“Stop!” I said firmly.
Ugly flopped down on the floor. He still had the sneaker in his mouth, but he had a guilty expression. He didn’t want to look me in the face. I walked up and took the sneaker away. Normally, Ugly would want to make a game of this and hold on tight—but not this time. He let go of my sneaker and then he slunk away. This shows that Ugly is starting to see me as his master.
Ugly’s failed shoe robbery got me thinking. Ugly is clever. He thinks things through. He plans stuff. He knew he needed to move slowly so that I didn’t notice, and then he timed it so he knew when to make a dash for freedom. When he was caught red-handed (or in Ugly’s case, red-mouthed), he looked guilty and embarrassed, just like I’d be. If I was Ugly’s schoolteacher, I’d say what Miss Jolly said about me in my midyear report:
“Ugly has some challenges with completing learning tasks at home. Nevertheless, he has enormous potential if he can be more disciplined.”
I liked the word “potential.” I looked it up after I got my report from Miss Jolly. It means a possibility or likelihood of becoming something in the future. So on this thirteenth day of October, I can see that Ugly does have potential. It is possible for him to learn to obey me, but I’m stuck as to how to go further.
Walks are still horrible. Ugly pretends to be good until he sees something he wants to chase. My arms are getting stronger from hanging onto the leash, but I can think of better ways to build my muscles. How do I cure a dog who thinks he’s a hunter?
Most nights, after his walk, Ugly lies in his usual spot under the kitchen table. He falls asleep on his side, his legs making running movements and with little woof sounds coming out of his mouth. Even in his dreams, Ugly is chasing enemies.
• • •
While I was in the middle of writing my book tonight, Grandpa popped his head around the door. “Get back quickly from school tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” I said. “Grandpa, do you realize that Ugly only has two days left of his third chance?”
“I do indeed,” he said.
So now I’m sitting up in bed, writing away. I don’t feel sleepy at all. Firstly, I want to know what Grandpa has up his sleeve. Secondly, and much more importantly, I want Ugly to pass his third test, but I can’t see how I can do any more for him. Although Ugly is still annoying, I’m starting to like my dog.
16
When I got home today, I banged through the front screen door, patted Ugly who had come to meet me, and then walked up the hall, through the family room, and into the kitchen. That’s where I’ll often find Grandpa in the afternoon. He’ll have finished his odd jobs and veggie gardening, and he’ll be sipping a cup of tea. And that was where I found Grandpa, but someone else was there with their back turned to me. I couldn’t see the face because the person was wearing a wide, battered straw hat.
“There you are,” said Grandpa as if he’d been looking for me and I was late. “I have a surprise visitor for you.”
The stranger swung around and stood up—a tall woman wearing baggy pants and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. She looked younger than Grandpa, but not by a lot. Her hair was short and gray above a round face that was smooth and brown with rosy spots on each cheek; she was the only person I’ve ever met who had what Mom calls “apple cheeks.”
“This’d be Eric, then,” said the woman, her blue eyes crinkling up as she smiled. She stepped up to me and held out her hand. I put my hand forward, and she gave me such a strong handshake that I had to hold my breath to keep from saying “ouch.”
“Having some dog trouble, are we?” she asked.
Who was this woman? Why had Grandpa been telling her my business?
I mumbled something like, “Maybe.”
Ugly was excited that we had a visitor and excited that I was home from school. He danced around for a minute and then jumped up on me.
“Down!” said the big woman when Ugly jumped up. She was standing next to me, but she held her hand in front of Ugly’s face like a traffic policewoman and stepped close to him—what Gretchen would describe as invading Ugly’s personal space.
“Sit!” said the lady in a strong, low voice. Ugly stepped back and sat.
“Good boy. Good, Ugly,” said the lady, patting his head and slipping him what looked like a small piece of a dog biscuit.
“Meet Maggie Buchan,” said Grandpa. “She’s my old school friend Charlie Buchan’s younger sister, and she’s over from Western Australia to visit her granddaughter for a few weeks.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering what the big deal was.
“Maggie trains dogs,” Grandpa added.
“And dog owners,” said Maggie in a stern voice.
“She’s never failed,” said Grandpa. “Maggie’s my present to you. Concentrate and learn all you can about dog training.”
“I hear today’s Ugly’s last chance,” said Maggie.
Hearing about my troubles from a stranger was embarrassing. What would she think of all this stuff about me giving Ugly three chances? From an outsider’s view, I might look kind of awful. Giving a dog a last chance? It seemed mean.
I stared down at my feet. “I guess.”
“Nothing more frustrating and unpleasant than a disobedient dog,” said Maggie in a kind way.
She understood! I looked at her to check if she was kidding. “And a dog that didn’t like me until just recently,” I said.
“Ah, yes,” said Maggie. “But you’ll have to face something, Eric.”
“Face what?” I asked.
“You are the main part of the problem.”
“Me?”
“Yes, face the facts, Ec,” added Grandpa.
How harsh can you get? Me? The problem? How dare she! Someone—okay, a dog—has shown for weeks that he couldn’t care less about me, and I’m to blame? And face the facts? What a tough thing for Grandpa to say.
But I’m not a wuss. I’ve suffered great hardship: been forced to run away, had my Parthenon model chewed up, found stinky poop under my bed, been dragged into life-threatening situations on dog walks, been ignored, and been laughed at. A person can only take so much. Maggie is just a bigger, older version of Gretchen.
Did I tell that to Maggie? No way. But she must have seen my face.
“Stormy weather today?” she said, peering at me.
I think I might have inherited Gretchen’s cranky-strawberry-mouth look. You can’t talk well when your mouth is the shape of a squashed strawberry.
“Dunno what’cha mean,” I mumbled. I knew I was being rude to a visitor. I wouldn’t have blamed Grandpa for giving me a stern look, but he didn’t do that.
He just said, “It’s your last chance, Ec. Listen up to Maggie, or you’re done for.”
Heck no. Everyone was getting it wrong. It was Ugly’s last chance. When would grown-ups get it right? And I said that. “It’s Ugly’s last chance, not mine.”
Then came the shock of my life. I’m still shaky as I write this down.
Grandpa said, “Well, Eccle, it’s actually both of your last chances. You see, your mom is tired—she’s worn out with the long hours she has to do at work. She was telling me last night that although you have improved your work ethic, she still can’t give Ugly what he needs. Gretchen’s no help. Your dad is also overextended at work. That leaves you and me. And you know that since my hip operation I just can’t do what I used to do. The poor dog is neglected, and he’s getting out of control. He’s growing bigger than we expected—a risk, I suppose, when we didn’t get to see his parents—and big dogs need a lot of exercise and plenty of discipline.”
“But I’ve nearly always stuck to the timetable,” I said.
“Not as often as you trick yourself into believing,” said Grandpa. “Your mom is tired of finding half-filled cans of dog food lying around the kitchen benches, dog biscuits scat
tered on the floor, Ugly’s water bowl empty, or precious belongings chewed to pieces because Ugly is still getting bored from not enough exercise.”
“I’m not that bad,” I said. I held my breath, waiting for what he was going to say next. But at the same time, I sort of guessed. My heart was pounding. My hands were sweaty.
Grandpa continued, “If things don’t change, your mom, dad, and I are thinking that Ugly might be better off with a family who knows something about looking after and training big dogs.”
“No!” I yelled. “You can’t make Ugly an orphan. You can’t just kick him out. And I’ve been trying to help. You know I have, Grandpa.”
17
I felt sick. I had to fight for Ugly’s right to stay in our home. I truly didn’t know how I was going to save my dog. I felt like someone who was drowning because they were trying to rescue someone else who was drowning—hopeless.
After I had begged Grandpa not to make Ugly an orphan, he took a while to reply. I guess he was choosing his words carefully.
“You’ve certainly tried a little harder to pull your weight with the feeding and walking and all that, Ec. But it’s not so simple. This is a small house. It’s a squeeze fitting five humans into it, let alone a growing dog into the bargain.”
Pleading hadn’t worked with Grandpa. What shocked me was that he was for real. He really had been discussing Ugly’s fate with Mom and Dad. The three of them had made big decisions about Ugly and me without my permission. I couldn’t help it; my voice started wobbling uncontrollably.
“No, Grandpa, no! I beg you! You can’t do this.”
Ugly must have understood something. He started getting worked up. He was jumping around and barking. His tail hit a cardboard box of Grandpa’s tomatoes that was sitting on a small side table. Tumble went the box. Sprawl went the tomatoes. Jump, jump, twirl went Ugly. Squish, splat went the tomatoes. It looked like blood and guts all over the kitchen floor.
“See for yourself,” said Grandpa, waving his hand around at the mess. “The proof is in the pudding. My best tomatoes of the season. Gone!”
Oh, cut out these idioms, I thought. Yes, Grandpa, your precious tomatoes are destroyed, but you can’t say Ugly’s accident proved what you’re saying is right. This mess wasn’t Ugly’s fault! It’s…it’s everyone’s fault. This last part I said in a blurt, except I changed it a little:
“It’s not Ugly’s fault!” I yelled. “It’s yours. And Mom and Dad’s. And Gretchen’s!”
“Calm down now!” said Grandpa in a loud voice. “You’re blaming everyone but yourself. If you keep doing that, you’ll never grow up. Show some character, Ec. Like I’ve said before: own up to it!”
Ugly got really worked up and started jumping on Grandpa. Maggie took Ugly by the collar and put him outside through the back door.
She held her hands up, open-palmed toward Grandpa and me, like the policewoman she must have once been; she looked as if she was in charge of crowd control at an NFL match. “Not in front of the dog, thank you. Set him an example.”
Grandpa and I were both panting as if we’d just run a race. I should have been worried about Grandpa having a heart attack, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I was actually thinking that maybe Ugly and I should run away—and do it right this time. We have to stick together. It’s amazing how many thoughts can zoom through your brain in a few seconds. Next thought was that we couldn’t run away because I knew I didn’t have enough money to feed Ugly. I had to think smart. Think clever. How do you do that?
For one, you don’t make your grandfather any angrier.
“Sit down, Grandpa,” I said. “I’m sorry about the tomatoes. I’m sorry about saying nasty things about my family. I’ll clean up the mess.”
Grandpa plunked down in his chair, leaned his elbows on the table, and put his head in his hands. He was still getting his breath. It came to me then that all this chaos isn’t good for an old man. This fight could kill him. I’d be a murderer.
“Good boy,” said Maggie. She figured out where the kettle was and started getting Grandpa a cup of tea while I went to get the compost bin and a rag, as well as the mop, and began the disgusting job of cleaning the floor.
While I was working, Grandpa, his head still in his hands, said quietly, “We’re not trying to be cruel to you, Ec. It’s just that it’s all too much.”
I didn’t trust myself to say a lot. I had to save Ugly from a terrible fate. I had to control myself. “Sure, Grandpa. What do I have to do?”
“Over to you, Maggie,” said Grandpa.
We all sat down at the table. I put my extra-polite, listening-carefully face on. Maggie explained that she was going to come three times a week for a few weeks to show me how to train a dog. Actually, the words she used were, “to train you how to teach your dog.”
• • •
The deal is I have to keep up Ugly’s lessons before and after school, as well as on weekends. Maggie will give me a test just before she goes back home. If I pass this test of hers, I get to keep Ugly, and the two of us will go to puppy school for a few months at the local vet’s.
Of course I said “yes” to everything. And I do think it’s a good thing to learn how to train your dog. I also agreed that I’m lucky to have an expert give me some lessons for free. But I really don’t agree about the “or else Ugly goes” part. That’s totally unfair.
I didn’t say that, though. I said, “Thank you, Maggie, I’ll try my hardest.”
Maggie said the first lesson would start tomorrow after school. Then she said she had to go. I was happy about that, because I was finding it hard to look cheerful. After Grandpa and I waved Maggie goodbye, I took Ugly to the park. I sat on the swing, and Ugly sat opposite me and plunked his paw on my leg. He knew I was feeling down.
“Thank you, Ugly,” I said. “I have to tell you some terrible news. They’re sending you away if I can’t train you right. We have to stick together, or we’re done for.”
Ugly turned his head to the side, like old people who have bad hearing do when they want to use their good ear for listening carefully. That’s what Ugly does when he’s concentrating. His bright eyes looked straight at me from under his messy bangs. I know he understood because something amazing happened later.
I was sitting up in bed, reading my latest library book. I’d pushed the bedroom door nearly shut. I like to be private, but I also like to hear what’s going on around the house. At around eight thirty at night, something shoved at the door, and it moved a little.
Was Gretchen spying? No.
The door swung open a little farther and Ugly walked in. He trotted up to my bed, looked at me, and then jumped right up. I put my arms around him and we snuggled. I was almost asleep when I wondered what Mom would think about a dog on my bed. I got out, went to the family room, and brought back Ugly’s dog bed, which I put at the foot of my own bed. I gave Ugly a hug and then gently moved him off my bed and pointed to his bed. Ugly climbed on. I got back into my own bed and went to sleep. In the morning, when I saw Ugly still asleep in my room, I couldn’t believe it. It was what I had dreamed of and hoped for when I first got a dog. Ugly definitely likes me, but is it all too late?
18
At recess today, I told Milly and Hugh all about my troubles and how I was going to have my first dog training lesson this afternoon.
Later during the day, Miss Jolly was stern with me because I was being fidgety.
Milly told Miss Jolly, “Eccle is facing an ordeal when he gets home.”
“He’s in deep trouble,” added Hugh.
Miss Jolly came over to me while the other kids were doing small group work. “Would you like to speak to me about this ordeal, Ec? It sounds like you have to go through something painful and dangerous.”
“No one can help, really,” I said. “It’s all up to me.”
“Is this something scary and bad
? You’re not alone if you share a problem with a grown-up you can trust. A problem shared is a problem halved. Maybe I could help you?”
“If you are an expert at dog training it might help,” I said.
“Oh dear,” said Miss Jolly. “I only have a cat. They tend to train the humans. Anyway, I’m sure everything will turn out okay.”
Miss Jolly meant well. I knew she was checking to see if I was safe at home. But her saying she was “sure everything will turn out okay” was just washing her hands of the problem. “Washing hands” is another idiom, but there’s too much on my mind to research this one.
Milly was more helpful. Just before the bell rang, while we packed up our belongings, she said, “Write down everything the dog lady tells you. Stick the list on the wall next to your bed so you can revise.”
Maggie was waiting for me when I got home. She’d brought a dog harness for Ugly.
“This makes it easier to control a dog when it’s on the leash,” she said.
Ugly, Maggie, and I went outside to the backyard for our first lesson. It was about heel, sit, stand, come, and watch me.
Ugly seemed to like his lessons most of the time, especially as Maggie told me to pat him, tell him he was a good dog, and then give him treats every time he got something right. He seemed to learn faster that way. A few times, he got bored and misbehaved, but then, Maggie told me to play a game with him. I’d throw Ugly’s ball or play tug-of-war with his rope, and then he’d concentrate again.
Maggie has a clever way of teaching a dog to heel. You just go a few steps and then reward the dog. Then, you make him go a little farther and reward him again. Maybe I’ll be able to walk Ugly without having my arm yanked off. I also liked the way Maggie used hand movements with voice commands. She didn’t even have to speak; she just used the hand movements to tell Ugly what to do. I can think of tons of times it’d be useful not to have to speak aloud when you’re with your dog.
• • •
The dog training—or should I say “dog-owner training”—was interesting. But like waves dumping on a beach, I kept remembering that if I didn’t become a good trainer, I would lose Ugly.
My Dog Made Me Write This Book Page 5