Boys Are Dogs (2 page)

But when we pulled up to the house, I didn’t see a hoop. I figured it must be inside. “Can I draw a half court on the driveway if I use erasable chalk?” I asked. Our new driveway was covered in blacktop, the perfect surface for dribbling. If only it didn’t slope so much.

Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would you need a half court?” she asked.

“Come on. I know you got me a basketball hoop.”

Rather than answer me, she just sighed a little.

And then I knew that I wasn’t getting a basketball hoop. That there was some other surprise waiting for me, and for once, my mom wasn’t going to give it up.

As we walked inside, my stomach felt fluttery, like it did whenever I got nervous before some big test.

I followed Mom into the kitchen, where we found Dweeble peeling potatoes over the sink. His beard was thicker than how I remembered it, and the bright light from above bounced off his bald head in a way that wasn’t exactly attractive.

I didn’t want to hug him or anything. It was weird enough seeing him in what was supposed to be
our
kitchen. Yellow tile covered the floors and countertops, and I know for a fact that my mother can’t stand the color yellow. She thinks it’s the most stress-inducing color of the rainbow. When I told her I didn’t believe colors could induce stress, she insisted there was scientific research to back it up, and literature, too. But I’ll bet she never complained to Dweeble about the color.

“Annabelle. Welcome back. How was camp?” Dweeble’s voice seemed too big for the room. He’s over six feet tall. I’m short for my age, anyway, but next to Dweeble, I feel extra shrimpy. Luckily, he just stood there, and didn’t move in for a hug.

“It was fun,” I replied, trying—and failing—to keep from smiling. Camp was way better than just fun, but I didn’t feel like gushing.

“We missed you around here.”

I wasn’t going to lie and say I missed him too, so I stayed quiet. Not bothered by the silence, Dweeble went right on talking. “Wait until you try my famous mashed potatoes. They’ll knock your socks off.”

“I’m not wearing socks,” I told him, pointing to my pale blue flip-flops.

“Well, you’re lucky,” he replied.

Before I could ask him how any potato could be famous, I heard a strange yelping sound. It seemed to be coming from the back of the house.

“What’s that noise?” I asked.

Dweeble turned to my mom and asked, “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to,” she said.

“Yes, but I know how you are about keeping secrets,” he teased.

So he knew, too. I didn’t like that.

The sliding glass door rattled in its frame, and the noise grew louder. It sounded like something outside was trying to get in. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’ll be right back.” Dweeble dropped a soon-to-be-famous potato into a bowl and then walked to the back of the house. A second later I heard the door open and then, very clearly, a bark, which made no sense at all.

Neither did what happened next: a gigantic blur of fur charged at me and jumped up, planting two scruffy paws in the softest part of my stomach. Something wet hit my chin. OOF!

I stumbled and fell on the floor.

The kitchen tile was cold and hard but I barely noticed. Not with this crazy, hyper dog in my lap. Its little pink mouth panted warm, stinky animal breath as it licked my face.

“Get it off!” I said, laughing and holding my hands up to protect my face.

Every time I tried to scramble out of the way the dog moved, too. It just wouldn’t leave me alone. Its tongue felt wet and its fur tickled my neck. I couldn’t help but giggle.

Dweeble chuckled his dweeby chuckle.

Silly, happy tears streamed down Mom’s face. “Surprise!” she cried.

“You got me an attack dog?” I asked, once I finally managed to climb to my feet.

The dog yapped like he was trying to tell me something.

“He’s not an attack dog,” Mom said. “He’s just a puppy. Isn’t he adorable?”

The puppy whipped his tail so hard, his whole backside wiggled. His fur was long and shaggy, and mostly black, with some small brown and white patches scattered around. He looked sort of like a tiny, furry cow, but with backward colors.

Mom jumped up and down and clapped little baby claps. “You should have seen your face. It was so hard to keep it a secret. I was dying to tell you the whole way home. But I’m so glad I didn’t.”

I looked from the dog to my mom.

“You mean we get to keep him?” I asked, crouching down to pet him.

“Of course,” she said. “You’ve been so great about the move. Ted and I decided that this would be a nice thing to do.”

The two of them beamed down at me, arm in arm.

She and Ted decided? I didn’t like the sound of that.

And what was my mom thinking? We move in with her dweeby boyfriend, and all I get is a dog? Like that’s supposed to make up for everything?

“He’s part border collie and part Lab, we think,” said my mom.

“He might have some bulldog in him, as well,” Dweeble added. “Look at how large his paws are. That means he’s going to be really big.”

They both kept talking to fill up the silence, until finally my mom asked, “So what do you think?”

What did I think? I did the math in my head: Mom got a big boyfriend. They moved into this big house, and then found me a big dog. This all stunk of one thing: A Big Bribe.

I stood up. The puppy stared at me with large, honey-colored eyes.

More than anything, I wanted to keep on petting his soft fur, but I resisted. In fact, I tried to not even look at him.

“So?” asked my mom.

I crossed my arms over my chest and did my best to frown. “So does this mean I’m not getting a basketball hoop?”

“Oh, honey,” said Mom, which I guess meant no.

“This little guy is much better than a basketball hoop,” Dweeble tried.

“And you’ve always wanted a dog,” Mom reminded me.

“I have?” I asked.

“Of course. You begged me for one when you were six. Right after your grandmother took you to see
101 Dalmatians
. Remember?” She sounded worried.

“Kind of,” I said, even though I really did remember. “I’ll bet every kid wants a dog after she sees
101
Dalmatians
. After I saw
Babe
I wanted a pig.”

“I’ve always wanted to get you a dog, Annabelle. You know that. It’s just that the old apartment was too small, and now we have this big, fenced-in yard.”

Exactly. That big yard totally meshed with my Big Bribe theory.

“We were going to take you to pick one out yourself,” said Dweeble. “But when we visited the shelter two days ago your mother fell in love with this guy.”

“I just couldn’t leave without him. And I wanted to surprise you, too,” Mom added.

Not only was I surprised . . . I was also surprised about being surprised. And guess what? It turns out I don’t like surprises. Not even cute, fluffy ones.

“You can name him,” said Dweeble. “We’ve been calling him Stripe, but that’s just temporary.”

“Stripe?” I asked.

“Because he has spots.”

I said nothing. Dweeble’s smile faded ever so slightly.

“It’s supposed to be funny,” he said.

If there were an award for the worst sense of humor ever, Dweeble would win first prize. I looked to my mom for help. She patted my shoulder. “You don’t have to name him yet. Just think about it.”

The dog sniffed at the floor.

Mom crouched down and scratched him behind his ears. “You have to admit he is adorable.”

As I looked down at the cute, bouncy ball of fur, my heart went all melty. I didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s just, well, puppies have that effect on me. Still, I struggled to hold my ground. It wouldn’t be fair, making it that easy for Mom and Dweeble. Yes, they got me a puppy with floppy ears, and a shiny black nose, and a bright pink tongue, and soft fur that I ached to stroke. But that didn’t make everything okay. What about my friends? And school? What about my whole life?

Mom stood up. The puppy begged for more attention but I refused to give in. And he must have gotten the idea, because the next thing I knew, he turned around and trotted out of the room.

“Where’s he going?” Dweeble asked.

“Don’t know.” I patted the pockets on my cutoffs. “He gave me a map but I must have misplaced it.”

“Very funny,” Mom said, as the three of us followed the puppy down the hall.

He moved fast, turning left into the den. We were right on his tail. Well, not literally on his tail, but really close.

Dweeble crouched down and patted his knees. “Come on, little guy. You don’t want to stay in here. This room is a mess.”

Only Dweeble would try to reason with a dog like he was a person.

Not that Stripe paid him any attention. I was starting to like this little puppy.

“We haven’t unpacked in here, yet,” my mom explained.

Stripe sniffed at a stack of boxes, then made his way over to a fancy-looking rug with a three-legged table on top. He sniffed the table and then tilted his nose up to sniff the large, leafy plant sitting on its edge.

“Careful!” cried Dweeble. I guess he was scared Stripe would knock over the table. But Stripe didn’t. Dweeble did when he lunged forward to shoo Stripe out of the way.

As the table toppled the plant crashed to the floor. The clay pot split open and dirt spilled everywhere.

Startled by the noise, the puppy yelped and ran around in circles. Then he crouched down and peed.

“Not on the Persian rug!” Dweeble cried.

Like Stripe cared where the rug came from.

Mom cringed and covered her eyes.

I covered my mouth with both hands so they wouldn’t see me laughing.

Stripe headed out of the room, leaving Dweeble and my mom with the mess. I ran after him, following him all the way to the sliding glass door at the back of the house.

He gazed out at the yard, then looked up at me. “You have opposable thumbs,” he seemed to be telling me. “So what are you waiting for?”

We both headed outside. The puppy sniffed the new tomato plants, while I checked out the rest of the yard. The entire space was enclosed within a wall of tan concrete bricks, stacked high over my head. I couldn’t see the other backyards but I figured they all looked the same—mostly lawn with a small, cemented area by the door.

I sat down on the grass and leaned against the wall. Stripe took this as an invitation to come over and sniff me. Pretty soon he plopped down at my side. Since no one could see me, I stroked his coat. It felt so soft and silky I used both hands.

Mouth open, he panted. I guess the morning excitement wore him out.

The sun warmed my face. In the distance I saw rolling hills. Our old apartment had a view of the freeway, and we heard cars zoom past all day and night. I didn’t mind it so much, but I wouldn’t miss it, either. And okay, I’d never say so, but it felt nice having a real yard with grass and my own puppy.

When my mom came outside a minute later, I pulled my hand away and wrapped my arms around my knees, doing my best to look bored.

“There you are,” she said, handing me a book. “We got you a dog-training manual to teach you how to take care of Stripe, or whatever you decide to name him.”

“My gift comes with homework?” I asked.

“It’s not homework. It’ll be fun.”

Easy for her to say.

The book was called
Good Dog! Raise Your Puppy
Right
. The cover showed three fluffy baby Labradors lined up along a white picket fence—one yellow, one brown, and one black. None of them looked like Stripe. Of course, Stripe didn’t look like any dog I’d ever seen. His large head seemed too big for his skinny body. And he wasn’t exactly spotted, since there was black fur in his white spots and white fur mixed into his black parts. Especially on his back, where he had a huge black and white patch that was almost heart-shaped.

I flipped past the introduction and read the first page out loud.

I looked up and said, “Guess you and Ted should have read this a couple of days ago, huh?”

Mom just smiled at me, kind of sadly. “I know this is hard for you, Annabelle. So many big changes to deal with, and you’re being wonderful about it. I appreciate that. Please, though. Just give him a chance.”

I stared down at the book, not answering her. I couldn’t, because I didn’t know if she was talking about the new puppy or about Dweeble.