There was a large cardboard box on the kitchen floor. Leo crouched down and lifted the flaps.
A tiny dog leaped straight onto his face. Leo tipped backward and landed on the kitchen rug.
The dog's wet nose touched his eyelashes. Leo reached out to pat it.
The dog darted under the table and over the chair. Leo crawled after it, elbows scraping the floor.
The dog barked once — loud as a fire alarm. Leo hid behind the table leg and held out his hand.
The dog sniffed his fingers, then gently took his thumb in its mouth.
Leo lay on his back. Arms spread wide. The dog climbed onto his stomach.
The dog licked his chin. Leo laughed — loud and uncontrollable. He wrapped his arms around the squirming dog.
"Lunchtime, Leo!" Mom called from the doorway.
Leo looked down. The dog was fast asleep, curled into a tight ball against his chest.
Leo rested his cheek on the soft fur.
"Just a minute," he whispered.