Puppy Power

by Anna Wilson

  ‘Molly,’ I said, ‘I don’t think Puppy Power is going to be much use in sorting out my particular problems. April and Nick aren’t badly behaved dogs, are they? They are just stupid humans who are making an embarrassingly and frankly annoyingly big deal about the fact that they have fallen out of love.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ said Molly, harrumphing a bit.

  ‘Hey!’ I said, suddenly having a huge brainwave that threatened to Knock My Socks Off with its brilliance. ‘You know when you and I had a Falling Out?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ said Molly, sounding like she wasn’t sure my brainwave was going to Knock Her Socks Off

  ‘Well, we Made Up again after Falling Out, didn’t we?’ I continued, without giving Molly a chance to disagree. ‘And we did it quite simply by having a water-fight and eating a lot of ice cream.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ said Molly again.

  ‘So, we could Engineer it so that Nick has to come round to see Honey, and when he arrives we start a water-fight, and once he and April have had a bit of fun with the hose and everything, we could serve them some Knickerbocker Glories.’

  ‘Great idea in theory,’ said Molly slowly, looking at me as if I had just landed from Planet Idiocy, ‘but hadn’t you noticed that it’s autumnal-ish? A bit cold for water-fights, if you ask me. Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m not sure that Nick and April aren’t just a little bit too old for a water-fight–’

  ‘All right!’ I stormed. ‘So you think of something better!’

  ‘Erm, mind if I butt in a second?’ said Frank, grinning like a master-maniac from ear to dirty ear.

  ‘Yes!’ Molly and I said in Unison.

  Frank Ploughed On Regardless as if we’d just spoken in Russian or something. ‘I think I may have an easier and less freezing solution to your little problem.’

  ‘Oh, listen to Frank Gritter, the Guru Romantic Problem Solver!’ Molly crowed. ‘Sorry, Frank, I had forgotten that you were such an Expert in helping people with their love lives. You’ve learned it all from your in-depth studies of Romeo and Juliet, I suppose?’

  Frank narrowed his eyes at Molly. ‘If you’re not interested in what I’ve got to say, then fine,’ he said in an I-don’t-care-what-you-think manner of speaking.

  A tiny light bulb of interest went on inside my head and I thought, Maybe Frank has come up with a Masterly Plan of his own!

  ‘What have you got to say then?’ I asked, as if I didn’t really want to know.

  Frank carried on being a devil who couldn’t care less. ‘No, no, it’s quite clear that you don’t need me to interfere in one of your Masterly Plans. I mean, who am I – a mere boy – to offer you assistance?’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Frank Gritter, spit it out!’ Molly said in her most fiercesome-ist tone of talking.

  Frank raised one of his eyebrows in the James Bond-ish manner he sometimes has and said, ‘No, it’s OK. Actually, the more I come to think of it, no woman could possibly understand the brilliance of my idea.’

  ‘What in the high heavens do you know about what women can and can’t understand–?’ Molly started in her indignatious way, but I cut in quickly:

  ‘Come on, Molly. It is quite obvious that Frank Gritter does not know his armpit from his elbow – in other words, he has not one iota of an idea of what he is talking about. Let’s go home.’

  I couldn’t help wondering though . . .

  I was still wondering when I got home, to find Mum was already there, and was unpacking some severely interesting-looking shopping bags.

  ‘I thought we were overdue for a girls’ night in,’ Mum said, giving me a hug. Honey bounded up and licked me on the hand.

  ‘Great,’ I said, ESPYING some popcorn and marshmallows peeking out of the top of the bags.

  If it hadn’t been for the interesting-looking shopping bags, I might have had something else to say about the basic CONCEPT of a Girls’ Night In. Frankly I am always having girls’ nights in, as that is what life as a ten-year-old is all about, it seems, i.e. I am a girl and I am always in at night because I am apparently too young to go out (unless you count going round to Molly’s house, which is hardly going out as we always stay in). My sister April can go GALLIVANTING about till all hours, flicking her long blonde hair and snogging her boyfriend (well, when she has one) while I have to stay in and do MARATHON-STYLE homework sessions and go to bed early. Not that I would prefer to be flicking my hair and I certainly would NOT be snogging anyone, all of which is a certifiably INSANE waste of a good night out, it seems to me. If I could go out gallivanting, I would take Molly with me and we would eat pizza and chips and ice cream and watch three films in a row and stay up till at least midnight and generally PAINT THE TOWN RED. (Although we might get arrested for that last bit, as that can, I think, be classed as a crime of a graffiti-ing-type nature.)

  ‘Do you want to ask Molly to join us?’ Mum asked.

  I pulled a fed-up face, which is when my mouth goes tight and ski-whiff and I frown a bit. ‘No. She’s too busy learning how to wash her dogs on Puppy Power or something.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mum.

  ‘Er – is April joining us?’ I asked a bit warily. I didn’t really want to spend an evening with the Wailing Monster of the Black Lagoon, even if I did feel a bit sorry for her. She had hardly spoken a word or eaten a thing since seeing Nick with the Bottom Shuffler, and even though Nick kept phoning and asking to speak to her, she wouldn’t talk to him.

  Mum proceeded to unload the kind of PLETHORA of goodies (in other words, monster-mega-huge amounts) that are normally associated with birthdays or Christmasses.

  ‘No, she’s having a Girls’ Night Out actually,’ Mum said. ‘Girls always stick together when they’ve got boyfriend trouble –’ Thanks, Mum – Information Overload! I do not want to talk about Boyfriend Trouble.

  ‘– I thought you and I could do with spending some quality mother-and-daughter time together, that’s all.’ Then she added: ‘By the way, I saw Frank today.’

  And she winked.

  Why, oh why, had everyone started winking at me all the time! First Frank, now Mum . . . And why did she have to wink after saying Frank’s name? Argh! Mortification Level one thousand and thirteen! Thank the high heavens that Molly wasn’t coming round for this famous Girls’ Night In if Mum was going to behave like this!

  I suddenly had a horror-struck moment of utter cringeworthiness.

  ‘Mum . . . this mother/daughter/quality-time thing . . .it’s not cos you want to have a heart-to-heart with me about . . . er . . . boys and stuff, is it?’ I asked.

  Mum laughed. (At least she didn’t look sad any more.) ‘No! Why would I want to waste a perfectly good girls’ night in talking about something as boring as that?’ she asked.

  Phew.

  ‘So what’s with all the treats then?’ I asked.

  ‘Because I thought you might like to watch . . . this!’ Mum cried, pulling out one more item with a flourishy hand movement. ‘Ta-daaa!’ she sang out.

  It was a DVD. With a picture on the cover of the most gorgeousest golden Labrador ever in the entire universe (well, OK, not as GORGEOUSLY SCRUMPTULICIOUS as Honey) and she was surrounded by smaller and just as cute and delumptious PUPPIES!

  Oh. My. Goodness.

  ‘Don’t get too excited,’ Mum said. But she was grinning like an over-excited loop-the-loop loony insane person herself.

  ‘Eeeee!’ I yelled and launched myself at Mum, knocking packets of crisps and popcorn flying in all directions. Mostly in the direction of Honey, as it happened.

  ‘I don’t know what you’ve been saying to Frank,’ Mum said, looking at me with narrowed eyes, but still smiling, ‘but he said he thought we’d enjoy watching this.’

  I almost gasped aloud. Was this the Masterly Plan that Frank had tried to tell me about that afternoon? Maybe, just maybe, that boy was OK after all.

  Mum and I got ourselves comfy. We put a big bowl of popcorn on the little table in front of us. Then we dimmed the light
s, sat back with our mini-tubs of toffee-fudge ice cream and relaxed. Mum put the DVD on and I snuggled up to her. She kind of sighed and hugged me tight with her free arm. ‘This is great, Summer. We must have more nights like this before you get too old and sophisticated,’ she said.

  But my eyes were already fixated one hundred and ten per cent on the screen. There were all kinds of tips and hints about talking to breeders and finding the right male dog for your female dog to have puppies with. The narrator was a breeder who had shown her dogs at Crufts and other mega-important shows like that all over the world. She talked to the camera about her dogs and she also interviewed a vet.

  ‘He’s not as nice as Nick, is he?’ I said to Mum.

  ‘Hmm,’ she said, sadly.

  Then I felt a bit sad too, thinking that Nick might never be our vet again. But soon the DVD got more exciting, and I got distractivated away from my sad thoughts – thank the high heavens for that.

  The vet was talking about how to prepare the whelping box, which is basically the bed in which the puppies will be born and spend the first few weeks of their life.

  ‘It doesn’t look like they need that much space to start with, does it?’ said Mum. ‘Hey, Honey – do you want to be a mummy?’ she added, ruffling Honey’s fur.

  My heart did a leapy thing as if it was trying to escape out through my mouth. I choked on my popcorn which was probably a good thing – otherwise I might have SQUALED with excitement. I had to stay calm.

  The DVD was, I have to say, the best thing I have ever watched in my whole life on a telly screen. Even better than Monica Sitstill’s dog-agility training programme, Pup Idol, or Molly’s and my old favourite, Seeing Stars. I learned so much about how to find the right breeder, how to get your dog’s hips and eyes checked to make sure she’s healthy and how to prepare your home for when the mother gives birth. I was so captivated by the information and the beautiful puppies on the screen that I did not look at Mum one single time . . . until it got to the bit where the puppies were born. They were so unbelievably tiny and so squidgy and snuffly that I was overwhelmingly transfixated.

  ‘Oooh! Ahhh! They are SOOOOO cute!’ I said, and turned to look at Mum.

  First of all I thought she looked cross. Her face was pink and she was sort of frowning at the telly. Then I thought, Oh no, she is going to say that this DVD was the worst idea in the world and that Frank is a stupid idiot der-brain for lending it to us and that there is no way in one hundred thousand million zillion years that Honey will ever have–

  ‘Oh, Summer,’ Mum said quietly.

  ‘Ye-es,’ I answered, also quietly, and trying not to look at Mum. I was waiting for the worst.

  ‘Darling,’ she said, sniffing a bit, ‘you know I said that I wasn’t ready for Honey to have puppies?’

  ‘Hrnrnrn?’ I said, not daring for one tiny bit of a moment to say anything else.

  ‘And you know I said I thought it would be too much work for us?’

  ‘Hmmmmmm.’

  ‘Well . . . this is becoming a bit of a habit of mine where dogs are concerned, but – I’ve changed my mind!’

  ‘Wha-a-aaaa?’ I said in a not very ELOQUENT tone of speaking.

  ‘I just can’t resist those little babies,’ said Mum stroking Honey’s head as she watched the pups on the screen.

  I threw my arms around Mum and hugged her tight. ‘Yiiippppeeee!’ I cried. ‘Mum -you’ve just made my dreams come true!’

  Honey was going to be a MUMMY!

  The next day I found myself doing a very unusual thing. I ran up to Frank outside school and tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Wotcha, Juliet!’ he said, turning round and winking at me.

  Argh! I wished he would stop that winking thing. And as for calling me ‘Juliet’ –just because I was grateful to him for getting Mum to change her mind, it did not mean that I wanted to be connected with him in THAT way in any shape or form, even in a make-believe play-type situation.

  ‘Mum wants to know about the breeder you used for Meatball,’ I said, ignoring his unamusingness.

  ‘OK, I’ll get my mum to call yours later.’

  I didn’t know if I could survive a whole day of the nine times table and what happens to water when it reaches 100°C, but somehow I did.

  At last it was the evening, and Mum was telling me the details of her conversation with Mrs Gritter.

  ‘They used a breeder who is apparently an amazing man,’ Mum told me. ‘It seems that what he doesn’t know about dogs isn’t worth knowing.’ Mum was getting all sparkly-eyed, and I was trying not to squeak with excitement. ‘Mrs Gritter is going to arrange for us to meet him this weekend. She says he’s a dog whisperer – he actually seems to know the Inner Workings of a dog’s mind!’

  ‘Yippeee!’ I cried, flinging my arms around Mum’s neck.

  Mum gave me a squeeze and gently peeled my arms off her so that she could breathe. ‘She also said it would be a good idea to get a vet to come along with us.’

  My heart sank a bit.

  ‘But we haven’t got a vet at the moment,’ I pointed out. Nick was, after all, not exactly Popular Person Number One these days, what with April still being totally convinced that he was now Going Out with the Bottom Shuffler. In fact, not only had he not been seen in the nearby VICINITY of our house for days and days, he had stopped phoning too.

  Mum smiled and said, ‘Yes, we have -Honey’s still registered with Nick. April doesn’t need to know. Anyway, I’ve had an idea,’ she said, most cryptically. ‘You might not be the only one whose dreams come true . . .’

  The rest of the week turned out to be a very slow period of time in my life. I could not concentrate on a single thing at school as all I could think about was Honey and whether she would like the boy dog that would be the father of her pups and whether she would get pregnant right away and how many puppies she would have and what colour they would be . . .

  And I have to say that Molly was not one single speck of a bit of help during that time either, as all she wanted to talk about was Puppy Power. One night I invited her round for tea, and she brought her mega-annoying game with her. We were sitting in the Den with Honey, and I was telling Molly how excited and nervous I was about going to the breeder at the weekend, and she wasn’t even listening to me.

  ‘Look at this!’ said Molly, touching the screen of her game with the plastic pen thing. ‘It’s soooo dudey! You can wash the dogs - much easier than washing a real dog, as it’s not messy to do. You don’t have to tie them to a tree and race around with a hose and get soaking wet In The Process, that’s for sure!’

  I sort of winced inside when Molly said this, as it felt a tiny bit like a criticism. Honey had been a nightmare to wash until I managed to successfully and brilliantly train her. I had had more than a person’s fair share of being soaked right through to the skin and bone while hosing her down.

  ‘I’ve taken Fluffles to the shower room!’ she squeaked. ‘Here, hold the stylus,’ she said, handing me the pen thing. ‘Now, see that little sponge? Put the pencil on the sponge and rub Fluffles with it.’

  I did what she said and all this soapy foam stuff appeared. Oh my goodness dearie me, this was the most der-brainish of der-brained games in the history of the world. Fluffles was actually grinning! As if a dog can actually grin in real life . . .

  ‘OK, now Fluffles is all soapy, get that shower-head thing at the top there,’ said Molly.

  I sighed heavily as a Big Hint that I was finding the whole thing rather wearisome, but did as Molly said and dragged the shower-head down to Fluffles. Sparkly water came out of it and cleaned the foam off. It was Yawnsville Central.

  ‘Dudey!’ Molly yelled, and collapsed backwards, howling with hysterical giggle-laughter.

  After washing Fluffles and Midget about thirty-eight times each, Molly finally said it was time to switch the game off as it was running out of batteries. Thank the high heavens. I was getting seriously fed up with those grinning fluffy computer-pooch
es.

  Also I was getting seriously fed up with hearing the word ‘dudey’ so much.

  At last the weekend of Total and Complete Bliss and Excitement arrived. On the day in question I got up extra-mega-specially early and laid out a celebratory going-to-the-breeder’s breakfast (chocolatey croissants, orange juice and the Elements and Ingredients for the making of hot chocolate).

  Molly came round to have breakfast with us. She had told me that there was No-Way Ho-Zay in a million and one years that she was going to let me go to the breeders without some Moral Support from her.

  ‘We have to keep your mum On Side,’ she whispered when she arrived. ‘If there is even the slightest glimmer of a hint that your mum is going to change her mind, we have to be prepared with lots of helpful tips and facts to keep her focused.’

  ‘Why are you suddenly so interested in Honey having puppies?’ I said a bit snappily.

  ‘Of course I’m interested!’ Molly said, looking a bit hurt. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘I thought that Puppy Power was the best thing since sliced toast and that you didn’t need real dogs who were difficult to wash and had to be taken for real long walks,’ I muttered.

  Molly went reddish and almost looked ashamed of herself for a moment. ‘I didn’t say that!’ she protested.

  ‘Well, you have certainly been vastly more interested in that computer game than in my puppy-related problems,’ I mumbled.

  Molly looked at the floor.

  ‘In fact,’ I went on, Warming to my Theme, ‘I had to give up on you when it came to Masterly Plans, and if it hadn’t been for Frank and the DVD, Mum would never have changed her mind.’