by Mary Amato
“Nice idea,” Mom said. “That’s where all the rich people take their dogs to get haircuts. We can steal a dog with style.”
Jillian and I looked at each other. Uh-oh.
“It might not be a great idea to steal somebody else’s dog,” Jillian blurted out. “The owners would be sad.”
Mom and Dad looked horrified. Crooks don’t care about other people’s feelings.
“Ha-ha-ha!” I laughed. “That was a good one, Jillian!”
Mom and Dad laughed. Jillian gave me a secret thumbs-up.
“Let’s do it now,” Dad said. “Why wait?” He turned right, heading toward Michigan Avenue.
“When we get there, you two hop out,” Mom said. “Pretend you’re dog owners looking for a new pet salon. No one will suspect two old ladies of being dog robbers. Billy, say something to make everyone look at you. Jillian, when everyone is looking at Billy, grab the dog, make a run for it, and hop in the car. We’ll be waiting.”
“It’s a plan!” Dad said, and turned onto Michigan Avenue. We passed a jewelry shop, a fancy clothes store, and a restaurant.
“People who shop here sure are rich!” Dad said. He pulled over at the Poodle Palace.
Through the window we could see oodles of poodles sitting on red velvet cushions, getting haircuts and shampoos.
“Go for it, kids!” Mom said.
Jillian and I got out. Slowly, we walked toward the doors.
“Once we’re inside the salon,” Jillian whispered, “say something to get everyone to look at you, like Mom said. I’ll pick up a dog that’s being shampooed, but then I’ll pretend it’s too slippery to hold. I’ll let go of the dog, and we’ll race back to the car. I’ll tell Mom and Dad we just couldn’t pull it off.”
“Got it!” I said.
“Are you sure?” Jillian asked.
“Yep.” I nodded.
We walked in.
Jillian looked at me.
I froze. My mind went blank.
“Say something to make everybody look at you,” Jillian whispered. “Mom and Dad are watching.”
I said what crooks usually say to a lot of rich-looking people. “Hello,” I said. “This is a stickup!”
A woman screamed and dropped her dog brush. Two poodles fainted.
I didn’t know what to do. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my … bacon cheeseburger.
“Yip!” A cute white poodle jumped off her red velvet pillow and headed straight toward me.
I turned and ran.
The poodle was on my heels.
Jillian ran, too.
“Throw the burger down!” Jillian said.
I yelled, “Why would I ever want to throw away a bacon cheeseburger?”
We hopped into the car. The poodle hopped right into my lap and started eating my cheeseburger.
Oh. That’s why.
Dad took off.
“Great job, Billy!” Mom and Dad said.
“Yeah,” Jillian said. “Great job, Billy.”
“Well,” I said, “at least we got a dog with good taste.”
Diary of a Wimpy Dog
Sniff. Sniff. The poodle sniffed our feet. Jillian and I were back in our kitchen, wearing our kid clothes. Our parents were out stealing dog food and a leash.
“We have to get this poodle back to her owner,” Jillian said. “It isn’t right to steal someone’s dog!”
I was about to agree when I felt gas gurgling in my tummy. Those doggy treats mixed with the bacon cheeseburgers were making me want to burp.
“We also have to get that money to the shelter,” Jillian went on. “It wouldn’t be fair to keep it.”
The gas was moving up the pipeline. A major burp was on its way north. I couldn’t help it. “UUURP!” I let out a huge bacon-flavored burp right in her face.
LITTLE QUIZ
You know your burp is bad when:
a) You knock your sister over.
b) You knock a dog over.
c) You have to plug your own nose.
d) All of the above.
The correct answer is d, all of the above.
Whew!
Jillian got up. “That gives me an idea!”
“We keep burping until the dog wants to run away?” I asked.
“No,” Jillian said. “But dogs do have a very good sense of smell. I bet if we let her out, she’ll run right back to her owner. We can tell Mom and Dad the bad news. Then we can sneak out and deliver the cupcake money to the shelter.”
“I like the burping idea. But we can give yours a try.” I opened the front door. “Go home, doggy.”
The dog rolled over and played dead. Give a dog a chance, and what do you get? Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zip.
“Yo, dawg!” I got down on my knees and looked at the panting poodle. “Stop smiling. I have something important to tell you.”
“Yip.” The poodle smiled.
“Dawg! This is serious! You have been stolen!”
“Yip,” the poodle said.
“Listen to me, you wacko mutt!” I said. “You have to run back to your owner.” I pointed to the door. “Scram!”
She sat up on her hind legs.
“Don’t sit! Run. Go zoom-zoom. Put your paws on the pavement. Make like a banana and split,” I said.
She rolled over and played deader.
I pulled my last doggy treat out of my pocket and ran out the door. It was a risk since I wasn’t in disguise. I crouched down and held out the treat. “Here, dawg! Hurry! Come get the treat!”
The dog looked at me.
“It’s got bacon in it.”
The dog trotted to the doorway.
“Come on, girl!” I waved the treat in the air to send the bacon smell out.
Sniff. Sniff. The dog trotted over and gobbled up the treat.
“Now, go home!”
She looked in my face and … “Aaachoo!”
SOME INTERESTING FACTS ABOUT DOGS
1. Dogs sneeze.
2. Dogs have snot.
3. Dog snot is wet.
4. Dog snot is slimy.
5. Dog snot smells like worms mixed with bacon.
6. Dog snot tastes likes worm guts mixed with hummus and bacon.
7. If you remove the dog snot from your face by wiping it on your sister’s face, she will get mad.
“Look,” Jillian said. “A squirrel! Dogs love to chase squirrels. Come on, girl! Go chase that squirrel.”
The squirrel looked at the dog. The dog looked at the squirrel.
And then the li’l wimp ran inside.
“Heee-heee-hee!” The squirrel laughed his head off.
A couple of his squirrely friends came over to his branch to see what was up. They were probably thinking, That dog is a chicken!
Jillian and I went inside.
“We need a new plan, Billy,” Jillian said.
“I have an idea,” I said. “Let’s get the mutt to do something bad. Then Mom and Dad will want to get rid of her.”
“Great idea!” Jillian said.
I got Dad’s favorite slipper. “Come on, dawg. Chew it up!”
The poodle sniffed it. Then she sneezed in my face.
AN INTERESTING FACT ABOUT ME
1. I do not learn from my mistakes.
After I wiped the dog snot off my face, Jillian said, “Show her what you mean.”
I got on my hands and knees. “Yip. Yip,” I said. “Watch me.” I chomped down on Dad’s slipper. “Chomp. Chomp. Blech.” I spit it out. “Dad’s feet stink.”
Jillian jumped back. “Don’t barf!”
“Hey, dogs barf all the time.” I grabbed my mom’s favorite coat. “Come on, dawg. Barf on this coat.”
The poodle looked at me like I was insane.
“Go like this.” I pretended to barf all over my mom’s coat.
Guess what happened next? The dog rolled over and went belly up again.
“I know what to get this dog for her birthday,” I told Jillian.
“What?�
� Jillian asked.
“A gravestone,” I said. “Playing dead is the only thing she likes to do.” I looked at the dog. “Enough with the zombie stuff,” I said. “Do something!”
The dog trotted over to the couch, hopped up, hit the remote control with her paw, and turned on the TV.
“Yip. Yip,” she said with a smile.
“Great,” I said. “Our parents kidnapped a couch potato.”
Poochie Smoochie
“Look, Billy!” Jillian said. “The dog turned on The Poochie Smoochie Show.”
“Jillian,” I said, “this is not a time to watch TV.”
“No. Look!” She pointed.
The Poochie Smoochie Show was just starting. The star of the show, a cute white poodle, was trotting down a busy street—
Wait a minute. The dog in our living room looked like the dog on TV.
Jillian grabbed my arm. “Do you think we stole Poochie Smoochie?”
“Yip.” The dog on TV yipped.
“Yip.” The dog in our living room yipped.
Just then the TV show cut off and a TV news reporter came on.
“Breaking news,” the announcer said. “Poochie Smoochie, the rich and famous TV dog, was at her favorite doggy salon when two women broke in and kidnapped her. Police are on the lookout for these suspects.…”
Some bad video footage of us walking into the Poodle Palace flashed on the screen. The Poodle Palace must have a hidden camera.
“We’ve got a problem,” Jillian said.
“I know, right? We are way cuter than that,” I said.
“No. We stole the richest and most famous dog in the whole country. We have to take her back!”
“I have an idea,” I said. “What is Poochie really good at?”
“Playing dead?” she guessed.
“Yep,” I said. “We’ll get Poochie to play dead and we’ll pretend to bury her. Then we’ll sneak her out and return her.”
“I don’t know …,” Jillian said.
We heard the sound of Ron and Tanya’s car in the driveway.
I grabbed my video camera and showed it to Poochie. “Time to act. It’s The Poochie Smoochie Show. Poochie, when I say ‘action,’ I want you to play dead.”
Poochie nodded.
“Action,” I whispered.
That dog fell over like a rock!
My parents walked in.
Poochie didn’t move.
“What’s going on?” Mom asked.
“I think the dog had a heart attack,” I said. “We were playing with her … and she … she …”
Jillian took off her hoodie and put it over Poochie.
“Poor, poor Poo—poodle.” I sniffed. “She bit the dust. She cashed out. She chewed on her last bone. She’s on a permanent vacation. She’s done like dinner. She went to yip with the angels. She’s gone to that great Poodle Party in the sky.” Big, fat tears rolled down my cheeks. “You were too young to die, poodle.”
It was an amazing performance! I was fantastic! I could get a job in Hollywood!
“Just our luck to get a bum dog,” Dad said.
“Yeah. Great,” Mom said. “Now what do we do with all this dog food?”
“Billy will eat it,” Jillian said. She couldn’t resist.
I, however, stayed in character. I sniffed. “How can you joke at a time like this?”
She hid her grin. “I’m sorry, Billy. You’re right. This is a sad day. Let’s give this dog a funeral.”
“Okay, Jillian.” I scooped up the lifeless dog in my arms and carried her into the backyard. Poochie was doing great.
Jillian got a shovel and began digging a hole.
Our parents watched from the doorway.
Jillian glanced at me and whispered, “Just bend over and pretend to put her in the hole. I’ll go in and distract them, then you can hide Poochie in the garage.”
“Got it,” I whispered.
We were a team.
In a loud voice, I began the funeral. “Dearly beloved,” I said, “we are gathered here today to say good-bye to our four-legged friend.”
I heard a noise in the tree above me. Oh, no! A squirrel!
Poochie opened one eye. And then the other.
Be brave, Poochie, I thought. Make like a corpse and stay dead.
“This poor poodle has truly died,” I said loudly. “Never to yip or yap again.”
“Hee-hee-hee!” The squirrel jumped to a lower branch.
Don’t move, Poochie. Don’t let that squirrel get to y—
“Yip.” Poochie leaped out of my arms, ran into the house, and jumped into my dad’s arms.
Mom and Dad looked at me for an explanation.
“She’s alive!” I yelled. “It’s a miracle!”
What’s Worse than Worst?
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.
Jillian and I were in her room, plotting our next move. I was sitting on Jillian’s bed, shoes and socks off, and Poochie was sniffing my toes.
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.
Then, Lick. Lick. Lick.
“Finally, someone who appreciates the smell and taste of my ten little piggies,” I said.
“That’s disgusting,” Jillian said.
“You’re just jealous,” I said. “My toes taste better than yours.”
“Get serious. The cops are on the lookout.” Jillian was nervous. “We can’t use our Mrs. Sippy or Mrs. Whiffbacon disguises again.”
“No problemo,” I said. “We have lots of disguises.”
She still looked nervous. “But even if we’re wearing a new disguise, we can’t walk out with Poochie or someone will recognize her and call the cops.”
“We could disguise Poochie,” I said.
Poochie stopped licking my toes and said, “Yip.” I think she liked that idea almost as much as my toes.
“We’ll disguise Poochie,” I explained. “Then we’ll put her in a bag with a note that says ‘I’m Poochie Smoochie.’ We’ll secretly drop her off at the salon. The salon lady will return Poochie to her owner.”
“Not bad,” Jillian said. “You work on the dog disguise. I’m going to spy on Mom and Dad. If they find out that we have the rich and famous Poochie Smoochie, things might get worse.”
She took out two mini-flashlights and handed me one.
“What do I need a flashlight for?” I asked.
“It’s not a flashlight. It’s my new invention called the Buzzer.” She pushed a button on her flashlight.
Bzz! Mine gave my hand a zap, sort of like a mosquito bite. “Ouch.”
“It’s a signal,” she said. “If you feel it, I need you to come and help me.”
I rubbed my hand. “Why did you have to make it zap?” I asked.
She gave me a look. “To get your attention,” she said. “If you need me, press the button on yours.”
“Like this?” I pushed my Buzzer button.
Bzz! She jumped.
“Well, it works,” I said.
“Speaking of work,” she said, “get going on that dog disguise.” She took off.
Five, four, three, two, one. I pushed my Buzzer button.
She ran back in. “What is it?”
“I’m hungry,” I said.
“The Buzzer is for emergencies, Billy,” she said.
“But Poochie ate my last bacon cheeseburger,” I said.
“Tell your tummy to get over it,” she said, and walked out.
I looked at Poochie. “You understand me, don’t you, dawg?”
“Yip,” she said, and licked my toes.
“All right. I know you love my toes, but it’s time to try out some canine costumes.”
DOGGY DISGUISES
I was trying to decide which disguise was the best when … bzz! Something stung me.
It was annoying.
“Poochie, did you bring fleas into this house?” I asked. “Something just bit me.”
Poochie tilted her head.
Bzz!
“Yeow!” It stung me again.
Oh … the Buzzer.
I put Poochie in the Gucci and I tiptoed downstairs. Tip. Tip. Tip.
Jillian was by the door to the living room. She waved me over. “Hurry—things just got worse,” she whispered. “Mom heard the news about Poochie on the TV. I tried to interrupt, but it was too late.”
We put our ears to the door. It sounded like Mom was making a phone call.
“I’ve got the number right, Ron,” Mom said. “I just dialed. Now, be quiet. Hello, is this the owner of Poochie Smoochie?” Mom was using a fake voice, low and gruff. “We have your dog, and you’ll have to pay us a big ransom to get her back.”
Dognapping! Jillian and I looked at each other. Why couldn’t Ron and Tanya just use the phone to do something good for the world—like returning a poor dog to her rightful owner or ordering me a pizza with bacon?
“That’s right,” Mom said. “We’re the dognappers. Put ten thousand dollars in a suitcase and drop it near the fountain in Higgins Park at midnight tonight. Or else.”
Poochie stuck her head out of the purse, as if she wanted to hear what was going on.
“And no cops. Got it?” Mom said, and then she ended the call.
“Hot diggety,” Dad said.
“There’s only one problem, Ron. Dogs have a great sense of smell. What if we give the dog back and they use it to track us down?”
“Easy peasy. We don’t give the dog back,” Dad said. “We drop Poochie off in a field somewhere. Then we give her owner a box with a brick in it. We take the money and run. Poochie will love living by herself in the country.”
Jillian and I looked at Poochie in the Gucci. Poochie Smoochie, living in a field, with no velvet pillow, no shampoo, no TV?
“The kids don’t have to know,” Mom said. “We’ll all go to bed early and then we can sneak out, get rid of the dog, and pick up the dough.”
“Yeah. We’ll tell the kids that Poochie ran away.” Dad chuckled.
Jillian and I looked at each other. How could we get Poochie back to her owner?
“Come on, Ron. Let’s get everything ready,” Mom said.