Ribsy

by Beverly Cleary

Ribsy finally had to give in and, remembering the breakfast Mrs. Frawley had so kindly given him, he did not mind too much. He would get away soon.

  Inside the little white house once more, his new mistress removed the leash and blanket and, holding out her hand, said, “Shake hands, Rags.”

  Ribsy obediently extended his left paw.

  Then Mrs. Frawley got busy. She prepared a nice stew with meat and carrots and onions, the first she had cooked in a long time. She served Ribsy a generous helping for lunch. Ribsy was not used to lunch, only breakfast and dinner, but he did not object. After lunch he was taken for another walk on the end of the leash, and then he had a long nap, which he needed after eating so much. For dinner he had another serving of stew and a cupcake. That night he was allowed to sleep on the living room couch, which Mrs. Frawley had thoughtfully covered with an old blanket. This was a pleasant change from the pile of gunnysacks he slept on in the Hugginses’ basement. There was no doubt about it; Ribsy, although not particularly happy, was mighty comfortable.

  The next day was much the same, and the next and the next, except that one evening after supper Mrs. Frawley asked Ribsy to sit up. “Sit up, Rags,” she said.

  This, too, was familiar, so Ribsy sat up. Then he hiccuped. He was not used to three large meals and a cupcake for dessert.

  “Good dog,” said Mrs. Frawley, and smiled as if she suddenly had an idea.

  The next day Mrs. Frawley drove off once more in her old car. She returned with a doll’s straw hat, a pair of false spectacles, and a corncob pipe. She put the hat on Ribsy’s head, balanced the spectacles on his nose, and poked the stem of the pipe into his mouth. “Sit up, Rags,” she said.

  Ribsy dropped the pipe and sat up.

  “No, no,” cried Mrs. Frawley. “You’re supposed to hold the pipe in your mouth.” She put the stem in place again, and Ribsy sat there, not understanding what it was all about, but knowing that Mrs. Frawley was pleased. “Good boy!” exclaimed the old lady happily. She removed the pipe and gave Ribsy a piece of dog candy. “My, won’t you be a big surprise!” She spent the evening teaching Ribsy another trick, saying his prayers with his nose on his paws, propped up against the couch. It was not hard to do and it seemed to please the old lady, so Ribsy was agreeable.

  For the next few days Mrs. Frawley bustled about cleaning house. She washed windows, polished silver, and vacuumed under the cushions of the couch. Ribsy did not care for the smell of ammonia or the sound of the vacuum cleaner, but whenever he asked to go out Mrs. Frawley always willingly dropped her work and took him out on the leash.

  As the days went by Ribsy became restless. Even though his stomach was much too full, he still wanted to get out and run. He wanted to chase a ball and run after a boy on a bicycle. Sometimes, when he heard boys calling to one another, he would go to the window and whimper. Still, he did like the old lady, who fed him three meals a day and let him sleep on the living room couch. Unfortunately, his stomach was so full he spent more time thinking about running than actually trying to escape so he could run. He would put his paws up on the sill of the living room window, look out at the grass and the highway, and go take another nap.

  Soon after the housecleaning there came a day when Mrs. Frawley was extra busy in the kitchen. She got out her best dishes, which she rarely used anymore, and washed them. Then she baked several kinds of cookies and gave Ribsy a sample of each. Mrs. Frawley was getting ready for a meeting of her club.

  Mrs. Frawley’s club was made up of fifteen ladies her own age, who lived alone or with their children or in old people’s homes. They met once a month, and this month it was Mrs. Frawley’s turn to entertain them. Those who still had cars and could drive were to pick up the others and bring them to Mrs. Frawley’s little white house at two o’clock in the afternoon, because they did not like to drive after dark.

  At a quarter to two Mrs. Frawley did an unusual thing. She took Ribsy into her bedroom, and said, “Now be quiet, Rags. Not a peep out of you.” Then she went out and shut the door.

  Ribsy was so stuffed it was a great effort for him to jump up on the bed. He curled up and dozed off, and as he dozed he was aware of car doors slamming and ladies laughing and talking.

  Out in the living room the ladies, each one carrying a parcel, were busy greeting one another and talking about their grandchildren. Each lady thought her grandchildren were smarter than any other lady’s grandchildren, and each lady became just a little impatient with the others for talking about their grandchildren when she wanted to talk about her own grandchildren.

  Finally Mrs. Frawley put a stop to all the bragging about grandchildren by clapping her hands and saying, “I think we should begin. Who wants to be first?”

  For this meeting each lady brought something interesting to show the other members of the club. It was like show-and-tell in school, only the old ladies did not call it show-and-tell. One lady brought a Civil War sword that had belonged to her grandfather. Another brought a beautiful shell, another a primer she had used in the first grade over seventy years ago. One lady brought a clay turtle her grandson had made. The other ladies secretly thought this was not very interesting and that their grandchildren could do much better.

  Mrs. Frawley saw to it that her turn came last. “You ladies will have to excuse me a minute,” she said, and went into the bedroom and closed the door. “Wake up, Rags,” she whispered, and when Ribsy drowsily opened one eye she put his little straw hat on his head and slipped the elastic under his chin. Next she balanced his spectacles on his nose. “Come on,” she whispered.

  Ribsy jumped heavily to the floor and trotted after Mrs. Frawley, who poked the stem of the corncob pipe between his teeth just before she led him into the living room.

  “Ladies!” cried Mrs. Frawley, as if she was a master of ceremonies. “Presenting Rags, the newest member of the family!”

  The ladies of the club all gasped and applauded. Ribsy was so confused by all the people staring at him that he dropped his pipe.

  Mrs. Frawley picked it up and poked it into his mouth once more. “Sit up, Rags,” she directed. “Sit up, boy.”

  Obediently Ribsy sat up. All the ladies laughed. “Isn’t that cute?” they murmured. “Isn’t that adorable? Just like a little old man.”

  “Good boy,” approved Mrs. Frawley. “Now say your prayers, Rags.” Ribsy, who had not minded performing his tricks when he was alone with Mrs. Frawley, did not want to say his prayers in front of all these strangers. He did not like to be stared at and laughed at. He felt embarrassed and ashamed. He tucked his tail between his legs and tried to slink back to the bedroom.

  The ladies all laughed. “He’s bashful,” someone said.

  “No, no, Rags,” said Mrs. Frawley, seizing him by the collar and pulling him to the couch. “Say your prayers.”

  With great reluctance, Ribsy sat up with his paws against the couch and rested his nose on them. The ladies were delighted. They laughed and clapped their hands. Ribsy gave Mrs. Frawley a mournful now-can-I-go look and slunk behind the couch, where he brushed off the hat and spectacles with his paws. Then he flopped down on the carpet and felt very, very unhappy. His sharp ears caught the sound of a boy calling, “Hey, Jack!” someplace outdoors, and he felt even more unhappy. Ribsy was a dog and not a person. He wanted to be treated like a dog once more, even if it meant sleeping on gunnysacks in the basement. He wanted to eat dog food and horsemeat, and roll on the grass, and chase balls, and run after boys and bicycles. This afternoon had been too much for him. Ribsy was determined to escape.

  Mrs. Frawley explained to her club what she thought was true—that her dog was one of the many unwanted animals that were dumped along the highway, that other dogs had come to her door and she had shooed them away, but that this one was such a smart, friendly dog, who could shake hands, that she felt she just had to take him in. Then she served her guests ice cream and cookies and set a saucer of dessert on the kitchen floor for Ribsy.

  Ordinarily Ribsy would ha
ve trotted into the kitchen to investigate when he heard the thump of a saucer being set on the floor, but not today. He was not going to come out from behind that couch and be laughed at by all those old ladies. Besides, he was not hungry. He dozed and waited.

  Soon after the ice cream and cookies had been eaten the meeting broke up. The ladies with cars were anxious to start home before the evening traffic. The way people drove these days, they said, it was a wonder there weren’t more accidents than there were. Several guests peeked over the couch and said, “Bye-bye, doggie.” They were wishing their children or the old people’s homes they lived in would let them keep pets.

  Ribsy paid no attention, but when he heard the door open, he edged forward and peered around the couch. The ladies were all busy buttoning their coats, wrapping their interesting objects, picking up their canes, and saying good-bye to one another. No one was paying any attention to the dog behind the couch. Ribsy waited for a clear path to the door, and when he saw it, he bolted so fast his feet slipped on the edge of the floor where there was no carpet. He fell, picked himself up, leaped down the steps, and shot across the yard to the highway as fast as he could go. It felt good to stretch his legs and run once more. Ribsy’s tongue flapped and his eyes shone. He was a dog again!

  Behind him he heard Mrs. Frawley calling, “Rags! Rags! Come back here!” She was too late. Ribsy was on his way toward dog food and balls to catch and bicycles to chase. Mrs. Frawley would have to find another dog to keep her company, and in her neighborhood that should not be hard to do.

  4

  Ribsy Becomes a Mascot

  The Hugginses had received a number of telephone calls in answer to their advertisement. A man had seen a dog that sounded like Ribsy running down Broadway, but he did not know where the dog had gone. A lady had been feeding a stray spotted dog for over a month, and she would really like to get rid of him. A boy called to say he knew a couple of dogs that sounded like Ribsy, and how much was the reward? Another lady called to say she didn’t know anything about Ribsy, but she did have five perfectly adorable puppies and she would be glad to give Henry one.

  It was late in the evening, after the advertisement had been running for several days, that Mr. Dingley, the father of the four girls and George, telephoned to say that he had read the notice and that he was sure it must have been Ribsy his family had picked up in the parking area at the shopping center. He told the tale of finding Ribsy, of the bubble bath, and of Ribsy’s disappearance into the dusk. He was sorry he had not called sooner, but three of his children had come down with chicken pox and he had been busy.

  “Bubble bath!” Henry was disgusted when his father had relayed the story to him. “A bunch of dumb girls giving Ribsy a bubble bath, for Pete’s sake! No wonder he ran away.”

  “At least we know the direction in which Ribsy went,” said his mother. “That’s something.”

  “We’ll let the ad run awhile longer and see if it won’t bring results,” said Mr. Huggins.

  “Bubble bath,” muttered Henry. “Bubble bath!”

  By the time the advertisement had run for three weeks, the Hugginses had received several more calls and gone to look at three different dogs. None of them was Ribsy.

  “Well, Henry, I don’t like to say this,” said Mr. Huggins at last, “but I think we might as well stop the ad.”

  Henry nodded. He could not think of anything to say. He was sure Ribsy had to be someplace, that someone must have him, but that someone quite plainly was not going to answer an advertisement in a newspaper. And why should he? Ribsy was such a good dog, anyone would want to keep him.

  By now Ribsy was back inside the city limits. He had learned from his own neighborhood on Klickitat Street that many people fed their pets outside the back door or in the garage. This made his search for food fairly easy as he continued his journey. He had only to investigate backyards, and sooner or later his nose led him to a dish with a few crumbs of food or, if he was lucky, to a whole bowlful. Unfortunately, most of the people whose yards he passed through kept cats. He gulped down several meals of rather fishy cat food.

  Workmen, eating lunches out of lunch buckets, were another source of food. Workmen, tearing up the streets; workmen, repairing telephone wires; workmen, putting new roofs on old houses—all of them were glad to share a corner of a sandwich or a bite of a doughnut with a friendly dog.

  Hunger was not Ribsy’s problem. He was no longer sure of the way toward home. None of the streets he followed seemed to lead to Klickitat Street. He searched for something familiar, something that would lead him home to Henry Huggins. He trotted along the sidewalk, looking up at all the people he met, hoping that one of them would turn out to be a member of his family. They were always strangers, but Ribsy was not easily discouraged. He continued his search until he came to a mailman waiting for a bus. Ribsy, who had often followed the Klickitat Street mailman on his rounds, was delighted to see someone who looked a little bit familiar. He pranced right over to the bus stop and wagged his tail.

  “Hello, Pooch,” said the mailman.

  Encouraged, Ribsy sat down beside the mailman, who obligingly patted him. That, as far as Ribsy was concerned, was that. He would follow the mailman, who was sure to lead him to the Hugginses’ house. When the bus stopped and the mailman swung aboard and sat down, Ribsy scrambled after him and flopped down at his feet.

  “Hey,” said the driver. “That dog can’t ride on this bus.”

  “He’s not my dog,” said the mailman.

  “Somebody get him out of here fast,” said the driver. “I got a schedule to make.”

  A high-school boy was glad to help. He seized Ribsy by the collar and pulled. Ribsy stiffened his legs and dug his toenails into the floor of the bus. He was not going to go. The boy pulled so hard at his collar he began to choke.

  “Don’t you hurt that poor dog,” cried an old lady from the back of the bus. “Take your hands off him this instant, or I shall report you to the S.P.C.A.” The boy let go of the collar.

  “Wait. I have an idea,” said the mailman. He slipped the strap of his mail pouch off his shoulder, got up, and walked quickly down the aisle.

  Ribsy was not going to be left behind. He trotted right down the aisle and followed the mailman out the rear door of the bus. The mailman then surprised him by sprinting to the front door and jumping into the bus once more. Before Ribsy could jump in after him, the door was shut in his face and the bus drove off in a particularly smelly cloud of exhaust.

  Ribsy had never had a mailman treat him this way before. He did not know what to think. At first he tried running after the bus, but the smell of its exhaust soon discouraged him.

  He wandered along the sidewalk until he saw three girls carrying brown paper bags. Instantly Ribsy’s spirits rose. Here was a familiar sight. Girls with lunches in paper bags were sure to lead him to school, and there he would find Henry. He followed happily along behind the girls, just close enough to catch a whiff of their lunches. Tuna fish, peanut butter, and pot roast. That pot roast sandwich smelled delicious.

  “Don’t look now, but there is a dog following us,” said one of the girls, and giggled. The other two thought this was very funny. They all giggled and glanced back at Ribsy, who trotted along minding his own business.

  Sure enough, just as Ribsy expected, the three girls led him to a familiar place, a two-story redbrick school, surrounded by a fenced-in asphalt playground. His spirits rose even higher. Henry must be around somewhere. After noticing that the three girls left their lunches on a bench before they went off to play hopscotch, Ribsy put his nose to the ground and ran around the school yard, searching for the scent of Henry Huggins. He picked up many scents of boys in sneakers, but none of them had the exact scent of Henry.

  Ribsy also picked up the scent of the pot roast sandwich once more, and this time he helped himself to the lunch bag. There was no use letting a perfectly good piece of meat go to waste when he had eaten so much fishy cat food lately.

&
nbsp; “Look!” squealed the owner of the pot roast sandwich. “That dog has my lunch!”

  The chase was on. Everyone, boys and girls, big and little, chased Ribsy. He loved it. He hadn’t had so much fun since he had been lost. He ducked and dodged with the brown paper bag in his mouth. Sometimes, when he was far enough ahead, he dropped the bag a second and stood panting, with a laughing look on his face, as if to say, Catch me if you can. Then, when someone almost reached him, he snatched up the lunch and ducked and dodged some more.

  Finally the yard teacher blew a whistle that hurt Ribsy’s ears, and everyone stopped chasing him.

  “Here, doggie,” coaxed the yard teacher. “Nice doggie.”

  Ribsy eyed the teacher warily, ready to run if she should decide to chase him.

  Instead she approached him slowly with her hand extended. “Nice doggie,” she said. “Give us the lunch. That’s the boy.” She was so friendly Ribsy let her pet him and take the lunch.

  “The poor dog is hungry,” said the owner of the undamaged pot roast sandwich.

  “I’ll give him something out of my lunch,” someone said, and a dozen lunch bags were opened.

  “Now, children, you know dogs are not allowed on the school grounds.” The yard teacher spoke in a mild voice because, after all, Ribsy was such a nice friendly dog.

  No one seemed to hear her. Ribsy found himself being offered pieces of sandwiches, potato chips, carrot sticks, raisins, and cookies. He accepted the most appetizing bits, to the delight of the givers, while those who bought their lunches in the cafeteria petted him and wished they had something to feed him. Ribsy could tell he was going to like this place.

  When the bell rang, Ribsy went right into the school with the boys and girls and into the nearest classroom, which happened to belong to Mrs. Sonchek’s second grade. He looked around the room at the desks and blackboards and at an empty aquarium on a ledge below the window. None of this was especially interesting to him. Then he walked into one door of the cloakroom at the back, sniffed the lunches and wraps, and walked out the other door. Satisfied with his investigation, he flopped down near the cloakroom door and laid his nose on his paws. He had spent the night dozing in a cold garage, and was glad of a chance to nap in a warm, dry place that smelled pleasantly of sneakers, lunch bags, and boys and girls.