Gavin was three years old, and he had a stuffed puppy named Biscuit. Biscuit was small and cookie-colored, with one brown ear. Gavin loved stuffed puppies. Real dogs, not so much.
Whenever he saw one on the street, he hid behind Dad's legs.
That afternoon, on the way home from the park, they walked past Ms. Carol's house next door. There was Luna, her dog. She was big, fluffy and cream-colored. “Woof!” said Luna, just once.
Gavin jumped and grabbed Dad's pants tight. “Luna's just saying hi,” Ms. Carol smiled. “She's very sweet.” But Gavin didn't want to look.
That night, already in his cloud pajamas, Gavin sat on his bed with Biscuit. “Dad, how do you say hi to a dog?” Dad sat down beside him.
“First, you ask the owner if it's okay.” “Then you stand still and hold out your open hand, like this, nice and slow.” “And the dog sniffs you. That's their way of saying ‘nice to meet you.’”
When Dad left, Gavin looked at Biscuit. “Let's practice,” he whispered. He sat Biscuit on the pillow, very serious.
“May I say hi to your dog?” he asked the night-light. “Yes,” he answered himself, in his night-light voice. He stood still. He opened his hand. And he held it out, nice and slow.
Biscuit didn't say a thing, but Gavin was sure his tail wagged. They practiced once. And again. And one more time.
The next day, Luna was at the gate again. Gavin took a deep breath, stepped out from behind Dad and looked at Ms. Carol. “May I say hi to Luna?”
“Of course you may,” said Ms. Carol. Gavin stood still and held out his open hand, nice and slow, just like with Biscuit. Luna sniffed his fingers with her cold, wet nose.
Then she wagged her tail back and forth, like a feather duster. Gavin giggled. “Hi, Luna!”
That night, Gavin told Biscuit all about it. “We'll say hi again tomorrow,” he whispered. He yawned, snuggled up with his stuffed puppy and closed his eyes.
And he dreamed of a big, soft tail that said hello. Goodnight, Gavin…
