Emma Raining Cats and Dogs . . . and Cupcakes!

by Coco Simon

  Jake was so happy, I wish I had videoed it for Mia and Katie! He kept laughing and clapping, falling over on the couch, shouting, “Yessssss!” And then he ran to tell Rocky. There were a couple of agonizing days afterward with him trying to decide who to pick (including one day when he was firm in the opinion that his guests should be me and Mia), but he finally settled on two easygoing friends whose parents were also close friends of my parents. I’m sure my parents nudged him in this direction, but it was a smart choice. They’d have a good time, all of them.

  The day of the birthday party arrived, and Jake’s friends were dropped off for the outing and sleepover. They brought their bags and gifts into the kitchen and stowed everything in the mudroom, and then they set out for the show in the city.

  My older brothers and I were on our own for the afternoon and evening, with no friends allowed over since my parents were out of town. My dad left money for us to have a couple of pizzas delivered (my older brothers could eat a whole pie each, so I’d have to fight for my two slices). As my mom left, she said, “Em, call me if you need me, okay?”

  I waved her off. “We’re fine, Mom! Seriously, go! Have fun with the doggie clowns!”

  I went to my room to play with TL and a new little mouse toy Diego had brought to school for me to give to her. It was so sweet, and she loved it. I snapped a pic with my phone and texted it to him. He replied right back, Cool cat! and I smiled. Suddenly, Tigerlily sat bolt upright, her ears perked and twitching. I stopped to listen, and there was a ruckus coming from downstairs.

  I stood up and went to the stair landing. “Guys?” I called down to Matt and Sam. But they had the football game on so loud that they couldn’t hear me.

  There was some kind of thrashing coming from the kitchen.

  “Darn them!” I muttered. “I’ll be right back, Tigerlex!” I called. That was my new nickname for her, after her godmother, Alexis, of course.

  The noise was coming from the mudroom and had grown quite loud by the time I was there.

  “Rocky?” I called anxiously as I approached the room. Was it time? Were we going to have to deliver these puppies all by ourselves?!

  “Rocky?” I whispered.

  The thrashing stopped. I peeked my head around the corner and found that Rocky had ripped open the gifts from Jake’s friends, shredded the paper, and was now having her way with the gifts that had been inside.

  Lucky for Rocky, they were dog gifts. Jake’s friends knew that he was majorly into Rocky and that he’d be getting a puppy soon, so they’d bought him dog toys and treats. Cute!

  Rocky looked at me guiltily, and I wagged my finger at her. “Bad dog!” I said, gathering up the paper and gently removing one of the toys from her mouth. I set the gifts on a high shelf in one of the lockers and went to throw away the paper. Usually, Rocky follows us to the garbage and recycling area in the kitchen hoping for some dropped food, but when I turned back, she wasn’t there.

  “Rocky?” I called.

  I dumped the paper in the recycling bin and retraced my steps to the mudroom. “Rock?”

  She was inside the birthing box. I’d never seen her there before, after the first time we put her in to get her familiar with it. I leaned against the doorway and folded my arms as I stood, studying her. She was breathing pretty heavily, but that could have been because she’d gotten so large lately with the almost full-grown pups inside her; plus, she’d just had quite a workout ripping open those presents.

  “Is it time?” I whispered. Her eyes locked onto mine.

  Help! they seemed to be saying, or was I imagining it?

  I went to pat her head, but she growled at me and I jumped back. Yup. This was it. This was what the vet had said would happen. It could be anywhere from one to three hours now before the pups were actually born. What was I supposed to do again to get ready? I was starting to panic a little. I hoped I wouldn’t get queasy.

  “Just wait till Mom and Dad get home, okay, Rocky?” I pleaded, her eyes still locked on mine as the panting continued. “It’s only a few more hours. Like . . . four or five hours, okay? You can hold them in.” I couldn’t call them to come home. It would ruin Jake’s party, and it was such a treat. But oh, how I wished there was a grown-up in charge right now. Tigerlily appeared in the doorway, sniffing the air. Then she turned and ran away.

  I jumped up to run to the family room. “Matt! Sam! Come quick! Rocky’s having her babies!”

  I stood framed in the doorway, and they both whipped their heads to the left to look at me.

  “Now?!” cried Sam.

  I nodded.

  “Darn! And we haven’t even ordered the pizzas yet!” said Matt, smacking his forehead.

  “Dude, go order them now! Pepperoni for my pie,” said Sam.

  “Order your own, fool!” said Matt, jumping up to run into the kitchen and order his first.

  Sam chased after Matt, barking orders at him.

  I stood there, shaking my head from side to side. A major medical drama is about to unfold in our very own home, and all they can think about is ordering pizzas. How is this my life?

  I spun on my heel and returned to the kitchen. “Could somebody please get half a plain pizza, so I can have some?”

  They looked at me like Where did you come from? and then Matt said into the phone, “Oh, and can you also send two plain slices, please? Yes, in a box. Thanks. Bye.”

  “You guys are so gross. You think you’re each going to eat a whole pizza by yourself?”

  “I could eat two.” Sam shrugged. “I don’t know about you, man.”

  “Easily,” said Matt, nodding and flexing a bicep. “These babies take work to feed.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Could one of you macho men please go check on the dog right now?”

  They both went to the mudroom and peered in the doorway at Rocky in her bed.

  “Yup. She’s having some babies!” said Sam, and he left the kitchen to head back to the family room.

  “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” I demanded.

  He turned to me in surprise. “I’m going back to the game. Why?”

  “Um, duh! The puppies?” I said sarcastically.

  Sam looked incredulously at me. “There’s nothing I can do. She’s having her puppies. It could take hours. So just call me if you need me, like if anything goes wrong. I can drive her to the vet.” And he left the room. Matt tried to follow him.

  “Not so fast, mister, or I’ll tell Alexis you’re madly in love with her and said her name when you fell asleep in the car last week.”

  Matt blushed instantly. “I did not!”

  I wiggled my eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Don’t be so sure.”

  Matt sat down in a kitchen chair. “Em, there’s nothing we can do for her. Look it up. She needs to deliver the babies on her own. She might bite us if we try to help her.”

  “Well, how are we going to know if she’s in distress?” I asked.

  “I don’t know!”

  “Oh, I wish someone was here who knew about animals!” I wailed.

  “Why don’t you call your boyfriend to come over?” said Matt.

  “Very funny.” Now it was my turn to blush. “Anyway, Mom said no friends while they’re gone.”

  “Then call Mrs. Barnett. She’s not your friend. She can come over.”

  “Actually, she is my friend, but maybe I will call her.”

  It wasn’t a bad idea. I just needed the calm voice of someone who had been through puppy births before. I needed to know there was an adult monitoring the situation.

  I went to my phone and dialed her cell number. She picked up on the second ring, and I explained the situation. She was still at work and was instantly very helpful.

  “Okay, I’m glad you called, especially with your parents in the city for the night. Now, don’t panic. Rocky is a big, healthy girl. She’s young and strong, and I highly doubt that there will be any complications. I will come over to help you, but in the meantime, could you please gathe
r a small box, like a Rubbermaid laundry tub, and line it with newspaper and a heating pad, if you have one? Then get some old towels, and make sure the room where she’s delivering is toasty—do you know how to turn up the heat? Maybe to eighty degrees? And I’ll be over shortly.”

  “Thanks so much, Mrs. Barnett! I’m sorry to ruin your Saturday night!”

  “Are you kidding? There’s nothing I’d rather do on a Saturday night!” She laughed. And I believed her.

  I told the boys that Mrs. Barnett was coming over, and then I scrambled around to get and do the things she had requested. Each time I checked on Rocky, she seemed to be breathing a little harder and wriggling around in her bed, like she was trying to get comfortable. She’d hardly notice me when I went in.

  Mrs. Barnett arrived about half an hour after we’d spoken, right after the pizzas. She immediately washed her hands in the kitchen and then checked on Rocky. She pronounced her in excellent shape, but she did say she had one of her vets and an operating room on call in case things stalled and we needed help getting the puppies out. “But looking at her now, I think this will be rather quick,” she said with a satisfied smile. She laid out a little doctor’s kit with antiseptic wipes, and some scissors with rounded tips and a few other things. When I saw all that, I was happier than ever that I’d called her.

  I brought a chair into the mudroom and offered Mrs. Barnett some tea, which she accepted. I set off to make it, telling the boys to go say hi and offer their help while I was in the kitchen.

  By the time I got back to the mudroom, one puppy was already out! I couldn’t look too closely, because I didn’t want to get queasy. Mrs. Barnett said there really wasn’t a lot for us to do to help Rocky, that she was a great dog and doing a fantastic job.

  I sat on a chair outside the mudroom door so we could talk without me having to watch. Mrs. Barnett crooned soothing words to Rocky, encouraging her, and reported to me quietly as each pup came along.

  After an hour, they were all born! Mrs. Barnett asked for an empty garbage pail and put two red medical waste bags into it, doubling them for durability. I didn’t want to know what she was putting in there, but she assured me she’d take them back to ARF’s garbage for proper disposal.

  By the time she called us in to see, all five puppies were out and lying by Rocky’s side, cleaned and feeding. Rocky was asleep, and the puppies were wriggling for position. They were tiny and had smooth pale coats, except for one, which was dark brown, and their eyes were closed. Not so cute yet, but not hideous. You could already see how they might look when they grew up.

  “Are they all healthy?” asked Matt.

  “Yes, they’re wonderful.”

  “Is there a runt?” asked Sam.

  I elbowed him. What a question!

  “Not really. The one on the end here that keeps getting pushed out is the smallest, but not by a lot. Rocky did so well. You should be proud of her!”

  “Well, she’s not ours, you know. We’re just dogsitting.”

  “I know. Some kind of dogsitting duty you ended up with!” Mrs. Barnett laughed.

  “And you!” I added. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Barnett. We could not have done it without you. For real.”

  “Oh, you would have found a way, I’m sure. Where there’s a will, there’s a way! And by the way,” she said, looking at her watch, “you should hang a sign on the back door asking people to use the front so it doesn’t get too cold in here with the door opening and closing.”

  “Good idea.” Matt dashed off to create one on his computer, while Sam offered Mrs. Barnett a slice of reheated pizza. He hadn’t finished his whole pie after all, the braggart.

  She declined and headed home, and about an hour later, in came Jake and my parents and the friends (through the front door). Jake was desperate to see Rocky and the puppies, as were his friends. We had them creep in one by one to the darkened room and peek without touching. My parents were thrilled that we’d called Mrs. Barnett, and they planned to send her flowers on Monday and make a nice donation to ARF in her honor.

  “And you, Miss Em! You handled everything like a pro!” said my dad.

  “We’re so proud of you, sweetie,” said my mom. “You’re a rock.”

  “Rocky’s a rock!” I said, and we laughed. “Now, what’s Mike going to do with all those puppies?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Ongaro

  I have to laugh now that I ever wondered what Mike would do with all the puppies.

  Mike and Sandy rented a place in their new town that wouldn’t take dogs. He told us that we could sell the puppies to recoup the costs of hosting Rocky and that he’d give Rocky to ARF to place in a new home. Well, any dummy would have known how that would turn out. I sensed Sandy was behind all of this, but I reserved my dislike for Mike for following through with it.

  So on Jake’s actual birthday a few days later, my parents tied a big red bow around Rocky’s neck and sent her into Jake’s room to wake him up. He knew what it meant immediately and spent the day telling everyone he saw about his new “baby boy puppy” (who was neither a boy nor a puppy, but whatever).

  So with the new pups, plus Rocky and Tigerlily, we went from no animals to seven animals in just a few weeks. I’m not going to lie to you, our mudroom smelled gross, and the back part of the house quickly smelled like animals in general. I got used to it, but I don’t think my mom will ever get over the experience. It will be better when the pups are grown and gone. We’ve gated in the mudroom, so now that they’re up and about, they can roam freely, and they’re really cute. My dad is about as into the pups as anyone could be. I find him in there all the time, just sitting and playing with them. Interestingly, Jake prefers Rocky to any of her pups, still. Tigerlily tends to them like they’re her own, and Rocky doesn’t seem to mind. When one of the pups goes scrambling away, Tigerlily jumps up and nudges it back toward Rocky. It’s pretty cool.

  “Hey, Dad, maybe we should just keep breeding Rocky! Then you could have pups around more than once!” I joked.

  “Absolutely not!” he said, not even realizing I was joking.

  “Okay, take it easy!” I said, backing away.

  “We’ll get her spayed as soon as it’s medically allowed,” he added.

  “Okayyyy . . . ,” I whispered, turning and fleeing the mudroom.

  Once the dogs were a month old, we began trying to place them in earnest. Katie and her mom came, and Mrs. Brown seemed to be doing okay, but Katie reported that she’d had hives once they got home, though it might have been from Tigerlily. Katie was still working on it.

  Diego brought his dad over, who was supernice. He was fine with the pups—no allergies—and they decided to bring back Diego’s sister on another day, but it still hadn’t happened. I know how much Diego wants one because he asks me for pics of the litter all the time and then posts them, which makes Katie anxious. Katie has her eye on the little dark brown one, which she calls Snickerdoodle, or “Snicky” for short, and she’s worried someone will swoop in and adopt her before she can convince her mom. I have assured her that I will not let anything of the sort happen.

  However, two “maybes” does not take any of the five pups off our hands for sure, and my parents are starting to get antsy. They hired Matt to make posters advertising the pups and to hang them around town. Mrs. Barnett has been by to visit a few times, and she took some of the posters to put up in ARF and to hand out around town. Diego has such a good track record with his Instagram account, but nothing has come up so far from his posting, even a cute photo he took of Tigerlily and Snicky, snuggled together asleep.

  One Saturday morning, when the pups were six weeks old, I was delivering our weekly batch of mini cupcakes to Mona’s bridal salon and showing the puppy pics to Mona and her lead sales manager, Patricia. They were oohing and aahing over the puppies’ cuteness and asking all about them.

  “How old do they have to be before they can leave the mom?” asked Mona.

  “Eight to ten weeks is ideal,
” I said. I’d learned a lot about puppies lately.

  “And how many have you placed?” asked Patricia.

  “None,” I said glumly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’d love to keep them all, forever, but there’s just no way. . . .”

  Mona was looking thoughtful. “You know, nothing personal, but these photos are just not sales photos. They’re dark and too close up, and you can’t really get a sense of the size of the pups. I think I have an idea. . . .”

  She dashed off to her office, leaving me and Patricia to shrug at each other. Usually, Mona’s ideas were good ones, so I was looking forward to hearing what she had to say.

  Minutes later, she returned, clapping her hands in victory. “Okay! It is all set! Wednesday afternoon I have Ongaro here, you know my fabulous photographer from the city? He’s shooting a campaign with adult models for me, and we’ll have everything set up . . . lighting, backdrops, the works. Why don’t you and one of those cute brothers of yours bring in the puppies, and we’ll do a professional-quality pet shoot? The photos will really represent the puppies in their best light. Okay? Done! It will be divine, just divine!” she trilled.

  I laughed and threw my arms around Mona. “You’re the best!” I cried. “We’ll do it, thank you!” I didn’t know what I was in for, though.

  Wednesday came, and my dad left work early to help me and Jake wrangle the pups and to drive us to the mall. We brought them in a huge carrier, and Rocky was pretty distressed, so Matt had to take her out for a walk while we piled the pups into a giant dog crate and put them in the minivan. They squealed and scratched and were generally wild and unsettled all the way there; luckily, none of them pooped in the crate.

  At Mona’s, the adult bridal models had just finished and were luckily back in their street clothes when we walked in, my dad and I carrying the crate between us. Ongaro the photographer was a really giant, tough guy dressed all in denim with a leather vest, but when we opened the crate and let the puppies out, he fell to his knees and started speaking baby talk to them all. It was kind of hilarious.