Yin Yin. Myriam Yagnam

      The Airport

      Two months had gone by since Miguel left for Chile and one afternoon, when Sofía left the front door open, Yin ran outside, as fast as lightning. She felt bad running away from Sofía and Rodrigo, but she’d made a decision: She had to find Miguel. . . even if it meant going all the way to Chile. With her nose to the ground and her heart beating like a drum, she followed Miguel’s scent. The trail, which she could hardly follow after so long, led her to the entrance of the airport. There, for the first time, she saw an airplane.

      “What a big, noisy bird!” Yin exclaimed, and she crouched down in the shelter of some bushes in a big empty lot. She’d wait till night, she thought, to enter the airport. That must be where Chile was, and she’d hunt for Miguel there until she found him.

      Meanwhile, Sofía and Rodrigo, worried sick, stapled pictures of Yin to trees near their house, put ads in the newspaper, and on the internet, and on the radio, seeking information on a little lost dog—but no one called them. Nobody seemed to have seen Yin—she had disappeared into thin air! Among the bushes, Yin had fallen sound asleep. She was awakened by the sound of dogs barking. The dogs were Lucas, Hound-Dog, Negri, Angie, and Klibus, a pack of dogs that roamed the streets looking for food.

      “Hi!” said Negri when he saw Yin. He was a medium-sized dog, a smooth talker, and so very, very mixed that there was no way to tell what breed his parents or grandparents or great-grandparents had started out as. “You’re looking mighty fine, good-lookin’,” he winked.

      “You’ll have to excuse Negri, miss; he thinks he’s catnip for the ladies,” interrupted Klibus, a wise, gentlemanly old Dalmatian who was the leader of the pack. “You don’t look like you’ve been abandoned. I bet you have a home somewhere.”

      “And what’s the lady’s name, if I might ask?” asked Hound-Dog, bowing courteously.

      “Yin,” Yin answered shyly.