Winn Dixie

screechy voice said, "Gertrude is a pretty bird." Winn-Dixie's ears went straight up on his head, and he barked once and looked around. I looked, too, but I didn't see Gertrude. Or Otis. "I'll be right back," I said to everybody. Me and Winn-Dixie went running around to the front of the house. And sure enough, standing there on the sidewalk was Otis.

He had his guitar on his back and Gertrude on his shoulder, and in his hands, he was holding the biggest jar of pickles I had ever seen in my life.

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