned. One day the rules changed. Find Wally got harder than ever. Jakob and I were at the park, but Wally was not there. Fine. Maybe Jakob would throw a stick for me. He didn’t usually do that during Work, but when he was just taking me for a walk in the evenings a stick was often involved, or the ball he carried in his pocket. But he didn’t do that, this time. Instead he looked at me and said, “Find!” Huh? Find what? Wally wasn’t there. Where was Wally, anyway? I began to sniff at the ground. I would know a Wally smell if my nose came across it. His sweat, his skin, the soap he used, and a sharp-smelling gum that he liked to chew—all of those things were mixed into the smell that was Wally.
