Hotel For Dogs (10 page)

It took Mr. Walker exactly ten minutes to get home from work after Mrs. Walker called him. Since his office was normally a twenty-minute drive away, it seemed to the children that the only way he could have made the trip so quickly was to have flown.

He still seemed to be flying as he leaped out of his car and strode up the walk and into Aunt Alice’s house. His face was grim as he glanced about at the little group assembled in the living room.

“What in the world has been going on here?”

“You’d better ask your son and daughter that question,” Mrs. Walker said as calmly as she could. “It seems they have turned the vacant house down the street into a dog hotel. There are nine dogs there now; at least, there were at last count. One of them happens to be the Gordons’ long-lost Irish setter.”

“A dog hotel.” Mr. Walker repeated the words as though they had been spoken in a foreign language. He turned to Bruce, who was seated forlornly on the end of the sofa. “What is all this about, son? I think you’d better come up with an explanation.”

“Well …” Bruce said slowly. How exactly had it all started? “I guess the beginning was with Friday.”

“Friday is mine,” Andi said. “At least, I was the one who found her. She ran in the night it was raining while you were dripping on the carpet, and she had puppies upstairs in the sewing-room closet.”

“She had puppies
here?”
Aunt Alice gave a startled gasp. “There were a dog and puppies right here in this house?”

“We got them out as fast as we could,” Andi said. “We didn’t want to start you sneezing. And then when Bruce found out about the vacant house and that Jerry Gordon had knocked out the windows —”

“He
what?”
Mr. Gordon, who was seated in the armchair by the window, straightened up with a jerk. He was a big man and handsome like Jerry, but there was a look of kindness in his face that
could not be found on Jerry’s. “My son, Jerry, broke windows? Why wasn’t I informed?”

“I didn’t think you’d believe it,” Bruce told him. “Tim Kelly said you never believe anything bad about Jerry. But the windows were out, and the house was empty, and when Red ran away and we found him —”

“And he was hurt and scared,” Andi said, “and he loved Bruce —”

“— and then Andi and Debbie came home with MacTavish —”

“— and the Bulldales were going to be drowned —”

Once they were started, they could not stop themselves. The story had been building within them for so long. Now out it came, pouring like a stream rushing down a mountain. By the time they were finished, Andi was crying again and Bruce was biting his lip to keep it from quivering.

“Preston, the beagle, was our only paying guest,” he ended. “Delaney Belanger’s father is paying five dollars a day for us to keep him. We needed that money. The food costs have been quite high.”

“I imagine they have been,” Mr. Walker said
wryly. “This sounds like a pretty expensive enterprise. Nine dogs is hardly a small family.”

“It’s more than just food,” Andi said. Now that things were out in the open, it seemed that he might as well know the worst. “We have to pay to have your projector repaired. It’s smashed, and the cord’s gone out of it.”

“That cord was from your father’s projector?” Mr. Gordon asked her. A light of understanding came into his eyes. “Things are beginning to fall into place now. You wouldn’t happen to have a color slide of Red Rover anywhere around, would you?”

“Yes, sir,” Bruce said miserably. “It’s in my jacket pocket.”

“Bruce is a wonderful photographer,” Andi said. “The picture looks just like Red.”

“Jerry thought so, too,” Mr. Gordon said shortly.

“The thing, as I see it,” broke in Mr. Crabtree, “is that this is a clear case of breaking and entering, of damage and vandalism —”

“I hardly think that,” said Aunt Alice. She spoke in a businesslike manner, very unlike her usual nervous flutter. “The children did not break, they merely entered. The breaking had already been
accomplished. As for damage and vandalism, I certainly didn’t see signs of any. The inside of the house was clean and in excellent repair.”

“That is hardly the point,” Mr. Crabtree said coldly. “As I see it —”

“A house standing open with no panes in the windows is an open invitation to children,” Aunt Alice continued as if she had not heard him. “It is what is legally termed ‘an attractive nuisance’ and is the owner’s and Realtor’s responsibility. The only possible charge that might stand up in court is trespassing.”

She paused. Then, seeing the confusion on Mr. Crabtree’s face, she continued in a gentler tone. “My husband was a private detective, and I worked with him and ran his office for many years. We had many fascinating cases and were in court a number of times. I have a good fund of legal knowledge.”

Andi regarded her father’s aunt with astonishment. “You never told us!”

“You never asked, dear,” the white-haired woman said placidly.

“Well,
trespassing,
then. That’s bad enough,” Mr. Crabtree said. “What if I had taken a different buyer
to see that house? How could I have explained all of those animals leaping out from all directions? I most certainly would have lost a sale, and my client might even have had heart failure.”

“But that didn’t happen,” Mrs. Walker reminded him. “Nobody had heart failure. And you didn’t lose a sale. In fact, I think you may have made one.”

“The point is —” Mr. Crabtree stopped in mid-sentence. He stared at Mrs. Walker. “I beg your pardon? I don’t think I quite understood you.”

“I said, you may have made a sale.” Mrs. Walker turned to her husband. “It’s really a lovely house, dear, with nice big rooms and two baths and a fireplace. With some hard work next summer, the yard could be made quite beautiful.”

“The location is good,” Mr. Walker agreed. “It’s close enough to my work and near Aunt Alice. I’m willing to take your word about the interior being what we’re looking for. If the price is right —”

“I’m sure it will be.” Mr. Crabtree looked as though a miracle were happening. “The owners are extremely anxious to sell.”

“Of course, we might not be able to make a down payment if we have to pay a steep fine for our
children’s trespassing,” Mr. Walker said. “I have to agree with my aunt that that charge is justified.”

“Oh, I don’t think the owners will press charges,” Mr. Crabtree said quickly. “In fact, under the circumstances, I see no reason for even telling them. Since the property in question will be yours soon anyway, we can just consider that the children were ‘looking it over.’“

“Which brings us to the next issue — the dogs,” said Mr. Walker.

“I guess you’re going to make us get rid of them,” Andi said mournfully.

“I guess I certainly am.” There was no sympathy in her father’s voice. “Nine dogs, and then Bebe! You do still want to keep Bebe?”

“Of course I want Bebe!” cried Andi. “I love Bebe! I wouldn’t give her up for anything. But I love Friday too, and they would have such good times together, and there’s so much room at the hotel.”

“Two dogs.” Mrs. Walker spoke softly. “That’s not so terribly many. I had two dogs when I was a little girl.”

“Tim will take MacTavish,” Bruce said. “I’m sure he will. And Andi and Debbie are training the
Bulldales for the circus. Though,” he added with honesty, “they haven’t learned any tricks yet. They’re funny, but they’re not very smart.”

“We’re not going to keep them until they do learn,” Mr. Walker said decidedly. “Tomorrow we put an ad in the paper. Christmas is just a month away, and people always want puppies at Christmastime. You’ll pay for the ad too, you kids, until every last one of those animals is gone.”

The telephone rang. Aunt Alice went to answer it. When she came back she said, “Andi, it’s for you.”

“If it’s someone with a dog,” Mr. Walker said as Andi got up from her chair, “don’t you dare say we’ll take it.”

“I won’t,” Andi promised.

“I’ll pay for the ad, Dad,” Bruce said. “I’ll pay to have the projector repaired, too. I’ve got money put aside. I was saving it —” He swallowed hard. “I was saving it to buy Red Rover from the Gordons.”

“And what made you think that dog was for sale?” his father asked him.

“I didn’t. I mean, I knew he wasn’t. I just —”

Bruce looked down at the floor. He could not meet his father’s eyes. He did not want anyone to see that his own had tears in them.

“He wasn’t for sale at that time.” Mr. Gordon spoke up from his chair. “But he is now.”

Bruce raised his head. “What did you say, sir?” he asked incredulously.

“Red Rover is for sale,” Mr. Gordon repeated firmly. “Jerry isn’t ready for the responsibility of a dog. When a boy wakes at night to a ghost, he can come out with confessions he wouldn’t think of making in broad daylight. I learned a lot about my son that night — a lot that I should have known before.”

He shook his head sadly. “There were people who tried to tell me Jerry had problems. I should have listened. I should have opened my eyes. It’s just that when it’s your boy and you love him, you don’t want to admit to yourself that he’s less than perfect.”

“We’re all less than perfect,” Mrs. Walker said. “Children have to be taught the rules of living. There are a lot of those that our own two haven’t yet learned.”

“But they know the basic ones — kindness and sharing,” Mr. Gordon said. “Jerry doesn’t, and it’s not entirely his fault. He’s an only child, and his mother and I have tried to make up to him for that. We couldn’t give him a brother or sister, so we’ve kept giving him
things.”

“Red isn’t a
thing,”
Bruce said. “He’s an awesome dog. He deserves an awesome home with an awesome master.”

“He does,” Mr. Gordon agreed. “And I’m going to see that he gets one. Would you still like to buy Red Rover?”

“I can’t afford that,” Bruce said miserably. “I owe too much money already.”

“I’ll be willing to make up a payment plan,” Mr. Gordon told him. “The important thing is to know that the dog is loved and well cared for.”

“Dad? Mom?” Bruce turned to his parents beseechingly.

“Three dogs —” There was doubt in his father’s voice.

“It’s better than nine dogs,” Mrs. Walker reminded him.

“Guess what, everybody!” A voice spoke from the doorway. It was a funny, choked-up sort of
voice that seemed to be trying to keep itself steady. “Guess who you’re looking at!”

There was a moment of silence. Then Mr. Walker said, “Why, we’re looking at a girl named Andrea Walker.”

He tried to speak lightly, but the words came out sounding strangely uncertain. The girl in the doorway was radiant, and her hands were clasped tightly before her. She looked like a person just waking from a dream.

“You’re looking,” she said, “at Andrea Walker, the published writer.”

“Andi!” Mrs. Walker gave a cry of delight. “You’ve sold a poem?”

“Miss Crosno did it,” Andi said in the same dazed voice. “I turned it in by mistake, but Miss Crosno liked it. She didn’t tell me, but she submitted it to the school paper. They’re going to publish it in the Christmas edition. It’s always just the sixth graders who write for the paper. They’ve never used a poem by a fifth grader before, never, ever in the history of the school!”

“But they won’t pay you, will they?” Bruce regarded his sister skeptically. “I thought the whole idea was that you wanted to earn money.”

“Money?” Andi said blankly, as though she had never heard of the word. “There are years ahead for earning money!” Suddenly she was the old Andi again, chattering and laughing.

“This is the beginning, Bruce, just the beginning!” Her eyes were shining like stars. “I’m one week short of eleven! I’m ahead of Shakespeare!”

Preview

Read more about Andi, Bruce, and
their four-legged friends in

NEWS
FOR
DOGS

Turn the page for a sneak peek!

NEWS
FOR
DOGS

“I think we should start a newspaper for dogs,” Andi said.

“You think —
what?”
Bruce Walker regarded his sister with astonishment. He had arrived home from school to find her sitting on the front steps waiting for him with her two dogs, Bebe and Friday, on either side of her. They looked like mismatched bookends, as Friday was a shaggy white hairball and Bebe, who was a dachshund, looked more like a sausage.

Elmwood Elementary let out an hour before the middle school, so Andi always beat him home, but she didn’t usually wait outside to intercept him. She did that only when she had something important to tell him or when, like today, she’d come up with some outrageous project.

“I think we should start a newspaper,” Andi repeated. “There’s nothing for people to read to their dogs these days. Dogs need their own newspaper with articles written just for them.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” Bruce said. “Even if dogs liked the stories, they couldn’t buy newspapers, because they don’t have money. Please, move so I can get into the house. I want to get something to eat before I take Red for his run.”

Andi got up and, with a dog tucked under each arm, trailed him into the house.

“Where’s Mom?” Bruce asked. Back when they lived in New Mexico, Mrs. Walker had been a teacher, but she hadn’t yet found a teaching position in Elmwood, so, temporarily at least, she was a stay-home housewife.

“She and Aunt Alice went to the mall,” Andi said. She set the dogs on the floor and watched with a fond expression as they raced hopefully to their food bowls. “Whatever you’re going to fix, I’ll have some, too. And so will Bebe and Friday.”

“You can make your own sandwich,” Bruce said, taking a loaf of bread from the cupboard and rummaging around for the peanut butter. “And those dogs shouldn’t snack between meals. They’re fat enough already.” It was all he could do not to add, “and so are you,” but he managed to stop himself from saying it. Andi was a little too chubby, but not exactly fat, and Bruce, although almost always truthful, was seldom unkind.

So, even though he had told her that he wouldn’t make her a sandwich, he made one anyway and, then, watched with dismay as she tore off the crust and dropped a piece into each of the dog bowls. Bebe and Friday gobbled them up so quickly that they almost choked.

“See how hungry they were?” Andi said. “You may like your dog to be bony, but I want mine to be comfortable. I also want my dogs to have cultural experiences.”

Bruce poured a glass of milk to wash down his sandwich and took a biscuit for Red Rover out of a tin on the dog fo od shelf. There were lots of cans on that shelf, and Bruce had bought most of them himself.

Now, as they sat at the kitchen table eating their sandwiches, Andi continued to chatter about her new grand plan.

“Of course, dogs won’t buy the papers. Their owners will do that. Babies can’t buy things either, but there are lots of books for babies. Parents buy them and read them to their children. That’s how it will be with our newspaper.”

“Don’t call it
our
newspaper,” Bruce said. “This is your idea. If you want to waste your time writing stories for dogs, then go for it. You’re the writer in the family. You don’t need me.”

“But I do!” Andi exclaimed. “I need you to be my photographer and take pictures of things that dogs would be interested in.”

“Like cats?” Bruce suggested, trying to conceal his amusement.

“That’s one possibility,” Andi said solemnly. “An occasional cat would be all right, especially if a dog was chasing it. But, in general, I think dogs would prefer to read about each another. We’ll have feature stories about dogs doing feats of bravery, and a gossip column for dogs, and articles about things that dogs can do to have fun.”

“And a nutrition column about how bread crusts make dogs fat?”

Bruce placed his glass in the dishwasher. He had hoped his final comment would end the conversation, but when he turned to go out through the kitchen door, Andi was right behind him. When his sister got an idea in her head she never let go.

As they stepped out into the yard, Red Rover came bounding to meet Bruce as if he had been counting the minutes until his owner got there. Or his “almost owner.” Bruce was saving up to buy Red, but since Irish setters were terribly expensive, it was taking him longer than he’d expected. He had hoped that he could earn money shoveling snow, but there hadn’t been any major snowstorms that past winter. Now they were well into spring, and that opportunity was gone. It seemed as if he was destined to go without an earned income until midsummer, when people would need their lawns mowed.

“You know you need money,” Andi said as if reading his mind. “We could earn a lot with a newspaper. There are so many dogs in this neighborhood, we’d have a huge readership.”

“You’re a nut,” Bruce said. “Come on, Red, let’s go!”