The Dog is there when I walk home from school. He's crouched in a bush. "Hey, Dog," I say. All bones, he runs. "I saw a dog," I tell my mom. "He looked hungry." "Where is he?" she asks. "By our big tree. But he ran." We go to see, but the dog is gone. I leave water in my frisbee--for when he returns. For when . That's hope, Mom would say. Excerpted from Hey, Dog by Tony Johnston, Jonathan Nelson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.