The Second Saga: The Adventures of Zelda, #2

by Kristen Otte

  The Adventures of Zelda: The Second Saga

  Kristen Otte

  Contents

  The Adventures of Zelda: The Second Saga

  1. The Empty Room

  2. The Slippery Floor

  3. The Fenced Backyard

  4. The New Neighborhood

  5. Zelda and the Pillow Thief

  6. A Pug Scary Story

  7. Zelda and the Pumpkin Bucket

  8. Zelda and the Missing Milk-Bone

  9. Zelda and Norman

  10. A Pug Thanksgiving

  11. Zelda and the Stuffed Animal

  12. Zelda Meets Peach

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Series By Kristen Otte

  The Adventures of Zelda: The Second Saga

  * * *

  Kristen Otte

  The Adventures of Zelda: The Second Saga

  Copyright © 2013 by Kristen Otte. All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: 2014

  Editor: Candace Johnson

  Cover Design: Michael McFarland

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons —living or dead— is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  ISBN: 1494424398

  ISBN-13: 978-1494424398

  Created with Vellum

  This book is dedicated to those who enjoyed the first collection of Zelda adventures and encouraged me to keep writing about a silly, wrinkly pug.

  1

  The Empty Room

  I can’t believe a year has passed since my family adopted me. The past year was filled with every sort of adventure. I conquered Vacuum, the leaf pile, and the skate park. I became friends with Tucker, Whitney, and Squeaks; I survived attacks from Jack Jack, the Snowman, and Gannondorf. Although the excitement has waned in the past few weeks, I know another adventure will cross my path soon.

  My new adventure arrived a week ago with the appearance of boxes. Boxes usually live in the basement, but for the past week, they have multiplied into every room of the house. I have no idea what is inside the boxes. Most of them are closed, and I am too short to see in them, even when standing on my hind legs. The worst part is they are taking up most of the floor. My pug sprints are contained to a small circle around the coffee table in the living room. Pug sprints are not supposed to be contained to small spaces.

  After a week of the boxes piling up, they begin to disappear almost as quickly and quietly as they appeared. Nate and Hannah have been carrying the boxes to the car. Hannah and Nate return later, but not the boxes.

  Where are the boxes going? I hope I don’t end up in one of them!

  The boxes are a mystery, and I know I am the right pug to solve it. With only a few boxes remaining in the living room, I have a limited amount of time. I need a quick, decisive plan. One of the remaining boxes is open and next to the couch. I hop onto the couch and look inside the box. I don’t see anything sharp or spiky, so I back up, get a running start, and jump into the box. I land on a hard, slippery surface and slide into the other side. I gather myself and use my paw to shut one flap of the box. I lie underneath it to conceal myself.

  I start to fall asleep in the box when I hear Nate coming my way. My heart starts beating faster as I think about where Nate might take the box and me. My nerves get the best of me, and the hiccups start.

  Nate is going to find my hiding spot!

  But Nate never picks up my box. I hear him turn around and walk in the opposite direction. I breathe a sigh of relief, my heartbeat slows, and my hiccups dissipate. When I hear footsteps a second time, I am as silent and motionless as a stone. Nate picks up the box. But the box is crooked. I slide in the opposite direction, crashing into the other side.

  “Zelda, what are you doing in here?” he asks. I bark, trying to signal my intention to go with him. He puts the box down, lifts me up, and puts me on the ground.

  “It’s not time for you to go yet,” he says. “But soon, Z. Hang in there.” Nate lifts the box and carries it outside. I am so frustrated and disappointed that I lie right where Nate put me. I close my eyes and fall asleep.

  I wake up to movement and voices.

  “We need to lock Zelda up so she doesn’t get trampled,” Hannah says.

  “She’s not going to like that,” Ben says.

  “I know, but it needs to happen. Why don’t you put her in the crate for the next few hours?” Hannah replies. Before I realize what is happening, Ben is carrying me. He puts me in the crate in the corner of the room. I bark a few times, but I know it’s pointless; I heard Hannah’s words.

  I watch the action from inside the crate. It’s chaos. Everything is in motion—the couch, chairs, people, and boxes. I have never seen anything like it. I can’t see where anything is going, but I assume it is out the door.

  I lose track of time, entranced by the scene in front of me. When Ben finally lets me out of the crate, the living room has transformed. There is nothing left in it except my crate, food bowl, and water dish. I don’t even have any toys.

  What is going on?

  “Zelda, we will be back for you in a few hours,” Ben says. He walks over and pets me before leaving out the front door. I walk to the window and see Ben walk into a big white and orange truck. I explore the other rooms of the house and find the same scene. Every room is empty—no beds, chairs, or bookcases. I return to the living room and look out the window, hoping Lucy and Ben will be outside waiting for me. They aren’t.

  I walk toward my crate to lie down, and then I notice the closet door is open a crack. I paw the door completely open; Vacuum is staring back at me. I immediately bark twice at her.

  I am not scared of Vacuum since I tore her arm off, but we are not on good terms. I don’t trust her. I constantly remind her that I am the head of the family.

  Why would they leave me alone with Vacuum?

  I walk over to my crate and lie down. I am completely stumped; I don’t know what to do or what is happening. I go back over the conversation from earlier. Ben said they would be back for me. He wouldn’t lie, and my family wouldn’t leave me behind. I start to close my eyes, but I see Vacuum out of the corner of my eye.

  What about Vacuum?

  As much as I don’t like Vacuum, I know they can’t leave her behind, either. It wouldn’t be right. She’s been with the family almost as long as I have. She is a bit of a bully. On the other hand, she adds mystery and adventure to my life.

  I know what I need to do.

  I get up and walk over to Vacuum. I bark once to let her know I’m on her side. Then I grab one of her arms and start pulling her toward my crate, but she topples over onto the ground.

  Whoops.

  I grab her arm again and start pulling. She’s heavier than I remember, but I have enough strength. After an exhausting few minutes, Vacuum is next to my crate. I tell her to get up, but she doesn’t listen, and after a few minutes of trying, I give up. There is no way I can get her standing again.

  I walk into my crate and lie down. It was exhausting work, but hopefully my family will understand.

  I wake up to the front door opening.

  “Zelda, it’s time to go to your new home,” Hannah s
ays. I dart to her and greet her with a lick to the face to show my appreciation for her return. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  “What happened here?” she asks, walking to Vacuum. “Did you get mad at the vacuum again?” she says with a laugh. “Okay, let’s get you loaded up.”

  Hannah takes my crate, food bowl, and water dish to her car. She returns inside and grabs my leash. I run over to Vacuum and bark.

  “It’s time to go,” Hannah says, coming toward me with the leash. I dart away, and she follows me. I sprint back to Vacuum and grab her arm, pulling her toward the door.

  “No, Zelda, leave it,” Hannah says. I can’t mess up my chance to leave with Hannah, so I obey against my instincts. I slowly walk to the door. Hannah leashes me, and we go for a ride, leaving Vacuum behind.

  Should I have done more?

  The ride is surprisingly short. We pull into the driveway of an unfamiliar house. The big truck is there, along with Nate’s black car. I jump out of the car, and Hannah leads me up the front steps.

  “Hi, Z Bug,” Lucy says as I enter the house. She bends over and gives me a pet on my forehead wrinkles. I sneeze in her face; for some reason, petting my forehead always makes me sneeze.

  “C’mon, I will show you our new house.” Lucy takes the leash from Hannah.

  Lucy leads me through the house—the living room, dining room, kitchen, and bedrooms. This house has two stairways! One stairway goes down; the other goes up. I recognize much of the stuff in the house—my couch and chair, the beds, and the boxes. The house is bigger than the last—so much more room for pug sprints. I can’t wait to try it out when the boxes disappear.

  After our tour, Lucy takes me back to the living room. Hannah and Nate are sitting together on the couch, and Ben’s in the chair. I jump into Nate’s lap.

  “Welcome to your new home, Zelda,” Nate says. Mystery solved. The boxes and I are in a new home. I reach up and lick Nate’s face.

  2

  The Slippery Floor

  After a few days at the new house, the boxes disappear from the floor and provide me with room to roam and sprint and play. I grab my owl and take it to Ben, who is sitting on the couch in the living room. He throws the owl into the dining room. I jump off the couch for the owl. When I land, I lose my footing and slide. I see the owl a few sprints away and try to run for it. But I can’t gain any traction on the floor. I flail on the slippery floor until I finally make it to the owl. I grab it with my mouth and trot to Ben.

  On the next throw, I jump more carefully off the couch and land successfully. As I gain speed, I lose control again. I slide into the owl first and the dining room table second. I hear Ben and Nate laughing in the background. I grab the owl and bring it to Lucy. She isn’t laughing. She throws the owl in the opposite direction, and it lands in front of the closet. I sprint the first few paces and then attempt to slow down, grab the owl, and turn around. My plan fails. Instead of turning around, I sail into the closet, grabbing the owl along the way. I crash into the wall in the back of the closet. I turn to my right. Vacuum is next to me.

  How did Vacuum get to this new house? I thought she was left behind. Do they know she is here? Maybe she isn’t supposed to be here!

  I drop the owl and start barking. I need to tell Hannah and Nate that Vacuum is here.

  “What is it, Zelda?” Nate says. Lucy walks over to me.

  “It’s the vacuum, Daddy,” she says.

  “Not again,” Nate says. “Zelda, leave it.”

  Oh well.

  I pick up the owl and run for the open spot on the couch between Ben and Nate. As I jump for the couch, I lose my footing again. I’m in trouble. I don’t have enough height to land on the couch, but I’m in motion, unable to stop.

  Crash.

  My right side smashes into the side of the couch. Luckily, when I lose my traction, I also tilt to the right so I don’t hit the couch headfirst. I recover quickly and make the jump on the couch. But after taking the hit, I don’t feel well. I lie down next to Ben and close my eyes.

  I wake up later to an empty couch and a dry tongue. I don’t hear any movement; the family must have left. I slowly jump off the couch and head for the water bowl. I manage to jump successfully onto the slippery floor, but my right side is throbbing. As I stick my head in the water bowl, I realize what I have to do. I need to master the slippery floor. I can’t keep sliding and missing jumps all over the place. First, it’s painful. And second, what happens if I slide into Vacuum next time? I don’t want to experience her reaction.

  Since the family is away, I start my training immediately. My right side is sore, but I’m a resilient pug. The first step is to determine how fast I can run on the floor without slipping. I walk across the floor, and each time I return to the couch, I go a little faster. When I hit a slow run, I brace for impact with the couch. Surprisingly, I can run at a jog without slipping. But any run faster than a jog is trouble. I don’t think I will ever pug sprint on this floor.

  I train my body at a jogging speed, jogging around the coffee table, dining room, and kitchen. I have to use all my pug concentration to jog because my instincts tell me sprinting is way more fun. The training lasts five jogs around the house before I am ready for a nap. I yawn and lie down.

  When my family returns, I am ready for a romp with the owl. I greet Ben and Lucy by jumping and licking their faces. I grab the owl, squeak it three times, and bring it to Lucy. She and I play tug-of-war for a few minutes until I allow her to take the owl. She immediately throws it across the room. I jog to the owl, grab it, and bring it back without a single slip or mess up. Lucy takes the owl again and throws it the opposite direction. I fetch it again. Lucy tries to grab the owl from my mouth, but I play keep-away. She chases me around the coffee table and catches up to me quickly. She grabs the owl and throws it again; this time it lands in the dining room. I run toward the owl, but Ben appears out of nowhere, snatches the owl, and runs toward me. I freeze for a second before jogging across the room. Ben chases after me, and I keep running. I feel my excitement rising, and, before I know it, the sprinting has started. I jump from the couch to the chair and then back to the floor. I dash across the floor without hesitation. Somehow I make it into the dining room, but when I try to turn, I slide into a chair. I don’t care; I keep running through every room, sliding along the way.

  When the haze settles, I find myself on the couch resting next to Lucy. I sneeze and lick her face a few times. As I settle down from my pug-sprint high, I realize there is no way I will ever stop pug sprinting. It’s too much fun, even with the risk of hurting myself and crashing into furniture or Vacuum. I need to find a different method to conquer the slippery floor.

  The next day, my family leaves for school and work. I am home alone again, and every fiber of me wants to keep sleeping. However, I have my own work to do. I need to learn how to run on this floor.

  I start training. When I begin to slide, I try to keep running. But it’s not working. I have no control over my paws. I get another running start and accidentally begin sliding toward the coffee table. I stop moving my legs in the hope that I will slow down and miss it. I don’t slow down enough and so I crash into the table, but as I hit the table, I realize I am sliding straight.

  I’ve got it!

  I can harness the sliding to my advantage. I get up again and try sliding in the middle of the room. When my paws start slipping, I freeze and slide forward until I slow enough to start running again.

  It works!

  I try again and slide under the dining room table and then run on the other side. It’s perfect; sliding is so much fun! I can’t wait to try it out with my family.

  When the family walks into the house, I immediately bring a ball to Hannah.

  “Not yet, Zelda,” Hannah says.

  Nate walks in behind the family carrying something big and blue. He sets it down and I investigate, but I smell nothing good. Nate moves the coffee table to one side of the room and fumbles with the big blue thi
ng. Finally, he sets it down on the floor, and it grows as he walks across the room. It’s amazing. I run on it and follow until I reach its edge.

  What is it?

  It now covers up a large portion of the floor; it is much softer than the floor and feels like the floor of our old house. I jog from one side to the other without a slip. I bring the ball back to Hannah. This time, she obliges and throws the ball across the room. I sprint across the blue thing. It moves as I move. The sensation is weird.

  “Here, Zelda, let me put the coffee table back. Then the rug won’t move,” Hannah says, moving the coffee table to the center of the blue thing.

  Wait, what won’t move? The floor?

  I grab the ball again and bring it back to Hannah. The ball sails into the dining room. I run across the blue thing, and nothing happens this time. I slide into the ball and sprint back.

  “Do you like the rug?” Hannah asks.

  The rug? I guess that’s the blue thing.

  I grab the ball one more time and bring it to Hannah. She throws it again, and I run my fastest across the rug. I stop flailing when I hit the floor. As my slide slows, I start running again for the ball. I take it and run back. I have mastered the floor. The new house isn’t anything this pug can’t handle.

  3

  The Fenced Backyard

  “Time to go outside Zelda,” Nate yells. I run for the front door, ready for a walk or an adventure outside.