The Dog Ate My Excuse

The championship baseball game was on cable channel 42, and my living room had transformed into a war zone. Dad claimed the remote for his news marathon. Mom needed the TV for her cooking show marathon. And me? I'd promised the team I'd study their plays, since I was riding the bench all season but finally getting subbed in today.

"It's just baseball, Leo," my sister Jenna said, scrolling through her phone like she owned the place. "You'll be fine."

Easy for her to say. She didn't have to face the varsity team tomorrow with exactly zero knowledge of their signals.

Then came Buster—our chocolate lab with a talent for chaos—trotting in with something very familiar dangling from his mouth.

"Is that..." I started, horror dawning.

"The cable remote?" Jenna finished, finally looking up. "Yup."

Buster wagged his tail, totally pleased with himself like he'd just won the puppy Super Bowl. The remote was covered in slobber, buttons barely recognizable.

Mom stared. Dad sighed. I wanted to cry.

But then—idea. I pulled out my phone, searched up the game on a streaming app, and cast it to the TV. WiFi > cable any day.

"Hold up," I said, brain working overtime. "What if I bribe Buster to distract Dad while we—"

"Already ahead of you," Jenna said, tossing a treat. Buster bolted after it, knocking Dad's newspaper everywhere. Perfect chaos.

We watched the game in peace, me scribbling notes like my life depended on it. The next day at practice, coach called my name.

"Sanchez, you're starting second base."

My heart pounded. I'd actually studied those plays like crazy. And when I made my first double play that game? The team lifted me up like I'd hit a homerun.

Sometimes your dog destroys your plans, but maybe—just maybe—that's when you figure out something better. Also, never leave the remote within Buster's reach ever again.