Copper, our golden retriever, slips out past her, tail wagging like crazy, running straight into the yard.

“Copper! No!” Jameson shouts.

The gate has been broken since Dad left on his work trip. Mom promised he’d fix it when he gets home tomorrow.

I turn just in time to see Jameson chase Copper through the open gate. My chest tightens, and I sprint after him—wanting to help before Copper gets too far.

Then I hear it—sharp and awful.