Guinea Dog

by Patrick Jennings

  “Maybe I’ll take her,” she said. “One of my hamsters died last month.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means my chinchilla needs a playmate.”

  I was getting real nervous standing in my front yard talking to her, and doing so with Fido, all in broad daylight. So I asked, “Can we go out back? I don’t want anyone to—”

  “See you with the G-U-I-N-E-A P-I-G?”

  She actually spelled out the whole word. It took an eon.

  “Or see you with a G-I-R-L?”

  “Just come on.”

  I set Fido down in the backyard. She warmed up to Lurena pretty fast. It was probably the smell of chinchilla on her.

  “How’d your hamster die?” I asked.

  “Natural causes.”

  “Like lightning or something?”

  She laughed so hard I about had a heart attack.

  “No-wuh! He died of ‘old age,’” She made quotes with her fingers. “So you don’t want this guinea pig?”

  “I told you. I want a dog.”

  “So then I can have Fido?”

  Strangely, I hesitated. I mean, I should have jumped all over that offer. But I said, “I better check with my mom. I think she wants the refund.”

  Lurena rolled her eyes again. “I will pay you for her. Duh.”

  “Are you rich or something?”

  “No, but I have been saving some money for a replacement since Amherst died.”

  “Amherst is the hamster?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Why don’t you anagram it, Mr. Scrabble Expert!”

  “Oh. I get it. Good one.”

  “So do we have a deal? Your mom gets her money. I get Fido. I don’t need the cage, though. I have cages. Your mom could get a refund on the cage. What do you say we go talk to your dad about it? He can call your mom. Or does she work at home, too?”

  She was so weird. She and Fido belonged together.

  “My mom works at Try Your Best Hardware. She’ll be home about five thirty or so. I’ll talk to her then about it.”

  Again, the girl rolled her eyes. Maybe they were loose or something.

  “All right. Put Fido away then, and let’s go to the rec center before it’s too late for the Scrabble club.”

  “I can’t leave Fido alone here with Dad. She drives him nuts, remember?”

  “Well, you can’t bring her to the rec center.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to take a rain check, Lurena.”

  She clucked her tongue. “You’re goofy, Rufus.” She skipped away. “I’ll come by in the morning for my guinea pig!” she called over her shoulder.

  I was confused for a second how she could be coming by the next morning, then remembered it was Friday, and the next day was Saturday. But I was still pretty confused about a bunch of other things, including why I didn’t jump at the chance to unload Fido.

  I decided the only thing to do was to get out my bike. Riding it always helped me think. I packed Fido securely into my backpack so I wouldn’t come home to a crabby daddy, left a note on the magnetic memo pad on the fridge, went out to the garage, hopped on my bike, and hit the open road.

  Maybe it’s the freedom to go where you want to as fast as you want to. Maybe it’s all the oxygen and the sky and your heart and your muscles all pumping hard. (Yeah, okay, I know your heart is a muscle, so that wasn’t really necessary to say. But not everybody knows that.) It’s so totally amazing that a bike stays up like it does while going so totally fast, and making sharp turns and even catching air, too, if you can do that kind of thing. I can.

  It’s like when you think about yourself and realize how incredible it is that you can do the things you do all at the same time. Walk, talk, run, eat, taste, see, pedal, jump, kick, blink. The brain is this amazing computer and the body is this incredible machine, and they just run and run and run on, like, fuel that other machines (other people) grow or kill (animals, which are machines, too!) for you. Computers have to be plugged in or have batteries, but we just go and get our own fuel. Our body does, our machine. No machine can move the way ours does. Yeah, there are robots, but no robot can, like, play soccer, even. Or ride a bike as good as me.

  Most of the time you don’t even think about how it all works, how your brain and your body are constantly doing all these amazing things. Most of the time you just think about stuff you’re not doing, or watch stuff or read or do stuff for school or just hang out. But your computer and your machine are working 24/7.

  So what I think happens when you work your body real hard, like riding your bike or playing soccer or whatever, is that you don’t have very much energy left over in your brain for other kinds of thinking, like worrying and dreading and stuff. Which is why riding your bike is so good at clearing your head.

  Even if all I do is bike around the curvy streets and cul-de-sacs of my neighborhood in the flat little town I live in, my problems start seeming really unimportant and dumb. What if word got out that I had a pet guinea pig? Would I be teased to death? Should I just give—or sell—Fido to Lurena? Why was I even hesitating? Didn’t I still want a dog?

  All these questions buzzed around my brain for the first couple of blocks. Then they didn’t, and this is what I figured out:

  It was fun being a kid on a bike with nowhere to go. Everything else could wait till my bike and me were back in the garage.

  15. I wasn’t really thinking about where I was going.

  Eventually, I rode by the park. Not that I meant to. Our park had basketball courts and tennis courts and a baseball field and a playground. Tons of kids were there hanging out. I wasn’t going to stop. I was happy. But—wouldn’t you know it?—my good ole worst friend Dmitri spotted me and started running over. I pedaled faster, but then, realizing he was going to cut me off, I slammed on the brakes, did a one-eighty, and started off in the opposite direction. Big mistake. Before I could get going again, he caught me, grabbed hold of my handlebars, and straddled my front tire.

  “Dude!” he said, huffing and puffing in my face. His breath smelled like ranch dressing. “Dude, you seen Murph?”

  There are members of tribes living deep in the jungles of uncharted islands in isolated sectors of the South Pacific who have never had contact with the outside world who knew he was going to say that.

  “Nope,” I replied. “Just out riding. See ya.” And I started to step down on my pedal.

  That’s when Mars galloped up—Mars, the big black puffball of death. His paws were as big as a panther’s. His muzzle looked like a lion’s. So did his mane. He was as big as a black bear, but only because of the poof. White slobber oozed over his white teeth. And he was unleashed.

  “Mars doesn’t want you to go yet,” Dmitri said.

  “No?”

  “He wants to know what’s in your backpack.”

  Mars was snarling at my backpack. I felt his hot breath on my neck.

  “What’s in your backpack, Roof?” Dmitri asked smugly.

  “Nothing,” I said, though I could feel Fido scrambling around inside it.

  “Then why do you have it with you? Why carry an empty backpack around? That doesn’t make any sense, dude. And you’re supposed to be smart.”

  “I am? Who says?”

  Mars woofed a deep, angry woof, and I felt a hot blast on the back of my arms and neck and head. I almost wet myself. I’m glad I didn’t. No one likes that.

  Fido barked back, giving herself away, making me a liar. She sounded like a squeak toy, but that wasn’t her fault.

  “You got that hamster thing in there, don’t you?” Dmitri said. He was smiling big now. “The one that chased you at recess. Open the bag, dude. Open it. Mars wants to meet your little friend.”

  I wasn’t about to let Dmitri or Mars meet Fido. I wasn’t going to let anyone meet her. It was accidental that she got loose at school, and a mistake that Lurena met her at my house. I needed to prevent anyone else from seeing us together. Especially Dmitri. I would not open my backpack,
and that was final. It was my property. Dmitri couldn’t just take it and open it without my permission. That was theft and he would have to go to prison, and the law would probably have to put his dangerous dog down. I started to hope he’d try.

  And that’s when I saw Buddy sprinting across the lawn toward me, black and strong and fast and perfect. Buddy!

  “Buddy!” I said. What a dog!

  Mars stopped barking and snarling and looked.

  Murphy was behind him, waving. “’Sup, dudes!”

  Dmitri forgot all about me and Fido and tore off toward Murph.

  Mars gave a couple of last sniffs at my bag, then ran after his master. He obviously didn’t want to go. He and Buddy did the dog-greeting thing: circling, growling, sniffing, challenging, nipping. Then they relaxed and started play-fighting and racing around with their tongues hanging out and tumbling when they caught each other. I love dogs. If I didn’t, I definitely would have done the smart thing and gotten away while I had the chance. Instead, though, I stood there hypnotized long enough for Dmitri to tell Murph about my new pet and to drag him over.

  “You keeping secrets from me, Roof?” Murph asked with a grin.

  “Nope,” I said, glaring at Dmitri.

  “Glad to hear it. Wanna play some Frisbee?” He held up a big red one.

  I smiled. “Sure!” I sneered at Dmitri.

  “What about me?” Dmitri said. “Can I get in on this?”

  “Why not?” Murph said. “The more the merrier!”

  No one was playing baseball, so we spread out across the grass of the baseball field. I set my backpack down near me. Murphy wound up and threw me an easy, high-flying toss. I caught it, turned, and threw the Frisbee to Dmitri. It sliced a little, and wobbled, and Dmitri had to run a bit to get to it. When he got to it, he bobbled it, then dropped it.

  He growled bad words as he picked it up, then turned and hurled it to Murphy. The Frisbee went completely vertical, shot straight up in the air, came straight down, hit the ground ten feet away from Dmitri, rolled a foot, then fell over dead. It was an awful throw. Embarrassing. I knew Dmitri would blame me for it.

  “Roof totally threw me off my game, man!” he yelled.

  See?

  Murph laughed.

  “I’m telling you, Murph, he’s got that hamster thing in his backpack right now! Check it out! It’s, like, his pet!”

  “Heads up, Roof!” Murph called, and sent me a perfect flying saucer. It hung in the air over my head a second or two, hovering, then practically lowered itself into my hands, like it had a pilot.

  “Sweet!” I said.

  “What an insult!” Dmitri said. “That was totally awesome, Murph! Maybe the awesomest toss I’ve ever seen!”

  Kiss-up.

  “Why, it twarn’t nuthin’, pards,” Murph said, twanging like a cowboy and kicking at a pretend stone.

  I threw to Dmitri again, a little more carefully this time. It flew flatter and was right on the money. But he still muffed the catch.

  He glanced at Murph, who was waving at a herd of girls walking by.

  “Hey, Murph!” he yelled. “Watch the master!”

  Murph turned to look. Dmitri wound up, took a couple steps, and unleashed. The disc flew high over my head. It was hooking, so it was moving away from me pretty fast.

  Murph laughed and yelled, “Whoa, nice fling, Chuck!”

  It was pointless trying to catch it, but I ran after it anyway. I didn’t get it.

  Fido did.

  She came up out of nowhere, scooting fast through the grass, and leaped up in the air and caught it in her tiny rodent teeth. The Frisbee kept flying, spinning her around awhile, before landing softly on the grass. Fido immediately started dragging it across the field to me.

  “Whoa, ho, ho, HO!” Murph yelled, running over. “That was AMAZING!”

  I thought so, too. I mean, the fat little thing jumped. She played some serious air! And she caught the Frisbee. Like a…dog! Amazing was exactly what that was.

  But wait a minute.…Hadn’t I sealed her up tight in my backpack before we left home? Maybe I should change her name to Houdini.

  The dogs ran over then, Buddy first, because he’s faster. I covered my eyes. It would be just my luck that right after discovering my stupid rodent pet had this amazing hidden talent that she would be eaten by my best friend’s perfect dog. I peeked through my fingers and watched Buddy circle Fido. Fido marched right up to him and growled her weird buzzy little growl. Buddy growled back and started pawing at the ground. Fido pawed the ground, too. Not as much dirt came up. Then they started sniffing each other, if you know what I mean. To my surprise and relief, Buddy did not eat Fido.

  Then Mars arrived.

  “Now this should be good!” Dmitri said.

  Mars joined in on the sniffing and pawing and growling. But, in the end, he did not eat Fido, either. Instead, the three of them ran off together, barking and yapping and nipping at one another, their tongues hanging out of their mouths. They romped. They tumbled. They play-fought. Then Fido chased a squirrel up a tree.

  “So what is that thing, Roof?” Murph asked.

  “It’s my mom’s idea of a dog,” I sighed.

  Murph cracked up. Some best friend.

  “It’s a guinea pig,” Dmitri said with disgust. “Roof has a pet guinea pig! Can you believe that?”

  “It’s the same one that chased you at school, huh?” Murph asked me.

  “I told you,” Dmitri answered. “It was in his backpack. It’s his little pet. Isn’t it, little Doofy—Roofy?”

  I ignored him and picked up my backpack. The zipper pulls were still tied together with my shoelace. She hadn’t gotten out that way. I turned the bag over. There was a hole the size of a tennis ball gnawed through the bottom.

  “Can you believe that, Murph?” Dmitri said again. “I mean, what a total loser. Don’t you think, Murph? I mean, a guinea pig! Whoa!”

  I looked up at Murph. What would he say? Would he make fun of me? He knew how desperately I’d been wanting a dog. Would he laugh at what I got stuck with? Could he be that cruel? Would he go so far as to turn this into one of his big jokes at school? Turn me into a big joke?

  “I wish I had one,” he said.

  Good ole Murph.

  16. Dinner conversation that night was even weirder than usual.

  “A Lurena called for you, Rufus,” Dad said. “The number is on the memo board.”

  I knew what that was about. And I knew what my answer to her offer would be.

  “I’ll call her back later.”

  “I think I have a lead on the pet store,” Mom said. “Rudy in plumbing said one of the owners was in the hardware store looking for some lighting fixtures because the store was moving to a new, bigger location over in Irondale. He doesn’t think it was called Petopia, but couldn’t say what it was called. I’m still certain it was Petopia. He says the new location is in that little shopping center across from the bowling alley. I think I’ll drive over there tomorrow. Who wants to come?”

  I didn’t. I’d completely changed my mind about returning Fido. But I couldn’t get my mouth to say the words. I wasn’t ready to give up my dream of a real live dog.

  “I don’t know if I want to return Fido.”

  That wasn’t me. It was Dad. That’s right: Dad.

  “Well, knock me down with a feather!” Mom said. “Warming up to her, are you, honey?”

  Dad’s expression changed from slightly confused and a little embarrassed to mad. “No! She is a ridiculous, noisy nuisance, and a patently absurd idea for a pet.”

  He noticed Mom looking a little hurt, and added, more gently, “It just doesn’t make any sense to me to keep such a thing indoors, or at all…in my opinion. That’s all.”

  Mom smiled.

  “I don’t think I’m following this,” I said.

  “Well, Rufus,” Dad said, looking confused and embarrassed again, “it’s just that I don’t know if I’ve been entirely…well…fair
about Fido. Since I started working at home, I’ve been…a bit…tense, I suppose.”

  He looked at Mom, and she nodded encouragement. He sighed. Clearly, they’d been having talks.

  “I think perhaps I’ve been too demanding,” he continued, “and perhaps too uncompromising, and…”

  “Crazy?” I suggested.

  He glared at me. I was the crazy one.

  “You think?” Mom said.

  Dad glared at her. Then he sort of grinned.

  “Now don’t gloat, Raquel. It isn’t at all attractive.”

  Mom straightened her smile into seriousness, and said, “Sorry.”

  “Well,” I mumbled, “I don’t want to return her, either.”

  “Quick! Get the smelling salts!” Mom said, fanning herself with her hand. “I am definitely going to faint!”

  “But I still want a dog!” I said over her laughter.

  Dad turned to me. His grin disappeared.

  “Don’t push it, son,” he said. “Be happy with what you’ve got.”

  “I’m certainly happy!” Mom said.

  “You’re gloating again,” Dad said.

  “If I keep Fido,” I interrupted, “that means I can’t ever have a dog, right? Ever?”

  “Rufus, if you don’t keep Fido, you can’t ever have a dog,” Dad said. “You cannot ever have a dog, Rufus. What part of that sentence do you not understand?”

  He can say the cruelest things so casually.

  I glanced at Mom. She looked down at her plate. I looked back at Dad.

  “Be happy with what you’ve got,” he said again, a little more sympathetically.

  “Okay! I’m happy! See!” I pretended to smile, but I’m sure it looked pretty nutty. You know, like when the Joker smiles? “Happy! Happy me! No dog, but I’m happy! I’m happy with what I’ve got! I’ve got a guinea pig and no dog! Yippee!”

  “You said you wanted to keep her,” Mom said sheepishly. I think I was scaring her a little. Good!

  I didn’t answer her. I fumed. Fuming feels good—warm and powerful.