"Come on, Joe, watch me! It's easy!" With every muscle straining, Wishbone ran six speedy steps, then leaped up into the air, spinning completely around. The frisky white dog landed on the damp sidewalk facing Joe Talbot, his brown-haired best friend. "There! See? Easy!"

"Hey, Talbot," said Joe's tall, gangly friend Sean McMurdo with a laugh, "your dog's got the moves!"

Wishbone grinned up at this obviously intelligent young man. "Thank you. I owe it all to exercise, clean living, and eating five or six square meals a day."

"I know," Joe replied, reaching down to scratch Wishbone's ears. "But I'm interested in basketball moves, Sean. I have to learn that great layup of yours."

"No problem," Sean said. "We'll practice in the driveway until you can fly like an eagle."

Wishbone agreed wholeheartedly. "Wings of the eagle! Eyes of the terrier!" He went running ahead of the two boys, unable to contain his delight. Oakdale had suffered through six and a half days of miserable, misty rain -- not a downpour, but just enough dampness to make going outside uncomfortable. For almost a whole week, Wishbone had been cooped up inside while Ellen, Joe's mom, worked at the library and Joe was in school.

It had been a frustrating period. Oh, Wishbone had lots of time for good books, but a dog needs to get out now and then, too. What could he do when the ground was so wet that digging in it was no fun at all? When the tall grass brushed his tummy and got his fur all cold and clammy? When Ellen became upset just because Wishbone left a few neat little pawprints on the way from the door to the food dish?

Wishbone had no choice but to stay inside a lot and yearn to breathe free. Finally the rain ended, and Wishbone was a dog happy to be outside -- even if the ground still squished under his paws. It was a cool Friday afternoon, and Joe and Sean were heading over to Sean's house to shoot some hoops.

Joe wore his blue windbreaker, jeans, and sneakers. He carried his backpack over one shoulder. Sean, who was twelve, the same age as Joe but almost a head taller, was wearing a sloppy oversized red sweatshirt, jeans with stylish holes in the knees, and a beat-up pair of red sneakers that he called his lucky shoes. His own red-and-black backpack had one broken strap, and he swung it along by the other one. Sean wasn't an all-around great basketball player. Despite his spectacular layup shot, he wasn't very good at moving the ball. Joe was good at that, so the two figured they could practice together and both would improve their game.

"Here's my house," Sean said. He lowered his voice and added, "Oh -- beware of the monster."

Wishbone's ears pricked up. "Monster? Monster?" He instantly visualized an alley cat six feet tall. The inquisitive dog looked up. "Uh . . . you are kidding, aren't you, Sean?"

Joe grinned at his friend in a puzzled way. "You're kidding," he said.

Wishbone sighed. No one ever listened to the dog.

Ducking his head and lowering his voice, Sean said, "Only a little. No fooling -- Mrs. Grindle really scares me. She lives next door to us. I kind of got in trouble once or twice when I accidentally bounced a ball over her fence or made too much noise and she yelled at me. Not that she has to yell. One dirty look from her would stop a clock."

Wishbone sniffed. "Oh. A clock-stopper, huh" He looked up at Joe. "Don't worry, Joe. Just stay out of her way, and she'll stay out of yours."

Sean lived in a one-story brick house, the second one on the left on Norman Street. It was easy to see where Mrs. Grindle lived. A black mailbox had her name on it -- "Thelma Grindle." Her place was a three-story Victorian frame house, its paint faded to a dingy yellow-white. A porch ran across the front. On the left, an octagonal tower rose one story higher than the rest of the house. The roof was steep, and around the edges were gingerbread decorations: fancy wooden circles, triangles, ovals, and other shapes. The yard was overgrown with knee-high grass and brushy, unpruned rosebushes. A peeling white picket fence encircled the yard. The place certainly looked ominous enough, maybe one step away from being a haunted house.

Wishbone's nose twitched. Someone besides Mrs. Grindle lived in there -- a very big dog. Everything was quiet, but as Wishbone stared at the old house, he saw something that made the fur on his neck bristle. A curtain in a downstairs window whisked aside, and the pale blur of a face glared out.

Wishbone barked an alarm. Joe looked down. "What's wrong, boy?"

"Look up there." Wishbone pointed with his nose. He blinked. The curtain was back in place. "Too late. You missed it."

Joe shook his head. "Glad to be outside, aren't you?"

Wishbone gave the window another long, suspicious look. "Ask me again later."

Sean had tossed his backpack down and picked up a basketball that lay beneath the hoop. He bounced it a few times and informed Joe, "My mom won't be home until later, and Dad's on a sales trip until next week. Want to shoot some baskets now?"

"No time like the present," Joe replied with a grin.

The driveway of Sean's house ran right alongside Mrs. Grindle's picket fence. At the far end, Sean and his dad had set up a basketball hoop on a pole beside the garage. It was perfect -- regulation height -- and the driveway was so wide that there was almost a half-court to practice on.

"Let me see that layup again," Joe told Sean.

Grinning, Sean dribbled the ball, approached the basket in a graceful curving run, then took to the air like a bird. He turned as he rose, dunked the ball expertly, and came back to earth.

Wishbone scratched his ear with his left hind foot. "Not bad, not bad at all. But throw me my red plastic flying saucer and I can match it!" He glanced at the house next door, then growled a little when he noticed the same curtain dropping back into place. The spy was at it again!

Sean retrieved the ball and tossed it back to Joe. "Nothing to it, man," Sean said. "In no time we'll have you sinking 'em as if you had wings."

Joe shook his head, his expression rueful. "I don't know. But I'm sure going to give it my best try!" He shrugged out of his brand-new backpack and looked around. On the pavement, Sean's battered backpack already looked damp. "I don't want to put this on the ground. I'm going to hang it on the fence, okay?"

Wishbone stared at him. "Hang it on the fence? When some kind of monster keeps spying on us? It could be in danger! I know -- let's bury it! I'll help you dig!"

Sean looked past the fence at the old three-story Victorian house. "Uh . . . sure," he muttered. "I guess that will be okay." He took a deep breath as he watched Joe loop one of the backpack's straps over a couple of pickets. The backpack hung against the fence, high and dry.

Turning, Joe raised his eyebrows at his friend's strange expression. "What's wrong, Sean?"

Sean shook his head. "Nothing, nothing. All right, Talbot, let's see what you've got. Take a good start and then do your layup."

Wishbone found a fairly dry spot under the overhang of the garage and sat on the pavement. "That's right, Joe. Coach Wishbone is here, ready to give you his advice. All right now, guys, I want to see some hustle!"

For more than half an hour, Sean and Joe practiced. In all the excitement, Wishbone forgot to keep a lookout on the house next door. He trotted eagerly alongside the driveway, barking encouragement. Sometimes he sat alertly on his dry spot, following the quick action with rapid jerks of his head. At first Joe just couldn't get that snappy little twist that always brought Sean sailing right up to the basket. He was either a little too quick on the turn so that he was already too far around at the top of his jump, or a little too slow so he wasn't quite in position for the shot.

But at last everything went just right. Joe's layup wasn't a dunk, because he was shorter than Sean, but it went right in the basket, not even touching the rim.

Wishbone had been sitting. He leaped to his feet and almost danced in his excitement. "Yes! I knew you could do it, Joe! Good boy! Good boy!"

"Hey," Sean said, "you got it, Talbot." He gave Joe a high five. "Now do it again." Sean turned away laughing -- and froze. "Oh, man!"

"What's wrong?" Joe asked.

Wishbone followed the line of Sean's gaze. He was staring at the house -- and someone was staring back. The curtain was pulled aside. A woman frowned down at them. Her dark eyebrows were drawn together in a scowl, and her mouth was set in a grim line. She quickly dropped the curtain and vanished behind it.

"Was that her?" Joe croaked, swallowing hard. "She looks angry."

"That's Mrs. Grindle," Sean told his friend. "We were probably making too much noise or something. Now she'll call my mom and I'll get bawled out." He sighed. "Maybe we'd better quit now."

Wishbone's head snapped around. "What? Quit just because someone mean and nasty is staring at you? Come on, guys -- where's your courage?"

"Okay," Joe agreed. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

Tossing the ball over to the corner of the garage, Sean shook his head. "Man, when we moved in here I was eight years old. My dad saw Mrs. Grindle as we were unloading the moving van, and he told her that he hoped we would be good neighbors. She snapped back, 'Just make sure you stay on your side of the fence!' I don't think my folks have talked to her since -- except when she calls up to complain about something I do that bothers her."

"Want to go for a soda or something?" Joe asked.

Sean checked his watch. "Sure. As long as we get back by five. Mom should be home about then. At least I'll keep out of the monster's hair for that long."

Wishbone's ears perked up. "A soda? May I recommend Pepper Pete's Pizza Parlor? I admire its service, its food, and its affection for handsome dogs!"

Joe said, "Let's take a walk down to Pepper Pete's."

Wishbone's tail wagged happily. "That's my boy!"

They walked down Norman Street, and at the corner, Wishbone barked a joyful greeting. He saw two friends strolling the same way they were headed -- Sam and David! Wishbone ran up to greet them.

"Hi, Wishbone!" Samantha Kepler -- "Sam" for short -- leaned over to scratch Wishbone's head.

"Hi, Sam! Mmm, great! Now the left ear, please. You're the best ear scratcher in Oakdale!"

"Wishbone, buddy," David Barnes said. He chuckled. "You've made him happy, Sam."

Wishbone liked Sam a lot. She shared his love for adventure and his curiosity about everything. As for David, he was practically a genius at making things. He showed you what someone with thumbs could really do when he put his mind to it! "Hi, David! Glad you're here. I've got great news, guys -- a terrific accomplishment! I have taught Joe how to do a fantastic layup shot!"

Joe said, "Hi, guys. We're on our way to the pizza parlor. Sean was just teaching me how to do his patented layup."

Wishbone looked over his shoulder. "Well, yes, he helped a little. But I was coaching!"

"Cool," David replied.

"So what are you two doing?" Sean asked, coming up behind Joe.

Sam shrugged. "Not much. Just enjoying being outside after a week of rain."

Joe nodded his understanding. "Want to come along with us?"

Wishbone darted ahead. "Come on, gang -- let's race!"

Sam laughed. "Sure, let's go. But I'm not running."

Wishbone trotted beside them, breathing deep sniffs of cool, damp air. The pizza parlor smelled even better. Mmm -- sausage, hamburger, pepperoni, anchovies. As usual, Wishbone managed to look hungry enough to get several tasty tidbits. Then he lay down beside Joe's chair and began to plan what he would do the next day. Saturdays were always fun! "Let me see: Wake up, stretch, check out the backyard to see what's going on, go back inside, have some breakfast, play with Joe, nap, get up, have a snack, dig in Wanda's yard, come home, have a snack, nap, get up, have lunch. . . ." It would be a great day, he thought.

Then the kids came out of the pizza parlor and they all went back to Sean's house. Sean's mom had just pulled her station wagon into the driveway. Sean, Sam, David, and Joe helped her unload a week's worth of groceries. When they had finished, Joe said good-bye, and the group split up.

Wishbone was still thinking about Saturday as he and Joe went into their house. Ellen, Joe's mom, was already cooking dinner, but she had time to toss Wishbone a couple of Doggie Ginger Snaps, which he crunched happily. "Much homework this weekend, Joe?" she asked.

Joe, who had been setting the table, froze, then slapped his palm against his forehead. "Oh, no!"

Wishbone looked up from his doggie treat. "Whassa matta?" He swallowed with a gulp. "Excuse me. What's the matter?"

"I left my backpack over at Sean's house," Joe said. "I'd better call him and ask him to take it inside." He went to the phone and spoke to Sean for about five minutes. After he finished his phone call, Joe had a miserable expression. "I think I'm in trouble, Mom," he said, his voice hesitant.

Wishbone sat at Joe's feet and looked up. "Trouble? Tell us about it."

Ellen raised her eyebrows. "What is it?"

Joe looked down. "I sort of hung my backpack on the fence that belongs to Sean's next-door neighbor. Sean said that when he went out to look for it just now, it was gone."

"Oh, Joe," Ellen said. "Well, you'll just have to go look for it."

"That's the problem," Joe told her. "Sean's neighbor must have picked it up."

"Then you can just go and ask about it," Ellen said.

"That's just it -- I can't," Joe answered, sounding truly worried. "Sean says she's a real monster."

"I'm sure it's not that bad. Now dinner's almost ready," Ellen said. "Let's talk about this later. Go wash your hands."

Wishbone followed Joe through the house. Joe looked down at his canine friend and sighed. "Now what am I going to do?"

Wishbone considered the question. Hmm, he thought. Something about all this seems strangely familiar. A real monster takes something from Joe, and he's nervous about getting it back. And her name is Mrs. Grindle. Now, where have I heard something like that before?

Joe went into the bathroom to wash his hands, and Wishbone trotted over to a bookcase. He pawed at some books on the lowest shelf until a tall, slim, green volume slipped out and fell open. It was just the one he was looking for.

Oh, yes, this is it! The story of Beowulf! It's a tale of high adventure, fights with monsters, and great courage. It's one of the oldest stories in the English language. Researchers believe that it was made up more than a thousand years ago, about 750 A.D. It was eventually written down much later, sometime around the year 950 A.D. The poem is composed in a very hard-to-read version of the English language called Old English, and it's a heroic tale. It shows you that sometimes you have to face terrible odds with great courage. Sometimes it's just not enough to be a tame dog. You have to listen to the call of the wild! You have to be like your remote ancestors! Sometimes you have to be a wolf!

Wishbone licked his nose and turned pages until he found a picture he remembered. He stared at the colorful illustration. It was a Viking dragon ship, long and sleek, with one square sail. Rows of round shields hung on the sides. In the ship were fur-clad Norse warriors, wearing conical helmets with horns attached to them, and those men pulled on long oars. In the front of the ship, behind the carved prow that looked like a dragon's head, stood a tall, strong young warrior, Beowulf.

Even though Beowulf is an Old English poem, it isn't about English people and places. The hero is a member of a Scandinavian tribe called the Geats. Their homeland was in the country that we call Sweden today. The Geats, whose king at the time was named Hygelac, were related to many other tribes, including the Danes. That was why Beowulf, a young cousin of King Hygelac, decided to go to help Hrothgar, the king of the Danes, when news of the monster Grendel reached Geat-Land.

As Wishbone stared at the picture, he began to imagine that he was Beowulf, bold and brave, crossing the sea to help a king who needed a hero. The curious dog imagined the foggy moisture of the sea cool in his fur. The salty, fishy smell of the ocean seemed sharp in his nose. The sound of the dipping oars created a steady rhythm in his ears, as the dragon ship glided along. Yes, ahead somewhere in the land of Denmark, King Hrothgar had an awful problem -- a problem involving an uncivilized, terrible, man-eating monster named . . . Grendel.

Sometimes, Wishbone thought again, you have to be a wolf!