“We’re gonna build a great big trap,” I said, stretching my arms out to show how big. “With chicken wire from his daddy’s workshop.” Gus’s eyebrows shot up. “A trap, huh?” I nodded. “Well, kind of. More like one of those big dog crates. We’re gonna put it out at the edge of the woods beside the garden shed and then we’re gonna stick branches and leaves and stuff in the chicken wire so it blends in.” I went on to explain how we were going to put something good to eat inside the crate and when Wishbone went in to eat it, we’d close the door. “He likes meat loaf,” Bertha said. “And hot dogs. And bologna.” She tossed a couple of pieces of fish stick left over from supper onto the floor for two of the cats. “Now, I don’t want to rain on your parade, Charlie, but what if that dog isn’t friendly to people? What if he bites? What if he has some kind of dog disease?” “He won’t bite. He likes me,” I said, ignoring that question about dog disease.
