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“But can we leave the dog alone?”

“Oh, she’s as comfortable as she can be, Mrs. Sampson,” Grandma said.

Jorge, Mr. Sanders, Mama, Daddy, Grandma, Big Bob and Mrs. Sampson gathered together on Mrs. Sampson’s front porch. They stood quietly, looking at the trees.

“First, let’s get their attention,” Daddy said to Jorge. “Why don’t you sprint over to the mailbox?”

Jorge ran across the yard, stopping about ten feet from the mailbox. Up in the trees, the crows came alive. They didn’t dive down on Jorge, because he wasn’t close enough to endanger their baby, but they sure did put up a racket.

“I’m inviting them to my next New Year’s Eve party,” Grandma said. “They’ll do a much better job than pots and pans of making a hullabaloo when the ball drops in Times Square.”

“Okay, go.” Quick as a wink, Daddy uncovered the baby crow’s head and held him, pointing in the direction of the trees. Jorge began making his noises, only
this time they weren’t loud throat noises, they were little awping baby crow noises. The birds got very agitated. They circled Jorge and dropped down to branches closer and closer, responding in vocalizations Keisha had never heard crows make before. They were longer drawn-out caaaaaaws.

The baby crow struggled in the towel, but Daddy had him wrapped up tight. Except for his head. His glossy little head with the rock candy eyes turned this way and that, looking out at the big wide world.

“Awp, awp!” As soon as he started making noise, Daddy covered his head and took him back inside. The adult crows seemed confused. One landed right on the mailbox and pecked at it. Another soared to a tree closer to the porch.

“We don’t need mama and daddy dive-bombing your front porch, Mrs. Sampson. Now do you see?”

Mrs. Sampson took off her glasses and polished them with her apron.

“I suppose we could give it a try,” Mrs. Sampson said at last. “But my old eyes won’t be able to keep track of him if he’s not right in front of me.”

Daddy patted Mrs. Sampson’s shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about that, Mrs. Sampson. We weren’t able to build a nest with all that was going on this morning, but maybe we can rig something that will
keep him protected until he’s ready to be on his own. As you can see, his crow family stands ready to protect him.”

“We don’t have to rig a thing,” Grandma said. “I came prepared. Keisha, go out to Bob’s car and bring me what’s on the backseat, please.”

Keisha ran out to the car, taking care not to go anywhere near the mailbox. She opened the backseat door only to find Grandma’s straw bag, the one she used to carry sunblock and swim caps to the pool. Surely she couldn’t be thinking … Keisha brought the bag into the house.

“That’s it, one ready-made crow nest.”

“But this is your favorite pool bag,” Mama protested.

“Correction, it
was
my favorite pool bag. According to Marilyn Kirschner of The Look On-Line, straw bags are seriously OL. I want to re-purpose this bag to be a baby crow sling.” Grandma squinted and put her hand to her forehead like a visor.

“Look out there. We can hang him on the laundry line. He’ll be in the shade, and it’s not too far from the ground for when he’s ready to flutter.”

“Alice, you’ve really thought this through.”

Grandma Alice rummaged in her purse and pulled out the scissors from their kitchen drawer.

“Yes, I have,” she said. “I put a Tupperware top in
the bottom to make sure it doesn’t collapse and we’re going to have to cut down the sides a bit for easy reentry. Believe me, given the crows’ nests I’ve seen, this little baby is getting the Cadillac version.”

“Let’s hang this,” Daddy said, examining the bag. “And if it works as well as I think it will, Mrs. Sampson can give it back to us after the crow abandons it. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you”—Daddy was rubbing his stomach—“but I might need a little something to tide me over until dinner. I can run over to Charley’s candy store and get some fuel for the volunteer cat chasers.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Sampson said, glancing toward the kitchen. “Children don’t need candy for fuel. I—Misty, my niece, had the flu and couldn’t take me grocery shopping.”

“I took the liberty already,” Grandma said, “when I noticed you were a little low. Bob’s got the cooler in his trunk. You can’t travel with this crowd and not bring food along. I bet even the little one could use a snack before we hang him out to fly.”

Alice and Bob went out for the cooler, Jorge seemed happy outside with the birds and everyone else went back into the dining room. Wumpa-wumpa-wumpa. Cocoa’s tail against the side of the box greeted them as they walked into the room.

Carefully, Mama picked up the little dog. Cocoa’s front leg hung straight down in her cast. Some hair had been shaved away on her behind. Keisha counted seven stitches.

Mama turned Cocoa in such a way that there was no pressure on her wounds. Cocoa would have licked Mama, but she had to lick the air instead. Still, Keisha couldn’t believe her eyes. Mama didn’t like dogs very much. Or at least that’s what she said. Now
she was cuddling Cocoa and making the little crooning noises she made to Paulo.

Mrs. Sampson leaned in, peering at the incision. “It’s more a tear than a cut. Could this little dog have been in a fight?”

“That’s something we’ll never know,” Daddy replied. “Maybe she crossed to the wrong side of the street into a bigger dog’s territory.”

Mama kept crooning.

Mrs. Sampson fingered the cast. “And what did you say this one was? A boy or a girl?”

“A girl,” Daddy said.

Mrs. Sampson patted the dog’s head. “What’s her name?”

“We don’t name our patients, Mrs. Sampson.”

“But, Fred, this is not our patient,” Mama corrected him. “Cocoa, I believe.”

“Well, that would make sense,” Mrs. Sampson said. “Her fur looks like a cup of nice hot cocoa.”

Alice and Big Bob “pardon me’d” their way past Cocoa’s admirers into the kitchen.

“So, Bob,” Mama said as Big Bob returned to the dining room. “What will happen to this little one?”

“Can’t say. Our other foster homes are full up. Half of the volunteers are on vacation. Cocoa’s going to need someone to watch this incision and—”

“Someone with training, not just anyone,” Mrs. Sampson interrupted. She was still examining the wound.

“Yes, exactly. And that someone’s going to have to put salve on her wounds and carry Cocoa outside for a while.”

“Well, I’m a little old for that sort of thing,” Mrs. Sampson said.

“She’s light as a feather,” Mama said, handing her over to Mrs. Sampson before the old woman could protest. “Not more than twelve pounds.”

“Well.” Mrs. Sampson held the trembling little dog. “Well. She is a little thing.”

“The sad part is,” Bob continued, “even if her leg heals up, she’s still going to have problems. That’s my guess, and I’m afraid we won’t find a home for her.”

“You can’t get old without having problems. I’d like to see the old person who doesn’t,” Mrs. Sampson said.

“Yes, well, we’ll take her back now. I can keep her overnight, but when I have to go to work—”

“Maybe if the little crow finds its way, I could do the looking after. I don’t have good eyes, but my hands are still strong. And I can use the magnifying glass to put on the salve.”

“That would be a mission of mercy, for sure,”
Grandma said, coming in with a platter of cold cuts, cheese, lettuce, bread and juicy ripe sliced tomatoes. “And if you need some volunteers to run around with her when she gets her cast off, I can think of two named Razi and Keisha Carter.”

Razi loved fires. Grandma Alice said he danced around them just like Rumpelstiltskin. It wasn’t legal to have a campfire in your backyard in the city, but you could have one in a fire pit. Two summers ago, the Carters dug a big hole in the side yard and lined it with stones. On special occasions, they got to roast s’mores outside, using sticks they cut from the box elder trees that grew in the alley.

Tonight, in celebration of releasing the baby crow into the wild—and finding a nurse for Cocoa—Zack, Zeke, Razi, Keisha, Grandma and Big Bob were making s’mores. Paulo was sleeping in his crib with the baby monitor at the window, and Mama and Daddy had walked over to Genny’s Diner, home of the best frickled pickles and sweet daddy fries in Grand River.

“Look who I found.” Big Bob rode into the yard on his old bike. He was a little out of breath because he was pedaling with Jorge on the seat. “We were researching the call of the red-breasted nuthatch this morning and we just so happened to enter ‘s’mores’ into the search engine. Wait until you see this.” Big Bob unzipped his backpack and started fishing around.

“Jorge!” Razi ran over and hugged his new friend. “Do you still have my flower eraser?” Ever since Jorge rescued Razi from the “pig nose incident,” Razi loaned things to Jorge. That was one way Razi showed how much he liked someone. The other was to stand next to him, tug on his sleeve and whisper into his ear a lot.

Jorge pulled the eraser out of his pocket. “I’ve only erased with it a little,” he said. “One drawing.”

“Good.” Razi squeezed Jorge’s hand. “I’ll take it back now.” He fished around in his pocket. “But you can borrow my marble if you want.”

Jorge took Razi’s marble. “A cat’s-eye. Thanks. I’ll give it back.”

“Gentlemen, ladies, Jorge and I found some new technology we would like to introduce this evening to enhance the roasting experience. Alice, drumroll, please.”

Grandma slapped her hands on her thighs. Jorge joined in, using his pointer and middle fingers as drumsticks on the trash can lid they used to cover the fire pit when it wasn’t being used. That felt more like a drumroll.

Big Bob pulled a handful of wire coat hangers out of his backpack.

“That’s it?” Zeke asked. “I thought it would be something you could plug in. Or at least something with batteries.”

“Yeah, like a marshmallow rotisserie,” Zack added.

“Oh, this is so much better. With these babies, you can control the burn. You are in ‘char’ of your own experience. Portable, reusable. No batteries required. Gentlemen, ladies, be prepared for a s’more beyond your wildest imagination.”

Razi, Jorge and the Z-Team got into bending wires with Big Bob, but Keisha thought she would stick to her box elder branch.

“Want me to make one for you, Keisha? I’m good at this.” Zack waved an unhooked-but-still-bent wire in Keisha’s face.

Keisha’s answer was interrupted by a loud, stinky pickup truck pulling into the alley.

“Jeez … what is that smell?” Zack waved his wire in front of his nose.

“Smells like rotten eggs,” Zeke said.

“That’s sulfur,” Big Bob told the boys. “Hopefully, he won’t stay long.”

“It’s the Farleys’ daughter—Meghan—getting picked up by her new boyfriend. What is his name?” Grandma asked Keisha.

“Keith!” Razi loved to have the right answer. “He gives out peppermints, but only if you’re with Mama or Daddy or Grandma.”

“Keith. Right.” Grandma pulled on both ends of her wire to straighten it. “I keep telling him that sulfur
smell probably means he needs a new muffler.”

Keisha sniffed. There was something familiar about that smell.