The man walked up the steps to the kitchen door, the small, white, West Highland Terrier heeling at his side. He opened the door, wiped his feet on the mat and walked in the kitchen. He shut the door behind them.

"Hello, Alberta. Minute's had her walk." The man bent and unfastened the leash as the dog sat obediently, watching the man closely. Maybe a pat? Maybe one of the rare treats? The man straightened up and hung the leash on a hook by the door. "Dinner ready?" The dog walked over to her water bowl and lapped several times.

"Almost," said Alberta. "Wash up, Ralph, and I'll put dinner on the table."

A few minutes later, they sat at the kitchen table, eating meat loaf and mashed potatoes, asparagus and rolls. The dog laid quietly in the hall entrance to the kitchen, as she had been taught, watching carefully. Perhaps today would be the day they'd call her over, give her a morsel of their food, let her sit under the table by their feet, watching for dropped bits a small dog could gobble, a dog's prerogative.

She listened as they talked. Their voices were calm, no excitement. Blah, blah, blah, Ralph. Blah, blah, Alberta. Another day like so many days before, and the days to follow were sure to be the same. She shifted around, for they were almost done; no chance of random table food.

The man gathered the dishes and took the to the sink as the woman ran the water and added the soap. A bath for the dishes. It was not her bath day. The woman began washing the dishes as the man picked up her food bowl and set it on the counter.

Minute watched Ralph's every move as he put one small spoonful of the soft, moist, tender delicious meat from the can and heard the clatter of dry pieces pouring in the bow. He set the bowl on the floor mat by her water bowl and the dog walked over to her dinner. She sniffed carefully, although there would be no bits of meatloaf, a bit of tender potato, or even a drizzle of gravy. The aromas of their meal filled kitchen but that was all she got of it. She nosed out the delightful moist meat first, then ate the dry food.

She licked her lips and waited. Soon they would go in the other room, where the man and woman would watch the talking box and she would doze in her bed till it was time for her nightly walk. The daily routine when the loved one was not home.

The man picked up a wet dish and began drying it. More sounds of their voices, sounds she didn't understand, but then her ears pricked up when he said, "Tommy blah-blah-blah-blah." She looked and listened and sniffed but Tommy was not there, not walking in the door, not in the house. Tommy, who sneaked her bits of the table food, gave her treats every day, let her sit on his lap. He had to sit on the floor for that, as the old woman would scowl and her voice would get sharp and harsh. "Tommy, blah-blah-MINUTE-blah."

But even Tommy couldn't allow her up the stairs to the second floor, the mysterious place where they all went after dark, leaving her alone, without her pack, to watch the house and sleep alone in her bed. One day she'd go upstairs with them. She'd check out the rooms up there and sleep with Tommy. One day.

Soon the man and woman were on the sofa, another forbidden spot, as were the chairs with their soft cushions and backsides. So sweet to curl up in and doze. From a chair she could see out the windows. She had learned very early that chairs with their cushions were forbidden. The talking box was on, the woman knitting and the man reading a book as the box talked on and on. She curled up in her bed in the corner, dozing.

"Minute, let's go," the man said. She stretched, stepped out of the bed, and followed the man to the kitchen, standing patiently as he fastened the leash and following him out the door. This walk in the dark would be brief, but she could make it longer by sniffing around, checking out sounds, and taking her time. This was the one time the man allowed her a little leeway. She sniffed the trees and bushes, and finally selected one. The man collected the droppings in a bag, as usual, and they returned to the house.

The man cleaned up, washed his hands, and walked through the other room to the stairs. The woman was already upstairs. They slept there, while she slept alone on the first floor. Minute followed him, for she knew it was her destiny to one day go up the stairs with the people, with her pack.

The man trod up the steps. She stood by the first step, watching him, moist nose twitching, right forepaw in the air, tail up, waiting for the command to follow. The man took another step, another, the one that creaked, then another. He paid no attention to her. He disappeared from sight and she heard the door close up there. She wouldn't see them till the sun was up.

Minute walked slowly over to her small bed. She sat in it and listened, checking the house for suspicious sounds or smells. The noises from upstairs quieted as they slept. A few creaks in the house, a car driving by. No strange sounds in the house. Nothing to sound the alert. She curled up in her bed and slept.

The next morning the routine was different. Her walk was short, breakfast was quick, and afterwards the couple left without a "Be a good dog, Minute, and watch the house." They simply left, got in the car—so she wasn't getting one of the special, rare rides, where she could put her head out the hole and feel the breeze. They just left. One day she'd get lots of rides in the car, just because. Not because they were taking her to the place to buy her a new leash, or get bathed and trimmed, or the house where the woman poked and pulled at her, gently, but surely, checking her ears, and listening to her heart. The place full of strange dogs, some smelling sick. There were also dread cats there, silent, sharp clawed, lethal snake eyes watching her every move. She went to the hall and lay before the front door to wait.

She woke from her doze at the sound of footsteps on the back porch, three pairs, his, hers, and another. Minute jumped up as she recognized the footsteps of the loved one, the boy. The boy was home now that the days were growing longer. She flew to the kitchen door and waited, wriggling and tail-wagging, and much barking until the door opened, and the old man and woman came in followed by the loved one.

She ran to the boy, pawing at him, and barking in excitement. He released the rolling box he towed, and knelt.

"Hello, Minute," he said, rubbing her back. He picked her up and cuddled her.

She licked his face again and again, until he laughed and set her down. "We've got the summer, Minute, and I've got big plans for you."

She could dimly remember the few days she had slept upstairs with him, when she was very young, first here with her new pack, missing her mother and the other puppies so terribly. She had a box by his bed but she slept on his bed, curled against him. Wonderful nights. Upstairs. The other adults had been there then, but they had left and she had only seen them a few times. The boy left for long times, but came home now an again and for the long, sunny days.

She followed the loved one to the forbidden steps and watched as they walked up, up, up, the steps creaking. They disappeared. Today was not the day she would go up the steps again. She wanted to curl up next to the loved one on the big bed. One day. She went to her bed in the living room to wait until the loved one came down. It was still light, too early for bedtime. They'd be down to eat. The boy always spent a lot of time with her. She twitched as she dreamt of long summer walks, lots of sniffing and exploring, and bike rides.

The boy took Minute for her morning walk the next day, a bit longer than the walks with the old man—the old woman never walked her unless the old man was gone or was sick and stayed upstairs or lay on the couch. She'd tried to comfort him when he lay on the couch, feverish, and covered with a blanket, but he pushed her away.

The old woman didn't like her, or any like her kind. The old woman liked the furry, slit-eyed beasts whose paws had hooks that tore. The old woman pretended she didn't exist as much as possible. They'd brought one with them when they came, when the young couple left. That snake-eyed beast had lurked on the sofa and cushiony chairs, waiting until she was careless enough to wander too close. A thorned paw would slash down and up, quick as lightning, pricking her skin. She'd yelp, leap in the air and scramble away before the beast could strike again. The old woman would laugh.

The beast smelled very, very old, and one day the old couple took it in the car. This usually meant the place with the sick animals. The old couple came back without the hissing, scratching animal. Minute waited for it to return, and looked everywhere, especially on the soft, cushioned chair it favored, but it never returned.

A day or two after his return the boy put her in the basket of his bike and they rode to the park. A few other dogs were there with people, and there was laughter and talking, and dogs eager to get on with business.

The park had something new: a course was set up: jumps, dog walk, weave poles, tire jump, open tunnel, seesaw—tricky, moving thing, A-frame, and pause table. The other small dog went first, over the jump, knocking a few down, refusing the tunnel, and finishing the course.

Minute went next. The jumps were easy; she followed the boy around. She missed a couple of the weave poles, and at the see saw, froze as it tilted up. The boy coaxed her down, and they went to the finish. She knew she'd missed a few, but the boy praised her and gave her treats.

The morning passed quickly and they stopped for lunch. The boy shared a slice of the delicious bologna from his sandwich with her. She loved bologna. The meat was forbidden to her by the old people, but the boy would give her some.

The next week, the old man, grumbling, placed poles to duplicate the weave poles in the back yard he spent so much time caring for. The boy helped, and she sniffed around the yard and watched. The old man disliked her running and playing in the yard, with or without the boy, for he resented any harm to the garden. However, when the boy was home, the backyard was theirs.

"Tommy, you and that dog will destroy this garden." He looked around. "It's looking good, after two years of proper care."

"It is fine, grandpa," Tom said. "Mom and Dad will be home at the end of summer, and you and Grandma will move to your condo." The boy hung a tire jump at the regulation height for dogs of her size. "I guess the garden will always show the care you gave it. The fruit trees, now, they're pretty in spring and the fruit is good."

The old man looked at the boy. "You're a good boy, Tom. I'm glad we got to spend this time together while your parents are overseas."

"Mom and Dad wanted me to stay at my boarding school through eighth grade. Now I'm going to high school this fall and Mom and Dad will be here. I'll miss you and Grandma, too. You won't be that far away. Even though Grandma hates dogs."

"Yeah," said the old man. "We'll move to our retirement condo soon. Your parents got Minute before they left. A Westie. I don't mind dogs. Don't like the damage they do to yards and gardens, but Minute is a good dog. You trained her well. Now, your grandmother can't stand them. She tolerates them, but expects them to stay in their place. That's why we don't let Minute upstairs. Your grandma would complain. Let's get that seesaw up."

One bad thing happened. Alberta came home with another snake-eyed animal. This one was a baby, but babies grew up. It was mostly white but had several colored spots. It didn't hiss, but made tiny, pitiful cries. If frightened, it would puff its fur and try to spit. The old woman let it sit on her lap or the sofa and chairs and fed it soft food and treats. Tommy also liked it, petting it and letting it sit on his lap. He petted her too, and snuck her treats, so she didn't mind so much.

It also followed her around, all roly-poly and mewing and stumbling as it tried to keep up with her. It got in her bed with her and she couldn't get it out short of getting in a lot of trouble. It slept beside her. It helped itself to her food bowl. It was so tiny she had to allow it. She got to lick its bowl clean and sometimes lapped its milk. She found she liked the small, warm body against hers, especially when the people went upstairs. This one wasn't like the scratchy one. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe it would turn into a lurking scratcher. Time would tell.

The long summer days passed all too quickly. Minute and Ben trained with the other dogs at the park. She did better at the weave poles, rarely missing one. The seesaw was still hard for her. Ben coaxed her over the seesaw with treats including bologna, which had a wonderful effect.

The young couple came home. She understood they were the loved one's parents. They, too, moved upstairs at night. The young woman liked her and often petted her. The young man helped Tommy train her. She was happy, but still when it was late and the talking box was off, they went upstairs without her. She'd watch them go from the bottom of the stairs. One day.

Boxes were packed and taken away. Some furniture was replaced with new items. A lovely soft chair appeared near the window. Tommy sat in it and she laid on the rug by his feet. A pole with shelves appeared and the beast, bigger and less roly-poly, practiced climbing on it. It liked to curl up on the shelves when it wasn't scrambling around the house or going upstairs.

Ben worked with her on the seesaw. He was patient. He coaxed her up and down as it tilted to the ground. He rewarded her with treats and occasionally bologna. She got better at it but was still slow. She didn't pause as often when the board began to tilt down. She worked on the other exercises and Ben was happy.

They went to the park and practiced the exercises with the other dogs more often. A woman with a whistle helped Ben and the others work with their dogs. One dog still refused the tunnel. Tommy shared his sandwiches with Minute. This time they were ham, which Minute liked.

They resumed lessons after lunch, and Minute managed the seesaw without stopping. The lessons over, Tommy took Minute to the dog park and let her run around.

At home, things were going on. The older people were packing yet more boxes and carrying them to one of the cars. The two men filled the car with the boxes, and took Tommy and Minute with them. A car ride for Minute. She was excited, even at the thought of a visit to the woman who cared for sick animals.

However, this ride was different. They turned away from the vets, and drove down a busy, strange highway. After a while Albert pulled the car up in front of a new building. The men and Tommy got out and began carrying the boxes into a new house, one of several in the building.

Minute trotted along on her leash with Tommy. So many new smells and sights. She smelled other dogs, a few scratching beasts, new people. So much to see. After several trips, all the boxes in the house, piled in a room with the sofa and chair from their house. The men sat down on the sofa and talked.

Tommy walked around the house and Minute followed. This house did not have forbidden steps, and Minute was puzzled. Where could she go? Tommy walked down the hall but Minute stopped. The hall had rooms like the ones the people slept in upstairs, which she hadn't seen since she was a pup.

Tommy stopped and turned. "Come on, Minute." He whistled, the come here whistle, and she followed him down the hall to a bathroom. She sniffed around. This place was uninhabited. Why were they here. They returned to the living room and Tommy sat on the floor and she sat on his lap, just about her favorite spot.

"Alberta and your wife are going to come over tomorrow and start setting things in order." Ralph looked around. "This is a comfortable place. Not too big. It's a lot of work caring for your house and that big yard."

"I know, Dad, thanks. The house and the garden are in good shape." The talk continued for a while before they drove home.

She had lessons on the obstacle course every day over the next week. She was doing pretty good at it, even the seesaw. A few days they went to the park where she trained with the other dogs. One day the lessons all the people were very excited. They talked a lot and applauded when the dogs completed the course well. She got some applause herself. Tommy gave her extra treats.

The next day Tommy and his father drove her to the place where they bought her toys and leashes and she got bathed. Tommy let her sit on his lap and hang her head out the window the whole way. She thought her heart would burst from happiness.

On the drive home Tommy kept the window closed so she couldn't put her head outside. She stood on the seat and watched the world speed outside the windows.

Tommy took her for a walk earlier than usual the next morning. They returned to the house to eat, and afterwards Tommy's father drove the car out of the garage. Tommy whistled 'Come here' and she trotted over to him. He fastened her leash and they got in the car with his parents and the old man.

They drove to a strange park and got out of the car. Tommy carried her instead of letting her heel. He carried her to a booth. Tommy's father handed a woman in the booth a paper.

"Minute. West Highland Terrier. Two years, four months old." The woman looked Minute over. "Pretty dog. I have Shetland shepherds, but Westies have personality." The woman checked the paper again. "Agility, Novice Class." She handed Tommy a badge.

A few minutes later they found a place in a tent. It was full of dogs. More dogs than she had ever seen before. The dogs barked, their people talked and talked, and Tommy's excitement made her excited.

She saw through the door of the tent as dogs raced the obstacle course. People applauded. Soon Tommy picked her up and carried her to the course, followed by his parents and grandfather. She and Tommy waited with several other small dogs as his parents and grandfathers left to find seats on the bleachers.

The dogs and their people were called one by one into the arena. Each dog rag the course—jumps, weave pole, seesaw, and the rest. The owners ran along with the dogs. Some dogs did very well, some dogs knocked down poles on the jumps.

Tommy led Minute into the ring. Tommy gave her the commands and she ran around the ring, jumping through the hoop, through the tunnel. She came to the seesaw and went slowly up one side and down the other as it tilted. She finished the course and ran to Tommy as the audience applauded.

After the last of the dogs went, the judges conferred and some of the dogs were called into the ring. Tommy led her in and they stood by the others. A man handed Tommy a yellow ribbon and shook Tommy's hand. They left the ring and found Tommy's family.

"Third place for Minute, Tommy," said his mother. "That's great for her first time, in her group."

"Yeah, said Tommy, picking her up and hugging her. "When she gets better at the seesaw, we'll do better."

They returned to the car and drove home. She dozed next to Tommy as they returned home. Tommy put the ribbon on the mantel over the fireplace in the living room.

The rest of the day passed like any other. When the talking box was turned off, the family went upstairs and she slept downstairs.

Tommy walked her the next morning, stopping to talk to the neighbors. He mentioned her name often. After breakfast, the family got in cars and left. One car returned just before dinner and Tommy and his parents came in the house. Ralph and Alberta weren't with them.

The day continued as usual, except Ralph and Alberta didn't return. Minute relaxed next to Tommy, sitting on the floor, as the talking box droned on and on. Tommy took her for her last walk of the day. When they returned, Tommy's father turned off the talking box and the family went upstairs. She followed and waited at the foot.

Tommy took a few steps, stopped and turned to her. "Minute," he said. He whistled 'Come here.' She put one foot on the bottom step. He whistled again, and her heart soared. She ran upstairs after him and followed him to his bedroom.