“When Mitty disappeared, I looked everywhere,” he continued. “I called the police and my neighbors. I hung Lost Dog signs on the power poles. But it never occurred to me that Mitty would run as far as he did. He was my pampered pet. I had no idea he was that strong.
“Finally, in October, I realized I was lonely, and I thought I could take on a new dog. That’s when, at last, I adopted my dear little Maisie.”
Maisie! That was the sugary tea smell on Professor Wagstaff!
I inhaled deeply to confirm it. Aw, Maisie. She had found the perfect home for her quiet tastes and temperament.
But I didn’t want to join her—not now. I was still a young dog.
Besides, this was where I was needed. For now, peace and justice had won out around here. But like Chief, I had to remain vigilant. Anthony might threaten Jake again. The Pier 67 Gang might find a new boss.
And who could tell what new menaces might lurk just over the horizon?
With a terrible scraping squeak, Mom pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. “Wait one minute,” she said. “Is that what this is all about, Arnie? Have you brought Professor Wagstaff here to take Strudel away from us? I know you never liked him, but this . . .”
Arnie was flustered. “Well, Strudel—that is, Mitty—is the professor’s dog. He paid good money for a purebred puppy, had him brought from a breeder halfway around the world”—
Was this true? I couldn’t remember my puppyhood clearly. But it did make sense. Obviously I was a very valuable canine
—“and it’s only fair his rightful owner should reclaim him.”
Like a dog readying to attack, Mom set her feet squarely beneath her. “If ever there was a more clueless ninny than you, Arnie, I can’t imagine who it would be! No offense to Professor Wagstaff, but Strudel is our dog now, and we love him. It would break my heart to take him away from Jake—”
“And from me!” said Mutanski.
“And from Laura,” said Mom. “If it’s a question of money—”
“Uh, may I speak?” Professor Wagstaff broke in.
Mom took a breath. “Please do.”
“If Arnie’s expectation was that I should reclaim Strudel, I assure you that it wasn’t mine,” the professor said. “He’s a fine, fine animal, and we were the best of friends, weren’t we, Mitty?” My former human peeked under the table at me. I smiled and woofed my assent.
Professor Wagstaff smiled back. “But he’s also a bit—how should I put it? Energetic? I think a young family such as yours is a better fit. Maisie and I are getting along famously.”
“Oh.” Arnie sounded disappointed.
“Thank you!” said Jake. “But I bet Strudel would like to have a playdate sometime. Wouldn’t you, Stru?”
Woof, I said again. I was thinking how much I’d like to see Maisie. And I was thinking of butter cookies.
Thirty-Eight
Later that night, long after Jake and I had gone to bed, the sounds of snapping and snarling awakened me, human snapping and snarling—Mom and Arnie. Jake didn’t wake up, but the fight sounded bad to me.
Since then, Arnie hasn’t come over to dinner once, but Grandpa eats with us more often. Sometimes he brings Betty Rossi, the lady who owns Betty’s Quik-Stop. When she brings me a treat, it’s the premium kind. She is a nice human. Jake says one of these days he’s going to muster up his courage and confess that he’s the one who threw the brick.
On a Saturday in late March, Jake arranged to meet Professor Wagstaff and Maisie at the dog park. The weather had warmed up during the previous few days. The ground was no longer frozen, and a few brave green shoots were emerging from the gray-brown mud.
At the park, the professor and Maisie were waiting by the gate. Lisa and Rudy happened to be there, too, and Jake introduced everybody.
“What is it you call this again?” Professor Wagstaff asked. “A doggie play date?”
Lisa laughed. “That’s exactly right. Rudy and Strudel are great friends. And even though Strudel’s smaller, he bosses Rudy around.”
“That’s a dachsie for you,” said Professor Wagstaff. “A big dog in a little-dog body.”
Maisie yipped, yelped and chuckled when she saw me. I gave her a good head butt hello, then thumped my fore-paws on the ground: “Let’s play!”
She thumped her forepaws in reply. The two of us ganged up on Rudy and chased him to the far fence and back.
Professor Wagstaff was laughing when we returned.
“The old girl’s like a youngster again when she plays with you, Strudel,” he said. “We’ll have to come back soon.”
Rudy and I started to take a second lap, but Maisie was panting so I slowed down.
“Strudel,” she said when she’d caught her breath, “how have you been? Has your forever home been everything you hoped for?”
So much had happened. Where to begin? I had saved my family from mean, rotten varmints. I had protected them from bad guys and outlaws and villains. Just like Chief, I had prevailed over evil and made sure that peace and justice triumphed.
Not to brag or anything.
I started to tell her all that, then stopped. There would be more play dates and more chances to talk. For now, I cut to the chase.
“I followed your advice, Maisie. When things went wrong, I reminded myself to live in the present, and I summoned my hound-dog nature. I could never have done it without you.”
My modest old friend dipped her snout. I think she wanted to argue, but before she could, Jake called me over. “Strudel, c’mere! Professor Wagstaff brought you something. He says you especially like them. Is that right? I never knew.”
I couldn’t see what Jake had in his hand, but I could smell it—butter cookie!
Tragically, the treat was swallowed before I had the chance to fully taste it.
Meanwhile, Maisie laughed. “You’ve done a lot of growing up since I last saw you, Strudel. But in some ways, you haven’t changed.”
Thirty-Nine
It was full-on spring before I found out what had happened to Capo and Pepito. On most days the sun shone. The trees had budded out. The smellscape was fantastic. Out on the patio, Oscar, Johanna and I enjoyed many a pleasant chat.
On a Friday after school, Jake and I were on our way to the dog park when Mrs. Rodino turned the corner and came down the sidewalk toward us. She was walking with a dark-haired girl a few years younger than Jake. Both of them carried cat-sized plastic pet carriers.
“Hello, Jake!” Mrs. Rodino set her carrier down on the sidewalk. “Meet my granddaughter, Pamela. She and I are on our way back from the vet. Nothing serious, just vaccinations. Have a look at that stray you brought me. He’s in the carrier here.” She pointed with her toe. “Of course you remember?”
“Sure I do.” Jake bent down and peeked through the carrier’s wire door. “Oh my gosh—I can hardly believe it’s the same cat!”
I jumped up and leaned my paws on Jake’s shoulder so I could get a look. In the carrier was Pepito, but he had been transformed! Now he was a snowy-white feline so fluffy you could almost have called him beautiful . . . if it were possible for a feline to be beautiful. As for the putrid smell, it had been replaced with a different one, equally disgusting—shampoo.
“All Ichabod needed was decent food and a lot of washing up,” Mrs. Rodino said.
“You named him Ichabod?” Jake asked.
“After a scrawny schoolteacher in an old story,” said Mrs. Rodino.
“How is the other one doing?” Jake asked. “The shy fat one?”
“Here he is, I’ve got him,” said Pamela. “He’s just my biggest-wiggest-widdle baby!”
In her carrier was Capo, head resting on his forepaws, eyes narrowed to slits, obviously wishing he were anywhere else at that moment. Unlike Pepito, he looked physically the same as before. But his formerly arrogant expression was now humble, embarrassed even.
That wasn’t the best part, though. The best part was his clothes—a cloth bonnet and a p
urple dress, which must have been made for a human baby.
“Isn’t his outfit just the most adorable?” Pamela asked. “Grandma let me buy it at the thrift store. It’s just so perfect for my fatty-watty!”
Jake looked at Pamela. “Is that his name—Fatty-Watty?”
Pamela giggled. “Don’t be silly. No one would give a cat that name. My kitty is called Mr. Fuzzybum.”
“Get me out of here!” Capo yowled.
“Are you kidding? You never had it so good!” I said. “Have a nice life, Capo . . . or should I say Mr. Fuzzybum?”
Mrs. Rodino lifted up the white cat’s carrier. “We better get moving, but I do want to thank you again, Jake. Till these characters showed up, I didn’t realize how lonely I was. They’ve been a project for sure. At first, the big guy did not want to be an indoor cat. But he’s a good boy now. He even puts up with Pamela’s special brand of affection.”
After Mrs. Rodino and Pamela walked on, I surprised Jake with an outburst of sheer joy—tail-wagging, jumping, yipping and spinning.
“Strudel, sheesh!” Jake bent down to corral me and untangle my leash. “What’s got into you?”
What’s got into me? I’ll tell you—I am happy-happy-happy!
Not only that, I couldn’t wait to tell Oscar and Johanna how things had gone for the cruel and fearsome leader of the Pier 67 Gang. Not even Thesiger Sheed Lewis could have written a better ending for a villain.
That night Grandpa came over as usual with pizza, and the conversation turned to yours truly.
“For a wiener dog,” Grandpa said, “Killer there’s looking pretty handsome these days. You must be taking good care of him, Jake.”
Jake said, “Thanks. I am.”
I thumped my tail.
“The kid’s quite the responsible dog owner,” said Mom. “I’m proud of him for that. As for Strudel, even Laura likes him now.”
Mutanski grunted. “Strudel’s okay, I guess. Anyway, I’m stuck with him just like I’m stuck with everyone else in this family.”
“Speaking of family . . .” Grandpa cleared his throat. “I, uh . . . have an announcement to make. Betty Rossi and I, well, we’re planning on getting married.”
I don’t know much about this “married” thing, but I could tell what Grandpa said was important. Nobody said a word for several moments. Nobody even swallowed. Was there going to be snapping and snarling? I held my breath and waited.
Finally Mom broke the silence. “Dad,” she said, a big smile in her voice, “that is wonderful news. Congratulations.”
Grandpa said, “That’s a relief. I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
“Are we supposed to call Mrs. Rossi ‘Grandma’ now?” Jake asked.
“Up to you,” Grandpa said.
“Sheesh,” said Mutanski. “First a dog. Now a grandma? We’re like a real family all of a sudden.”
“Just like a real family,” said Jake. “Can I have another slice of pizza?”
“Sure,” said Mom. “There’s enough for everyone.”
The End
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