Cody Read Online Free

the chief, wearing a more mature version of Cody’s goofy smile. Gunnar was always on hand to welcome groups who were touring the firehouse.
    “Is Gunnar going to be riding with us in the parade?” Lizzie asked Chief Olson.
    “You bet he is!” The chief grinned. “He wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
    Lizzie petted Gunnar again. It was hard to imagine that Cody would ever grow up to be as calm as this. Not that he wasn’t learning! Lizzie was still practicing with him every day, and sometimes Cody would stop barking for as long as fiveseconds after she had told him “Quiet.” Next Lizzie planned to start teaching Cody how to sit and wait when she opened the front door, instead of jumping up excitedly. Then maybe she could figure out how to teach him to quit pulling on the leash.
    “Okay, we’re all set!” Lizzie’s dad stepped in front of the crowd of kids. “Hello, fourth graders! I’m firefighter Paul — otherwise known as Lizzie’s dad.” He winked at Lizzie and smiled around at the crowd. “Welcome to you all. How many of you have been to the firehouse before?”
    Lots of kids raised their hands, including Lizzie.
    “I remember when we came here in kindergarten,” yelled out Daniel, a boy in Lizzie’s class. “Jessica cried when she saw the fireman in his oxygen mask and everything.”
    Jessica punched Daniel. “Shut up!” She was blushing.
    “That happens sometimes,” said Lizzie’s father.“Little kids can be afraid of things that are strange to them. That’s why we let them see what a firefighter looks like, all dressed up in gear. If you’re five years old and your house is on fire, you need to know that the firefighter is your friend, no matter how scary he or she looks.”
    Caroline raised her hand. “I remember in second grade when we got to climb onto the truck,” she said. “That was exciting when we were little.” Lizzie saw that she was gazing wistfully at the big ladder truck.
    Lizzie’s dad smiled. “Kids of
all
ages like to do that,” he said. “We’ll get a chance after we tour the building. But before we do that,” he said, “let’s play a little game. How long do you think it will take me to get into my firefighting gear?”
    “A minute!” yelled out Noah.
    Everybody else started shouting at the same time. “Five minutes!” “Three seconds!” “Four hours!”
    Lizzie’s dad laughed at that last one. “Who hasa watch? You can time me.” He walked over to the rack where all the firefighters’ gear was stored. “Ready? Here I go!” He jumped into his boots, then pulled up his baggy pants, stretching the suspenders over his shoulders. He buttoned the pants, pulled on a fire-retardant hood, slipped into his heavy jacket, pulled on a pair of gloves, and plopped his helmet on top of his head. “Stop! How long was that?”
    Daniel checked his watch. “Wow!” he said. “Twenty-five seconds.”
    Lizzie knew her dad’s record was twenty-one, but she cheered along with everyone else. Then she and the rest of the fourth graders followed him upstairs, checking out the bunkroom, the offices, the kitchen, and the room where all the firefighters hung out, playing cards or reading when they weren’t busy. Mr. Peterson explained about all the chores they had to do: cleaning the firehouse and the equipment, cooking, fixing anything that was broken. “It’s a lot of work,” saidLizzie’s dad. “But this is our house, and we have to take care of it.”
    When it was time to go downstairs, Lizzie’s dad asked, “Anyone want to see me slide down the pole?”
    “Yeah!” everybody yelled.
    They all trooped down the stairs and waited at the bottom. In a second, Mr. Peterson came sliding down the pole with a big grin on his face. “Yahoo!” he yelled. Everybody cracked up. They could all tell what Lizzie knew: that her Dad
loved
that part of being a firefighter. Lizzie smiled at him, feeling proud enough to burst.
    “Okay, on to the trucks,” said Mr.