My sister, the dog.

I could tell it was going to be one of those days.

My brilliant social studies report, entitled "Wigwams Are Our Friends," was nowhere to be found. I searched under my bed, in the hamper, and behind the TV. I even checked the refrigerator. My report had vanished.

On top of that, I didn't have any socks.

"How could you not have any socks, Samantha?" my mom asked as she gulped down her herbal tea. "Everybody has socks. I think there's a law that says every citizen must have at least three pairs of clean socks at all times. Besides, I just did the laundry yesterday. Of course you have socks."

I checked my dresser drawers again and rooted through the laundry basket. Just as I thought. No socks.

To add insult to injury, Mom was running late for work, so I had to make my own lunch. But when I took the peanut butter jar out of the cupboard, it was empty.

I can't survive without peanut butter. Flowers need rain, moms need tea, and I need peanut butter. It's practically all that I eat.

I sat down on the kitchen floor and put my head in my hands. What was I going to do? My homework was missing, my feet were cold, and the hope of having a good lunch was looking pretty slim.

Just then, Megan came into the kitchen.

"Grrruff!" she greeted me.

Did I mention my little sister thinks she's a dog? Megan is five years old and just started kindergarten this year. Her teacher thinks that little kids should be free to express their personalities.

Megan happens to have the personality of a beagle.

"Aft! Aft!" Megan yapped.

In dog talk that means "I'm hungry."

"Too bad," I told her. "We're out of peanut butter."

Megan growled.

She began acting like a dog a week before she started kindergarten. My mom thinks Megan turned into Benji because she was nervous about going to school.

I think Megan turned into a dog because she's a really weird little kid.

"Don't growl at me," I said. "I've got enough problems as it is. I can't find my homework, and my socks are in hiding. This is turning out to be a really bad day."

A funny expression came over Megan's face.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Cat got your tongue? Get it? Cat? Dogs and cats? Get it?"

The look on Megan's face didn't change.

"Oh, forget it. The last thing I need to worry about is whether or not a five-year-old gets my jokes," I said. "What am I going to tell my teacher about my homework? I don't think he'll believe me if I tell him that my dog ate it."

Wait a minute, I thought. Wait just one dadburned minute!

"Megan !" I hollered at the top of my lungs. "You didn't!"

Megan scampered out of the kitchen.

I chased after her. She jumped over the living room couch, rolled into the hallway, made a mad dash for her bedroom, and slammed the door.

"Open this door right now!" I yelled. "Open this door, or I'll make sure you never eat anything but dog biscuits for the rest of your life !"

"Ruff! Ruff!" Megan barked.

"Don't give me any of that 'ruff! ruff!' stuff! I'll call the dogcatcher!"

Megan hates the dogcatcher. She opened her door.

"Where is it?" I cried. "Where's my report? Hand it over!"

Megan crawled under her bed. I dove in right behind her.

The first thing I saw was my socks. Fifteen pairs of them! The next thing I saw was my report. Or at least what was left of it. My little sister had eaten my homework. It was definitely one of those days.

There was only one thing to do. I pulled on some socks and dragged Megan out from under her bed.

"The bus will be here in five minutes," I told her. "And today you're going to my fifth-grade class."

Mr. Anderson, my teacher, smiled when Megan and I walked into my classroom.

"Who's this wee tot?" he asked, patting Megan on the head.

"This is my sister, the dog," I said.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Anderson asked.

"Her name is Megan," I said. "Megan, say hello to Mr. Anderson."

"Grrruff!" Megan barked.

"And this," I said, pulling what was left of my report from my backpack, "is my homework."

"I see," Mr. Anderson replied.

After I got Megan to admit to Mr. Anderson that she really did eat my homework, he gave me until the next day to do it over. Then he said I should probably take Megan to her kindergarten class.

"Thanks a lot for being so understanding," I said to Mr. Anderson as I was leaving the room.

"These things happen," he said. "I had a little sister once myself. By the way, Samantha, there's one thing you should know."

"What's that, Mr. Anderson?" I asked.

"Your socks don't match."

It was definitely one of those days.