My best friend, Emerson Smith, lived next door. He had the coolest parents ever, and I was pretty sure I had the worst. This was most evident on our birthdays. Three years ago, Emerson and I asked for baseball mitts. Emerson received a special edition Johnny Damon glove. I got a comic book.

Two years ago, we asked for bicycles. Emerson received a ten-speed mountain bike. I got a sweater. Last year, we asked for video game systems. Emerson received a new computer with a dozen games. I got a checkers set.

This year I was afraid to ask for anything.

I knew what I wanted for my birthday: a big dog that could wrestle with me, catch Frisbees, and pull me on my skateboard. Emerson wanted a big dog too.

When June rolled around, we held our usual joint celebration. Emerson’s dad barbecued, his mom baked a chocolate cake, my folks blew up balloons, and we all played games together. Between dinner and dessert, my mother asked Emerson and I to wait on the patio while they prepared our gifts.

We set up my checkerboard, and I was winning when we were summoned inside. Oddly there was only one large box in the living room. I dreaded what was going to happen. Was I going to get a goldfish? A stuffed animal? Where was my gift? When I heard barking from inside the container, my heart sank.

Dad said, “Joshua, this is for you.”

My name was written on the cardboard, this wasn’t a mistake. I cautiously lifted the lid and out jumped a Labrador retriever! I squeezed both parents tightly, laughing the whole time. The dog knocked me over so I named him Muscles.

Something was wrong. “Where’s Emerson’s present?” I asked.

His parents pointed out the window. A gigantic wooden crate filled the front yard. “We didn’t want to mess up your carpet,” Mrs. Smith explained.

It didn’t matter to me if Emerson got a dog, a doghouse, and a bunch of extra toys because I had exactly what I asked for. I attached a leash on Muscles and we all went outside.

Emerson rushed toward his gift when suddenly the box grunted. He paused and glanced back, but his parents waved him onward. “Pull the rope.” As Emerson neared it, his dad added, “Be careful.”

Emerson jerked the rope. The wooden sides collapsed outward and there, standing in his yard, was a rhinoceros! It didn’t look happy to be chained to a stake, but it cheered up when Emerson rubbed its head.

Muscles barked. Emerson smiled and said, “I’ll call him Tiny.”

“Is anybody ready for cake and ice cream?” asked my dad.

We ignored him. Emerson climbed a low tree branch so he could drop onto the rhino’s back. Tiny didn’t budge. “Can you believe this?” said Emerson.

We spent the next few days exclusively with our new pets. I trained Muscles to tow me while I rode my skateboard. Emerson rode Tiny.

I trained Muscles to catch a Frisbee. Tiny caught them too—on his horn.

Muscles and I wrestled in the front yard. Tiny provided a jungle gym for all the kids in the neighborhood.

After a week, I approached my parents. “Dad, can I have a rhinoceros?”

“I don’t think so, Joshua. We can’t afford one.”

“But the neighbors have a rhino!” It wasn’t fair.

Summer was loads of fun. I played ball with Muscles while Emerson splashed Tiny with a garden hose. When the school year started, I wanted to show Muscles to my other friends. I taught him to fetch, to play dead, to roll over, to shake hands and to beg. When my friends came to my house and saw Tiny next door, they lost interest in my dog.

I approached my parents again. “May I please have a rhinoceros?”

“We’ve been through this already. We don’t have anywhere to keep one.”

“But the neighbors have a rhino!”

“Emerson’s dad has a broken arm, too. Does that mean you want one?”

“If it was broken, could I have a rhino?”

“No, Joshua. Now isn’t a good time for us to have a rhino.”

Of course it wasn’t. There would never be a good time. But the neighbors still had a rhino. It was really unfair.

Autumn was okay. I taught Muscles to walk on his hind legs and to balance a doggie biscuit on his nose until I commanded him to eat it. He was exceptionally talented. He was also quiet at night, whereas Tiny snored. Emerson’s parents built a shed so Tiny wouldn’t wake the neighbors.

At Halloween, I saddled Muscles and we went to a party as a cowboy and horse. Emerson dressed as a robot and he didn’t even attempt to make a costume for Tiny. He told me, “A rhino doesn’t need a costume.” I couldn’t argue.

On Thanksgiving, Muscles and I walked in the parade with my Boy Scout troop. Tiny marched at the front, and spectators applauded as he and Emerson passed.

For Christmas, there was little question what I’d ask for. I went to my parents’ bedroom, gave them both big hugs. “May I pretty please have a rhino?”

Dad sighed. “If you got a rhino, you’d just want something else. You need to learn to be happy with what you have.”

“But the neighbors have a rhino!”

“Can you and Emerson share?” Mom said. “There’s plenty of Tiny to go around.”

Sure there was. He weighed at least a couple of tons. But the neighbors had their very own rhino! In all the history of things unfair, this ranked at the top.

The rest of the winter was miserable, with one exception. Muscles slept at the base of my bed, which kept my feet warm at night. Otherwise the winter was just plain bad.

Around Easter, I devised a plan. What if I borrowed Emerson’s rhino for a week? If my parents saw me take good care of it, maybe—just maybe—they’d get me one for my birthday. To my amazement, they approved.

I hurried outside and pounded on Emerson’s door before my parents could reconsider. Mr. Smith answered and directed me to the shed. I should have known. Emerson spent all his time with that rhino.

He was scrubbing the shed with a mop. Across the floor, Tiny snored loudly. “Emerson? My mom and dad said if it was okay with you, I could take care of tiny for a week.”

He smiled, passed me the mop and winked. “He’s all yours.”

Emerson was a true friend. He retrieved a list from his pocket, handed it to me, and said, “Tiny needs to be walked twice a day.”

“Muscles does too.”

“Right. But with Tiny, you need to carry this.”

Emerson handed me a show shovel that must’ve weighed ten pounds. “The neighbors complain if Tiny leaves a souvenir on their yard. Oh, and you’ll need to stay off the sidewalk. He cracks the pavement because he’s so heavy. You’ll need to wash him every other day.”

“Can I use your pool to give him a bath?”

He shook his head. “Cement bottom.”

Emerson lectured me with instructions for the next twenty minutes. Until then, I had no idea how many Frisbees Tiny broke, how many gardens were ruined, or how often a rhinoceros cage needed mopping. With every sentence, the prospect of owning a rhino was less and less appealing. But a deal was a deal.

I worked diligently to make it through the week. It was agony. I happily returned Tiny to his rightful owner Saturday night.

When we gathered around our kitchen table, Mom poured herself a glass of tea and Dad skimmed the comics. Mom asked, “Do you have any idea what you want for your birthday?”

“I pretty much have everything I want.”

Mom placed her hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“But the neighbors have a rhino!” Dad shouted.

Mom laughed so hard, she spat tea on Dad’s paper. Muscles lapped up whatever reached the floor. Afterwards, we called it an early night.

That night I had a fantastic dream. I woke up, jumped into my parents’ bed and shouted, “I know what I want for my birthday! A rocket ship!”