George’s mother got after him three times that evening for not paying attention to what he was doing.  The last of these was when she asked him to feed the cat and help with dinner, and he put a bowl of cat food on the table and filled Door Jam’s bowl with string beans.

“George,” said his mother in exasperation after pouring the string beans into the disposal, “just what were you doing at the park today that’s made you so preoccupied?”

“Nothing,” said George quickly, trying to sound as innocent as possible.  “There was just this yellow bird hopping around, and I was following him.”

George’s mother looked at him shrewdly.  “You mean like the yellow bird that was following you a few months ago?” 

George squirmed.  “I guess so,” he said quietly.  His mother continued to stare at him.  Sometimes it seemed that she could look right into his head and read his mind.  Finally she said, “Well, I don’t trust little yellow birds.  Your father was also seeing strange things before he disappeared.  So from now on if you see a yellow bird, stay away from it.”

“O.k., Mom,” said George meekly.  He could tell she was suspicious.  She could smell something unusual 100 yards off.  Through the rest of the evening he tried to pay attention to what he was doing, since he didn’t want to risk her not letting him go out to meet the protector tomorrow.

He slept fitfully that night, drifting in and out of dreams about shrinking Volkswagens, grumpy mirrors hanging in mid air, and pink fuzz balls rolling across his foot and across his face.

Finally morning came.  George was so anxious to meet the protector that he brushed his teeth with a tube of hand lotion and poured milk on his toast at breakfast.  (Fortunately his mother was out of the room at the time, and he cleaned up the mess before she came back).  Finally, after he had gulped down his breakfast, he headed for the front door.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” his mother asked, appearing out of nowhere.

“Just out front,” replied George, trying to sound as casual as possible.  “Maybe I’ll just climb the tree or poke around in the bushes for awhile.”

George’s mother gave him a hard look.  “Well, make sure you don’t leave the front yard.  And take your cell phone with you.”

“But Mom,” cried George, “I’m just going to the front yard.  Why do I need my cell phone?”

“Suppose someone kidnaps you?” his mother responded.  “If your father would have had a cell phone with him, we might know where he is right now.”

“Oh, all right,” said George grumpily, hooking his cell phone onto his belt.  Then he went out into the front yard.  The protector’s Volkswagen was nowhere to be seen.  In fact, the street was deserted except for a fluffy, grey dog coming down the sidewalk, sniffing at everything it came across.

Disappointed, George scuffed his shoe on the sidewalk and settled down to wait.  He looked up and down the street again.  He still saw nothing, other than the dog, who was getting closer.  George looked at the sky.  It promised to be a clear, cloudless day.

Then a horrible thought struck George.  He hadn’t told the protector where he lived!  No wonder the Volkswagen was nowhere in sight! 

In frustration, George sat down hard on the sidewalk step.  He could have kicked himself for being so stupid.  What was he going to do now?  The protector apparently lived in his car, and that car could be anywhere.  How were they going to find each other? 

George drummed his fingers grumpily on his knee, thinking hard.  But no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t think of anything to do except to try and talk his Mom into letting him go back to the park, to see if the protector’s car was there.

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George stood up and turned to go back into the house.  As he did so, he nearly tripped over the little grey dog that he had seen earlier.  It wagged its tail and looked up at him happily.

“Sorry, I can’t play now,” said George to the dog.  “I’m in a hurry.”  George hopped over the dog and started for his house.

“What’s the rush?” said a voice behind him.

In shock, George tripped over his own feet and sprawled on the lawn.  He looked back but there was no one there, other than the little dog.

He stared at the dog for a moment.  It stared back, wagging its tail eagerly.  Finally, George said, “are you the protector?”

“In the fur,” replied the dog.  “It’s ‘dog Tuesday.’  Every Tuesday I like to go out as a dog.  There’s always so many interesting things to smell and cats to chase.”

“How do you do that?” asked George, coming over to the dog.  “Talk, I mean.  I can hardly see your lips move!”

“It’s not too hard,” replied the dog simply.  “The transformer may change my shape, but I can still talk like normal.  I didn’t talk to you yesterday when I was a bird because I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Wow!” said George.  “You look so real!”  He reached his hand out to pet the dog’s head—then quickly pulled it back.  “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed.  “I was thinking you were a real dog, rather than the protector.”

“Oh, that’s o.k.” replied the protector.  “I feel like a dog.  The transformer does a very complete job of things.  When I’m like this I even enjoy dog food, which I normally would never eat.”

“Wow,” said George again, reaching out to pet the protector and scratch under his chin.

“Oooh, that feels good!” said the protector as George scritch-scratched his neck.  “Don’t stop!”  The protector’s hind leg started to thump up and down, as dogs often do when being scratched.

There was suddenly a bang from the front door behind them.  “George!” came his mother’s voice.  “What are you doing?”

George turned to face her.  “It’s just a dog, Mom.”

“Tell her I’m lost,” whispered the protector.

“I think he’s lost,” said George.

“Well, I don’t know if you should be petting him,” George’s mother said doubtfully.  “He looks kind of scroungy and dirty to me.”

“Hmph!” said the protector grumpily.  “I took a shower this morning!”  Then he added, “ask if you can take me down the street to see who I belong to – that will give us a chance to go to the fallen star.”

“O.k.” whispered George back to the protector.

“Are you talking to the dog?” George’s mom asked curiously.

George coughed in embarrassment.  “Uh, yeah, I am.  I was just telling it I could take it down the street and ask who it belonged to.”

George’s mother scowled, pursing her lips.  But George and the dog were looking at her so eagerly that she finally threw up her hands and said, “O.k!  All right, go ahead!  But be back in an hour!”

“Thanks, Mom,” George said happily as he and the protector bolted off down the street.

“That was a great idea,” said George to the protector as they ran.

“Well, we needed to get away from her so we could go out to the fallen star where you found the Uth stone,” said the protector, panting.  “Martin has the car parked just around the corner, so we can drive right out there fast.” 

The protector suddenly put on a burst of speed and George had to stretch just to keep up with him.