Guinea Dog 3

by Patrick Jennings

  “Snapper!” Pablo screams when he’s not coughing up lake water. “Snapper!”

  “We’ll find him, Pablo!” Lurena yells from the skiff. “Let them save you first!”

  His struggling makes it twice as difficult to get him into the boat. A couple of times, he almost tips it over. When we finally push him in, Murph taps my shoulder.

  “Let’s stay in the water. We can pull the boat out of the reeds.”

  “How?” I ask.

  He grabs hold of the mooring line.

  “Like tugboats.”

  He swims ahead, gripping the rope. I take the other line and do as he does. The boat glides behind us. Fido paddles ahead of us.

  “Any sign of Snapper, Lurena?” Murph yells out.

  “No. Do you think the snapping turtle got him?”

  “There’s no snapping turtle,” Pablo says.

  “I know you don’t want to hear it, Pablo,” Lurena says, “but something took your little friend. It was terribly brave of you to dive in to save him, though, especially with your being afraid of the water and all.”

  “I never said I was afraid of it,” he says. “I said I didn’t like it. I’ve been in it plenty of times. I wish you all would hear me on this.”

  When we clear the reeds, I see behind us, floating in the cattails—hidden in the cattails—Dmitri’s kayak. He’s not in it.

  I tap Murph’s shoulder. “Look,” I whisper, pointing at the kayak.

  He nods. “Let’s get in.”

  “Check,” I say.

  My dad doesn’t like it when I say that. Murph doesn’t mind.

  We climb aboard the skiff. It’s crowded inside. And heavy. It sinks deeper into the water.

  “I think we’re carrying one too many,” Murph says. “How about one of us rides in Dmitri’s kayak?”

  “Huh?” Pablo and Lurena say.

  I point, and they look at where the kayak is drifting, unmanned. It’s not sitting still, though. It keeps rocking. As we get closer, I can see why. A hand is holding on to it. Dmitri’s hand. He’s in the water on the other side of it. He probably couldn’t get back in after he swam over, swiped Snapper, then swam back, the whole time underwater. I wonder where Snapper is now. Is he in the kayak? Did he get away?

  Fido starts barking.

  “Someone over there, girl?” Murph asks.

  “Is it Snapper?” Pablo asks, and stands up.

  The boat rocks dangerously.

  “Sit down, please, sailor, or we’ll all end up in the drink,” Murph says.

  Pablo sits.

  Dmitri’s kayak suddenly rolls over on its side.

  Fido barks louder and looks down at the water. A small, black-colored animal surfaces near the tipped kayak, then immediately submerges again, all in one motion, like a whale, only smaller.

  A few feet ahead, it does it again. Is it an otter?

  “It’s Snapper!” Lurena yells.

  Fido dives in after him.

  Then Pablo does.

  We’re back where we started.

  28. Dog-paddling isn’t just for dogs.

  Pablo figures it out pretty quickly. Or did he already know how? He is swallowing a fair amount of water, especially when he calls out, “Here, boy! Here, Snapper!”

  What is he, crazy? Does he think Snapper’s a guinea dog? It seems more like he’s the proud owner of a guinea otter. I guess it’s a good thing Pablo lives on a lake.

  Lurena tries rowing the boat around us, to head Snapper off, I suppose, but instead she almost takes my head off with one of her oars.

  “Hey!” I splutter. “Oarswoman! Oars down! Oars down!”

  “Sorry,” she yells back. “Just trying to help!”

  “Just don’t!”

  With Pablo keeping himself afloat and Lurena not swiping at us with wooden blades, Murph and I are free to swim ahead and try to corral Snapper. All we have to do is follow Fido. She never gives up. Like any good dog, she is steadfast.

  We chase Snapper to the bank. He scrambles up onto it, stops for a second to shake off some water, then starts running in that funny, loping—yep, otterish—way of his. Fido follows him up the bank, likewise shakes off water, then shoots after him. Being faster, she overtakes him easily and tackles him. They snarl and growl and roll around together in the grass. I think they’re playing. I hope they are.

  I swim over to the bank and climb up onto it. Murph stays in the water to help Pablo. Since I don’t have a fur coat, I don’t shake off the water. I run over to the battling rodents. I’m hesitant at first to stick my hands in between the snarling, tangling fighters, then I remember they’re guinea pigs, and I reach in and pick them up by their soggy scruffs.

  “Okay, that was fun,” I say. “Good girl, Fido.”

  She pants proudly.

  Behind me I hear a loud thump. It’s the sound of wood hitting fiberglass. Lurena has rammed the skiff into Dmitri’s kayak.

  “Are you crazy?” Dmitri yells. I can’t see him. He’s still hiding behind the kayak, which is now upside down on the water. “You’ll break it! My dad will kill me!”

  “I didn’t mean to do it, you big dope,” Lurena says. “I’m trying to rescue you. Give me your hand.”

  “I’m not holding your hand!” he says.

  “Fine,” she says. “Rescue yourself.”

  She starts to row away.

  “Okay, okay,” Dmitri says. “Lower a paddle, and I’ll grab it.”

  “It’s an oar, not a paddle,” she says, and lowers one.

  Murph and Pablo catch up to me.

  “Snapper!” Pablo sighs. “Come here, boy!”

  I hand him the guinea pig. It’s crystal clear that Snapper belongs to Pablo. Murphy’s smile shows me he knows it, too.

  Lurena starts towing Dmitri and his kayak to shore.

  I get an idea.

  “Tell Dmitri I had to …,” I start to say to Murph, then get stuck coming up with an excuse. Why is this so hard for me? “Tell him I … I … I had to go to the bathroom? Yeah. That’s fine. Then tell him to be careful because there have been snapping turtle sightings here.” I wink.

  “Gotcha,” he says.

  “For the last time, there are no snapping turtles here,” I hear Pablo say as I run off, toward the cattails. I’m sure Murph will clue him in.

  I step into the water, into the mud, and slowly my feet sink in. It’s not as oozy close to the bank. I work my way over to the reeds, crouch down in them as low as I can, and wait.

  As Lurena and Dmitri near the shore, Murph says, “You should be careful. There have been snapping turtle sightings around here.”

  Pablo nods. “Yeah,” he says.

  “Oh, really?” Dmitri says with a little laugh. He climbs out of the boat and steps into the water. “I guess I’d better watch out.”

  I swim toward him, underwater, and seize his ankle with a viselike grip.

  He screams and starts jumping around. He accidentally kicks me in the head, trying to get away. I let go and surface. My ears are ringing, but it was totally worth it.

  Murph and Pablo are cracking up. Fido is barking at Dmitri.

  “Don’t be grabbing me, dude!” he says.

  “Don’t be stealing other people’s pets, dude.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!”

  “You knocked Fido into the water!” I’m getting angry.

  “She can swim all right. No harm done.”

  “What about Murph’s boat? You rammed it!”

  He looks up at Murph. “Sorry about that, Murph. It was an accident.”

  “Tell it to the police,” Lurena says.

  Dmitri glares at her. “So whose guinea pig is that? It’s a cool swimmer.”

  “It’s Pablo’s,” I say. “I bought him at Petopia, and I gave him to Pablo.”

  “Petopia?” Dmitri asks. “What are you talking about? There’s no Petopia around here.” He’s practically foaming at the mouth.

  “It was in a truck stop,” Pablo says.
r />   “But I bet it isn’t there now,” I add.

  “Liar,” he says. “You didn’t get that guinea pig at Petopia. You’re lying because you don’t want me to have one. But if you bought it at a truck stop, I’ll find it.”

  “They only had one guinea dog, and we bought it,” Pablo says.

  “You shut up, weirdo,” Dmitri says, pointing at Pablo.

  We all stand there a minute, his meanness filling the air.

  Then he hoists himself up onto the bank, climbs into his kayak, and paddles away.

  “You know,” Murph says, “sometimes the less the merrier.”

  Whoa. Did I really hear that from Murphy Molloy? Forget the guinea pig acting like an otter. This is the true miracle.

  29. The guinea dog chased the guinea squirrel up a tree.

  The strangest thing about this is that the squirrel is the dog’s daughter.

  As she scampers along a high branch that reaches out over the lake, Lurena shouts, “Queen Girlisaurus! Get back here!”

  Fido runs under the branch to the water’s edge, then looks up and barks at her daughter. She’s being scolded by two moms.

  Lurena flicks an angry look at me. “Do you see? Do you see why I keep her in her cage?”

  “No,” I say. “I see that she’s glad you finally let her out. You can’t keep a squirrel in a cage. You have to let her run and climb.”

  Lurena sets her fists on her hips. She frowns. Then her mouth twists so that it’s like she’s half frowning and half smiling.

  “I guess you’re right,” she says. “But you just better hope a raccoon doesn’t get her.”

  “Or a snapping turtle,” Murph says.

  “Right!” Pablo laughs.

  Snapper runs below Queen Girly, on the ground. He heads for the water’s edge, then dives in and starts swimming, otter-style, under the branch. He stops when he’s under Girly, then rolls onto his back and floats.

  I guess I should find all this really bizarre. But I don’t. I’m getting used to guinea pigs not acting like guinea pigs. I’m pretty sure I know now why they don’t act like the animals they are. They came from Petopia—or, in Queen Girly’s case, from an animal that came from Petopia.

  I don’t find it strange anymore that the store turned up in the truck stop, or that it had just the pet Pablo needed, just when he needed it. It’s not strange that it was there for my mom the night she bought Fido, the perfect guinea pig for a kid who wanted a dog but couldn’t get one, or that Fido gave birth to the exact animal Lurena wanted but her parents wouldn’t let her have. Guinea pigs that can catch a Frisbee, or climb a tree, or swim underwater? Strange, sure, but it makes sense that they act that way. Petopia is in the business of sensible strangeness.

  My guess is the store appears when and where it’s needed, then, once it delivers the strange but perfect pet to the lucky new pet owner, it vanishes. Maybe it goes to some other place, some other town, or state, or country, where some other kid needs some other peculiarly perfect pet. Maybe this happens over and over, all around the world.

  This time, it showed up for Pablo in a truck stop near White Crappie Lake. Maybe, at this moment, it’s reappearing in some faraway place: in a shopping mall in Chicago, or in an airport in Japan, or next to a souvenir shop near the Great Pyramids of Egypt. For all I know, some kid is walking into a Petopia in Africa right this minute and buying a guinea pig that acts like a gorilla, or a kid in Australia is buying a guinea pig that acts like a kangaroo. Who knows, maybe it isn’t just guinea pigs. I mean, the truck-stop Petopia had other animals: the boa constrictor, for example, and Captain Nemo. I wonder what he acts like when you get him home.…

  “Oh!” Lurena shrieks. “Look!”

  Queen Girly has gone out to the end of the branch, onto tinier branches of the branch, one of which has cracked under her tiny weight. She’s hanging on by a paw; her other three grasp frantically at the air.

  Fido goes bonkers. She dives into the water, which frightens Snapper, who chirps and dives under. Buddy then goes bounding down and runs into the lake. (Mars doesn’t, because he’s with Dmitri and his dad in their SUV, out looking for Petopia. My bet is they won’t find it.)

  So the strange gets stranger. The guinea squirrel hanging from the limb; the guinea dog and the perfect dog swimming in circles below, barking, one in a deep voice, one in a tiny one; and the guinea otter, surfacing in the nearby reeds, on its back, with a fish in its paws.

  “Snapper eats fish,” Murphy says, looking at Pablo. “That okay with you?”

  Pablo shrugs. “I eat fish.”

  “Ah,” Murph says. “Then all is well.”

  30. Man eats dog.

  A hot dog, that is, and the man, incredibly, is Dad.

  “Admit you like it,” Mom says.

  The adults all laugh.

  Dad hesitates, looks down at the remainder of the hot dog in his hand—it’s smeared with ketchup, mustard, and pickle relish—then he laughs, too, and stuffs the whole thing into his mouth.

  Miracles happen at White Crappie Lake.

  A moment later, though, Dad gags on the enormous bite he took, covers his mouth with his hand, and keeps the dog inside—something Dmitri had not been able to do. Of course, Dmitri had eaten five. This is Dad’s first.

  The guy has really loosened up some on this trip. All the parents, in fact, are acting pretty chummy. Campfires have that effect on people. Even Austin hangs around the fire at night instead of hibernating with his video games.

  The only problem is that being around laughing, joking adults is way less fun than it sounds. When they’re happy and relaxed, they’re more likely to loudly relate some embarrassing moment from your childhood, or to start singing some song you used to sing, then beg you to join in.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper to Murph.

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Why? It’s merry here!”

  I bet he’d love hearing his mom telling an embarrassing episode from his childhood. He’d even get up and reenact it for everyone. He’d happily sing any song he’s ever known, including “Baby Beluga” or “Little Bunny Foo Foo.” He’d happily belt it out.

  Let him. I don’t like singing. I’m leaving.

  “Ghost in the Graveyard?” he asks. “Is that it?”

  “Yes, that’s it precisely,” I say, though I wasn’t thinking of the game. I was only thinking of getting away. “Let’s go play Ghost in the Graveyard. Just shut your mouth and come on …”

  “Wait, we need people to play!” He jumps up on a stump. “Ladies and gentlemen? I beg your pardon! Quiet, please!”

  Oh, help.

  “Tonight we have some festivities planned. A rousing match of Ghost in the Graveyard! But we will need participants. Who will play?”

  He makes a broad gesture with his arms, as if he’s gathering everyone up. The more the merrier. The more the scarier, more like. I don’t want to play tag with Lurena’s parents. It’s bad enough playing with her. Will I have to tag Lurena’s dad? Or mine?

  Several of the adults say, “I will!” and raise their hands, laughing like idiots. Then they nudge the ones who didn’t volunteer, and say, “Oh, come on, wet blanket!” or “Don’t be a killjoy!” Where do adults learn to talk?

  Lurena and Pablo are sitting at the picnic table, peeking into Lurena’s cages. Snapper is in one with Queen Girly (who survived her climbing misadventure by dropping into the water and being rescued by her mother—Fido, that is). If Pablo didn’t put Snapper in the cage, he’d jump in the lake, and, though Pablo now goes in the water, he doesn’t exactly like to. Not to mention it’s dark out, and dinnertime. It’s reasonable Pablo would want to keep the guinea otter on dry land.

  Before you know it, everyone’s playing the game, including Pablo’s parents, Austin, even A.G. and Bianca. Their mosquitoitis must be better. Only Dmitri’s mom absolutely refuses to play. She has a headache, she says, and retreats to the Sulls’ RV.

  Maybe I should have a headache.


  Murphy, of course, is the first ghost. Everyone runs off to hide, giggling and whispering and tripping off into the dark.

  I see Pablo climbing a tree and remember that he was in a tree the first time I saw him, when he gave me the advice that saved Fido from choking to death. I’m sure glad I met him. He says he’ll tell his parents he wants to coordinate our summer trips so we’re at White Crappie at the same time from now on. And he gave me his e-mail address so we can talk all year round.

  I hide, too, but I don’t giggle or whisper or trip. I swipe a hot dog and a bun, and sneak under the picnic table to eat it. Fido finds me. She jumps up in my lap and starts licking my chin. It could be love, but it’s probably the wienie.

  “Down!” I command in a whisper.

  She gets down and whimpers.

  “Quiet!” I whisper-command.

  She stops whimpering.

  “Good girl.” I pat her head. She pants. I break a piece off my hot dog and feed it to her.

  Murphy ducks his head under the table. “I s-e-e-e-e-e you!” he says in a ghostly voice.

  “I’m kind of comfortable under here,” I say. “Why don’t you go find someone else to tag, then come back?”

  “Check,” he says in his regular, nonghostly voice, and runs away.

  I take another bite of my hot dog and feed another bite to my guinea dog. We watch the fire flicker as we chew.

  “It was a fun trip,” I say to her. “I didn’t think it would be.”

  She looks me straight in the eye as I talk. I know she doesn’t understand English, but I swear she understands me.

  Murph returns, out of breath, and climbs in under the table with us. He swiped a hot dog, too. He even took the time to squirt some ketchup on it. I’m jealous. Mine’s already gone. And it didn’t have ketchup.

  “Here, take half,” he says, and breaks his dog in two.

  “Thanks,” I say, and take my half. We both take a bite.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get Snapper,” I say.

  He shrugs, like, Hey, no biggie.

  And that’s all we need to say about it.