Another woman who sold yogurt-on-a-stick (yuck!) came over. “There’s a simple way to figure this out. Ma’am, do you have a receipt for your purchase?”
“Who gets receipts at a farmer’s market?” the lady snapped. “That’s enough of this nonsense, I’m leaving!”
She tried to grab her purse out of my hand, but for some reason I held on to it. She pulled again, harder. I pulled back, just as hard. Suddenly, in the middle of this purse tug-of-war, something long and green fell out.
A cucumber.
The lady went white. “What—I have no idea how that got in there! I was just about to pay for it, I swear!”
I couldn’t believe it! Not the part about her being a thief—that was totally believable. But stealing a cucumber? Who does that?
Big, bearded Isaac walked up to her. “Ma’am? We don’t want to make a big deal out of this. You are free to go.” He slowly, gently put his hand on her shoulder. “But if you ever come back to our market again, we will be forced to call the police.”
Without another word, the lady grabbed her purse and ran.
Isaac bent down and scratched Abby’s head. “She works hard for her cookies, eh?”
“I guess so,” I said.
What I was actually thinking was:
She works hard to fight crime.
“HOLD ON A SEC,” said my dad. “You think Abby chased some lady clear across the farmer’s market because she knew the lady was a thief?” It was later that night, and we were just sitting down to dinner. My dad looked at me like he wanted to believe me, but just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I answered. “I mean, yeah, she was perfectly happy to eat the cookies once she got there, but somehow she knew what that lady was up to.”
My dad laughed. “Okay, Jimmy. Whatever you say.”
Misty, my older sister, helped herself to a piece of chicken, which wasn’t easy, considering she was also texting and scrolling through her music at the same time.
PROFILE UPDATE
Name: Misty Bishop
Age: That really obnoxious age where everything she does is annoying (which is pretty much any age, by the way)
Occupation: Sister, Buyer of Stuff
Interests: Her phone, her boyfriend Jarrod
FACT: It’s amazing what a person can do with one hand, as long as that hand is attached to a phone.
“Jimmy!” she said, really loudly since she had headphones on. “I just got a text from Jarrod. He says Baxter told Chad that you’re joining the lacrosse team?” Jarrod Knight was Misty’s boyfriend, and Chad was Jarrod’s little brother.
“Yeah, I am,” I confirmed. “First practice is tomorrow.”
“Isn’t it awesome?” my dad said, beaming.
Misty snorted. “Just don’t get yourself killed.”
“I won’t,” I said, trying to snort back.
Suddenly there was a scream from the front door.
“NOOOOOOO!!!!”
That was my mom, who’d just gotten home from yoga.
We heard it again: “NOOOOOOO!!!!”
The three of us at the kitchen table looked at one another.
“Uh-oh,” said my dad.
My first thought was to look down to see if Abby was under the table, where she usually hangs out during dinner. She wasn’t.
“Double uh-oh,” I said.
Sure enough, two seconds later Abby came flying into the room with something in her mouth. Five seconds after that, my mom came flying in after her.
“STOP THAT DOG!” she screamed.
I immediately saw what the problem was. Abby, who was having a blast by the way, had something in her mouth.
Something off limits.
Something expensive.
Something that my mom wanted very, very much.
FACT: What dogs consider toys are often, as it turns out, the opposite of toys.
“GET THAT SHOE AWAY FROM HER!” my mom hollered.
I dove under the table, grabbed Abby, and started pulling at the shoe. To Abby, of course, this was all part of the game. She refused to let go. She growled playfully and dug in her fangs. I pulled. She pulled. It was kind of like me and that lady at the farmer’s market—but this time, Abby was the thief.
Then she gave one last big pull, and I heard an upsetting sound.
RIIIIIPPPPP!
The shoe came apart like it was made of tissue paper. (For all I know, it was. Really expensive tissue paper.) Abby looked at the destroyed shoe, decided it wasn’t a toy worth enjoying anymore, gave me a no hard feelings lick on the nose, and immediately went to take a snooze on the couch.
My parents looked at me.
“What?” I said. “Mom’s the one who left her shoes in the hall!”
My mom didn’t respond. She just bent down, picked up the shoe, and put it on the kitchen table. It looked like it had been stomped on and chewed up by ten wild cougars.
“This is the third pair of my shoes Abby has destroyed this month alone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. I shuddered inside. It’s when she talks softly that you really have to worry.
“And she also ruined my favorite pair of slippers, and last night she slurped all over my phone,” Misty added. “For a minute I thought the battery was ruined!”
I glared at my sister.
“Hey, you know what?” I announced. “I’m actually not that hungry. I think I’m going to go watch a little STOP! POLICE!” STOP! POLICE! was an old TV show about a cop named Hank Barlow, and it was my favorite show ever. But at that moment, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to make it into the den to watch my old buddy Hank.
My mom spoke first. “Actually, Jimmy, no television right now.”
“Take a seat,” said my dad, sighing.
“We need to talk,” began my mom.
“About what?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.
She pointed at the shoe. “You don’t even want to know how much these cost.” She was right, I didn’t. “And after what happened at the farmer’s market …”
“She caught a thief at the market!” I protested.
“That was luck,” my mom said. “You and I both know Abby just wanted those cookies.”
“Who says?”
“I say!”
“Okay, that’s enough,” my dad butted in, a little less excitedly. He didn’t get nearly as upset about Abby’s powers of destruction. Maybe because the stuff she usually destroyed was Mom’s.
“I’m really sorry,” I said, “and I know Abby is sorry too. It won’t happen again.”
My mom laughed, but not because she thought anything was funny. “Well, that’s just the thing, Jimmy. It will happen again. And again and again and again, unless we do something about it.”
Right at that moment, Abby got up from the couch, jumped up onto my lap, and curled up like the cutest, sweetest, most innocent little dog in the whole world.
PROFILE UPDATE
Name: Richard Bishop
Age: I forget exactly
Occupation: Consultant (which I think is code for “doesn’t have a full-time job”)
Interests: Making sure everyone in the family gets along
FACT: Dogs know when they’re in trouble, which is when they play the “adorable” card. Can you blame them?
I looked at my mom hopefully. But sadly, she wasn’t fooled for a second.
“You can’t make me give her up!” I insisted. “Remember, you promised! And after everything she’s done for us!” Which included a lot of stuff, like for instance practically saving my life.
“No one’s talking about giving Abby up,” said my dad. “Calm down.”
I was confused. “Well, what then?”
“Dad and I have actually been talking about this,” said my mom, “and we think we have an answer.”
I waited.
“Obedience training,” said my dad.
“What’s that?”
“It’s like a class,�
� he said, reaching over to pet Abby. “We’ll go to a dog trainer who can teach Abby how to behave, obey, and listen.”
“How to not destroy the house and everything in it,” my mom added.
I thought for a second. That didn’t sound so terrible.
“If that doesn’t work,” my dad said, “we may need to try something else, like putting a muzzle on her.”
“A muzzle? You mean over her mouth?” That did sound terrible.
“No one wants to put a muzzle on her,” said my mom. “But she can’t just keep treating all my belongings as her personal toy collection. Not to mention the fact that she’s either bitten or almost bitten several people.”
“Several bad people!” I corrected.
My dad sighed. “We don’t really know that for sure, do we?” He patted me on the back in a sorry son, but it’s settled kind of way. “We’ll do the training first, and see how it goes.”
I decided that nothing good could happen from continuing this conversation. “Okay, fine. Can I get some dessert and go watch TV?”
My dad nodded. He was much happier giving me large bowls of ice cream than talking about a tricky subject. But my mom wasn’t done.
“Also, we need to talk about this lacrosse thing,” she said. “If you’re really serious about it, Dad needs to pick you up after school to buy the equipment.”
FACT: Sports that require equipment should generally be avoided.
“I think it’s great,” said my dad. “I’m impressed that this was your idea, Jimmy.”
“Actually, maybe I should think about it for a little while first,” I said. “Not jump into anything. I mean, the season’s already started and everything.”
“Oh, come on!” my mom said. “Organized activities are terrific, and lacrosse is a wonderful sport.”
Now that was funny, because if there were two words I’d never ever heard her say, they were La and Crosse.
I tried to take advantage of the situation. “Okay, fine. But since I’m being such a great guy and taking up a sport, will you guys promise to never put a muzzle on Abby as long as we live?”
My mom, who was tired of always being the bad guy, looked at my dad.
“I bought some Rocky Road for dessert,” he said.
AFTER DINNER—I GOTTA ADMIT, that ice cream definitely did hit the spot—I watched a few episodes of STOP! POLICE! on my computer. Then I headed up to my room to read Fangs a Million, one of my favorite Jonah Forrester books. Jonah, in case you’ve been living under a rock, is only the coolest vampire of all time, in my personal opinion. He’s a noble vampire and only uses his powers to help society—kind of like Abby. In Fangs a Million, though, Jonah suddenly inherits a million dollars from a mysterious relative, and becomes rich and lazy. Then he finds out that the mysterious relative was the head of a crime gang trying to take over all of California, and was just trying to tempt Jonah into giving up his vampire ways. It’s super intense. I’ve read the book at least six times.
By ten o’clock, I was on chapter twelve. I heard a whoosh! and I looked up.
Abby was creeping out my bedroom window.
She goes out the same window almost every night. Back when she first started doing it, I tried to spy on her and follow her to see where she went, but then I realized that as a vampire dog, she needed privacy to do her job.
Also, I’m not all that crazy about the dark.
That night, I heard her growling. I peered out the window and saw her working hard on a hole, trying to get to Herman. Herman was the name I’d given the groundhog that lived under our yard, who was probably just trying to mind his own business before bed.
“Abby!” I hissed. “No digging! Leave poor Herman alone!”
She looked up.
“Come to bed!” I called. “I appreciate the effort, but like I keep saying, animals aren’t bad guys. Herman is actually a very nice groundhog.”
Abby stared down at the hole, then back up at me. It seemed like she was trying to decide what to do.
Then she waved at me with her tail and kept digging.
I lay down in bed, letting Abby do her thing. I had no idea what that was. I just knew that she was always back in my closet, sleeping on my clothes, by the time I woke up the next morning.
“Night, Abby,” I called out to her. “Say hi to Herman for me.”
All I heard in response was panting, digging, and the wind pushing the branches into the side of the house.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU CAME!” Baxter exclaimed when I showed up at lacrosse practice the next day.
“Yup,” I said.
Baxter laughed before he could stop himself. “Ha! Oh, uh, no offense or anything, Jimmy, but I thought you were saying all that stuff just to impress Daisy.”
I was, I thought.
“I’m so glad Jimmy’s joining the team,” my dad said to Baxter. “You two are gonna crush it!”
“Easy, dad,” I said, glaring at him—ever since this whole lacrosse thing came up, he’d been acting like I was a combination of Tom Brady and LeBron James.
My dad was holding all the lacrosse equipment we’d just bought. “You ready to put this stuff on?”
I nodded glumly. When I’d tried it all on at the store, I didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. I still didn’t.
“How does it feel?” my dad asked, as I pulled on the pads.
“Like I’m going to war,” I answered.
“Let me see your stick,” Baxter said. I handed it to him, and he examined it. “You realize this is a goalie stick, right? How did you know we needed a goalie? Our last one just got hurt when the goal post fell on him. Never seen that before.”
Oh, terrific. “All I know is the guy at the store said you don’t have to worry as much about skills and speed and all that stuff if you play goalie.”
Baxter whistled. “Yeah, but you have to worry about a hard ball speeding straight for your head,” he said.
“Wait, what?” I said, alarmed. “How hard?”
Before Baxter had a chance to answer, though, somebody blew a sharp whistle directly behind my left eardrum.
“CIRCLE UP!” a voice yelled.
I turned around to see a bunch of kids running straight at me. “Hey, watch out!” I screamed, but they all ran past me and lined up in front of the man who’d yelled. He wore dark sunglasses, had the biggest jaw I’d ever seen, and looked like he was born with that whistle in his mouth.
“Boys, let’s focus!” the guy barked. “If we’re going to take this championship from those LaxMax bums, we’ve got to stay sharp!”
“Who’s LaxMax?” I whispered to Baxter.
“The best team in the league,” he whispered back. “They’ve been undefeated forever. And they’ve beaten us in the finals two straight years. Coach can’t stand them.”
“Start your stretches!” the coach commanded. “We’ve got a lot of work to do!” Then he walked over to me and my dad. “You must be Jimmy,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I’m Coach Knight.”
I shook his hand. “Are you Chad’s dad?”
“I sure am,” said Mr. Knight. “Are you two friends?”
“Kind of, I guess. My sister goes out with your son Jarrod.”
“Oh, right,” Mr. Knight said. “Well, no time for chitchat now. It’s time to play ball!”
“Great,” I said, because I was worried that if I didn’t, the coach might eat me. He seemed super intense.
Coach shook hands with my dad. “We don’t get a lot of boys joining the team midseason but I’m sure your son will be just fine,” he said. “Team sports are terrific for a child’s development.”
PROFILE
Name: Coach Knight
Age: Around my dad’s age, I think
Occupation: Coach of the lacrosse team
Interests: His whistle
“I couldn’t agree more,” said my dad.
Coach Knight noticed my dad wasn’t showing any sign of leaving. “Terrific. Well, I’ve got it from here
,” he added.
“Right!” My dad laughed, and then headed to the car.
As my dad walked away, Coach elbowed me. “Parents,” he said. “They can be tougher than the opponents, am I right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t have to call me sir. Call me Coach.”
“Yes, sir. I mean Coach.”
I glanced over and saw Chad Knight warming up. He was in my grade at school, but the only thing he’d ever said to me was “Are you in line?” and the only thing I’d ever said to him was “No, you can go ahead of me,” even though I had definitely been in line at the time.
FACT: There are two kinds of people in the world. Athletes, and people who get in the way of athletes.
“Chad is amazing at sports,” I’d told my dad on the ride to practice. “Like, the best in our school.”
“That’s nice,” said my dad. I knew what he was thinking: I sure hope my son turns out to be amazing at sports too. It wasn’t going to be fun disappointing him. Wasn’t it enough that I was amazing at watching old TV shows on the computer?
“So, Jimmy!” Mr. Knight whacked me on the back, which kind of hurt a little. “You really want to give goalie a try?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Terrific! It just so happens we need a goalie, since our last one, Jonny Galt, got injured last game.” He shook his head. “Freak accident. No wonder he decided to quit and join the Quietville Bagpiping Club. I didn’t even know we had that here. Anyway, throw that helmet on, grab your stick, and come with me!”
I did as I was told and followed the coach. My dad, who was standing by the car trying to make himself leave, gave me a thumbs-up. I grimly waved back.
Coach Knight took me over to the goal, told me to stand in front of it, and then started tossing the lacrosse ball at me, really softly. I caught every one. This isn’t so bad, I said to myself.
“Let’s try one a tiny bit harder,” said Mr. Knight, and he backed up about ten feet. Then he wound up and took a shot. The ball looked like a big white bullet as it whistled its way toward my face.
It's a Doggy Dog World Page 2