The New House and the Dog

I was nine when we moved. My family is big, with three kids and our two dogs. My father found this house in a hurry. Some people my older brother knew were leaving, and they showed us the place. My dad decided to buy it the same day.

The house felt small for all of us. My father had plans to make it bigger. He spent evenings looking at drawings, figuring out how to add more rooms under the high ceilings.

On our first night, we slept on blankets on the floor. Our real furniture hadn’t arrived. I was supposed to sleep in my own new room, but I couldn’t. A strange feeling kept me away. I ended up sleeping in my brother’s room with our small dog, Buster.

Buster was usually a quiet dog. He rarely made a sound. But that night, he would not stop growling.