by Kristen Otte
Sure enough, in a few minutes, Lucy wakes up confused and rolls out from under me to the other side of the bed. I am so excited that I almost get up and lick her face when I remember she might take that opportunity to steal the pillow again. I lie down on it with my front paws touching one end and my back paws at the other end. And soon enough, I am dreaming about a world with endless peanut butter, steak, and a friend to play with everyday.
6
A Pug Scary Story
On this warm autumn evening, my family is gone. I am keeping watch over the house. The house is completely dark. Hannah and Nate didn’t leave the lamp lit in the living room. I walk upstairs to Hannah and Nate’s bedroom looking for any traces of light. Luckily the curtains are open, providing a few streaks of light that bounce off the wall and create dancing shadows. I sit on the bed, staring out the window, looking for any signs of life. The nearly empty tree branches are swaying with the breeze, but not a soul is on the street.
The combination of the stillness and darkness makes me sleepy. I lie down on the bed. And before I know it, I drift to sleep.
Crackle, Crash!
I lift my head, listen, and wait. I hear a rustling noise from downstairs. I jump off the bed and creep down the stairs. The noise stops when I reach the bottom of the steps. I wait for a minute. I turn to go upstairs when I hear it again.
Crackle, Crash!
It sounds like the noise is coming from Vacuum’s closet. I sidestep to the closet and peer inside. The darkness is overwhelming. I use my nose to guide me. I smell nothing unusual except Vacuum’s terrible odor. My eyes adjust, and I see her resting in the corner under the coats. The remainder of the closet is empty.
Strange.
I back out of the closet slowly, waiting for any movement or noise. I wait for a few minutes and head back to my bed upstairs. Maybe my ears deceived me. In another few minutes, I am on the verge of a fabulous nap.
Crash. Boom.
The noise is louder and more distinct. It is definitely inside the house. Once again, I walk downstairs and investigate. I check over and under the couch. I check the dining room. I check every nook in the kitchen, but I see nothing unusual. I tiptoe to the living room and check Vacuum’s closet again.
Wasn’t Vacuum on the other side of the closet last time?
I swear she was under the coats earlier. But this time, she is standing at the entrance. I bark and wait for a response, but as usual she stays silent. Vacuum only responds on her terms.
Instead of going back to the bedroom, I find a comfortable spot on the couch. I will be ready to spot any trouble if I stay down here. I sit and wait. As I wait, I have trouble keeping my eyes open. My head falls into my paws, and I drift into dreamland.
RRRRROARRRR.
What is that?
I spring to my feet and jump off the couch in the direction of the closet. I don’t waste any time; I slide straight into Vacuum at the entrance of the closet.
RRRRROARRRR.
Vacuum thunders toward me with her front light blazing.
What is going on?
I turn around and run for the couch. I land safely on my perch on the top of the couch cushion, but the visibility is terrible. The darkness is growing.
I hear Vacuum approaching. I freeze and sink into the couch. If I don’t move, maybe she won’t be able to see me. Where is she? She must be right next to the couch by now.
What is she doing?
As soon as I ask the question, I have the answer. Vacuum’s arm swoops toward me. I jump in the opposite direction and run for the stairs. I will be safe here. Vacuum can’t climb stairs on her own.
The noise fades and stops; I know Vacuum is resting now. I relax and try to figure out what game she is playing with me. She was making the noises to get me downstairs—I am sure of it. But why?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
There she goes again. I ignore the noises this time; I won’t give in to her games. The thumps continue several more times.
RRRRROARRRR.
I turn and see Vacuum at the bedroom entrance.
How did she get up the stairs?
Vacuum moves toward me at a lightning-quick speed. Her arm is outstretched and reaching toward my body. I realize this isn’t a game anymore. If Vacuum gets any closer, she will suck up all my wrinkles and my curly tail. Without my wrinkles or curly tail, I won’t be a pug!
I jump off the bed and dart past her. I run down the stairs and find a place to hide under the coffee table.
Thump. Thump.
She is coming down the stairs.
Thump. Thump.
The thumps stop. I know she is close. I try to lie still, but I am shaking with fear.
RRRRROARRRR.
I feel the suction of Vacuum’s arm on my tail. I’m in trouble. I try to squirm away, but if I run, I might lose my tail. My best chance is to try to rip Vacuum’s arm off again. I turn and try to grasp for her, but I don’t have enough room to make this move under the table. Instead, I move toward her body. I move out from under the coffee table. I know I only have a split second; I reach for her arm with my jaw. I grab hold and yank it off my tail. The force of my yank frees my tail while I lose control of her arm. The arm flies through the air and lands on my forehead.
Not my wrinkles!
But it’s too late. I know it. It doesn’t matter if she releases or not. The wrinkles are gone. My tail might not ever curl again. My life as an adorable pug is over. I close my eyes.
“Mom, why is Zelda twitching and making noises in her sleep?” Lucy asks. I feel a small hand on my forehead.
“Lucy, dogs have dreams just like we do. I bet Zelda was running and barking in her dream,” Hannah says.
“Does Zelda have nightmares?” Lucy asks.
“Probably,” Hannah says. I open my eyes and look at my fluffy, curly tail. I breathe a sigh of relief. I get up and walk to Vacuum’s closet. The door is open; she is sitting at the entrance staring at me.
Thud.
I turn around. Vacuum’s arm has fallen next to her, but I am not taking any chances. I run to the couch and sit in Lucy’s lap. I look back at Vacuum; she has a devilish smile on her face.
7
Zelda and the Pumpkin Bucket
Now that autumn is in full swing, I shiver for the first few minutes of the morning walk. The darkness lasts longer each night, but afternoons provide the perfect walking temperature. I run through leaf piles and chase squirrels as much as I can.
When Ben and Lucy come home from school today, I greet them with my regular round of jumps, licks, and sneezes. I lead them to the back door so we can go outside and play together. But they ignore me and head upstairs.
When they return to the living room, they are wearing the strangest outfits. Lucy has a tail and an extra set of pointy ears. Ben is wearing black that covers his entire body, including his face. All I can see are his eyes.
“When are we leaving, Mom?” Ben asks.
“As soon as your dad gets home,” Hannah says. She walks to the kitchen and grabs an orange bucket. She fills it to the brim with treats and sets the bucket on the coffee table. As she sets it down, I realize the bucket has a face with black eyes and nose as well as a toothy smile.
I jump on the couch. I can’t see what is in the bucket, and I don’t smell anything, either. The treats are probably individually wrapped. I will investigate when the house is empty later. I don’t want to put my paws on the coffee table, a punishable offense for a pug.
The door opens, and Nate walks into the living room. He gives Hannah a kiss before giving hugs to Ben and Lucy.
“All right, bunny rabbit and ninja, are we ready to go?” he says.
“Yep, I think so,” Hannah responds. They quickly gather a few small orange buckets and head out the door. I watch the car pull out of the driveway from the window. When the coast is clear, I head for the coffee table.
Without hesitation, I jump onto the coffee table. I look into the bucket, but I don’t recognize
anything. For a second, I think about ignoring the bucket and taking a nap, but I catch a faint whiff of peanut butter. I can’t ignore it now; I need to try those treats.
I contemplate trying to get a treat out with my paws, but I probably will knock the whole bucket over. I don’t want to clean up a mess. On the other hand, the hole in the bucket looks big enough for my head to fit. It may be a little tight, but it should work.
I carefully stick my head in the bucket and grab a treat with my mouth. I try to back up with the treat in my mouth, but my head is caught. The bucket must have shifted. I move my head over to my right and try again. I get the same result; my head is stuck.
Oh no.
I spit the treat out. I need to get out of the bucket. I can’t breathe in this thing. I try to lift my head out, but I hit my head on the handle again. I raise my head and the bucket off the ground. Treats spill onto the coffee table.
Uh oh. Now I’ve made a mess.
I shake my head and send more treats flying through the air. My head is still stuck.
I stop moving and then try to figure out what to do next. I need to get off this coffee table and onto solid ground. I creep to the edge of the table. If I turn my head down, I can see a little bit of the ground. The jump itself will be easy, but I worry about my bucket head. I go for it anyway.
I jump to the ground and land safely. As I land, the bucket shifts on my head and the treats splatter to the ground, hitting my head on the way. I’m glad I have all the wrinkles and extra skin to cushion me against the impact. I barely feel the treats smacking my head.
But now what?
I blindly walk around the room, unsure where to go. I can’t see where I am heading; I only have a glimmer of the floor. I don’t know what to do, and it doesn’t help that my memory isn’t as good as I hoped. I keep running into things—the couch, the chair, and a lamp. I need a plan. If I got my head in the bucket, I have to be able to get it out. I need some leverage, a way to wedge the bucket so I can get my head out.
The lamp!
I walk in the direction of the door and find my way to the pole lamp. I wedge the bucket onto one side of the lamp. I back up, trying to free my head. I feel my head slipping through, so I pull back even harder. But I pull too hard, and the lamp falls toward me. Somehow, I manage to shimmy out of the way as it crashes to the floor in front of the door.
I know I am in deep trouble now. Not only is a bucket on my head with treats covering the coffee table and floor, but I knocked the lamp over and blocked the front door. Maybe I deserve to have this bucket on my head. I wander to the rug in the living room and lie down. I try to fall asleep, but I can’t get comfortable. So I lie and wait.
While I wait, I think about all the adventures in the past year. I figured out the leaf piles and made friends with Tucker, Whitney, and Squeaks. I conquered the skate park. I survived the big move to our new home. I even managed to live with Vacuum. But now, I’m going to let an orange bucket get the best of me?
I don’t think so.
An idea strikes. I need to get on the couch. I walk over to the couch and back up a few steps. I make the jump with the bucket bouncing on my head. There is no candy left in it now. I miscalculate my jump and smash into the side of the couch. I fall back. I get back up and lift off again. This time, I land on the couch. I creep to the edge of it.
I lean my bucket head over the edge and start shaking. I shake as hard as I can, and the bucket bounces all over my head. I ignore the faint pain and keep shaking. Then I feel it—the sweet feeling of freedom as the bucket flies off my head. It lands on the floor and slides to the other side of the room.
I sit down, panting. My head throbs a bit. The room is a mess. But the bucket is gone. I hear a car door slam. I jump to the floor and grab one of the treats. I tear it open and eat it. It’s peanut butter mixed with something even more delicious. I savor the treat, even if it isn’t worth the trouble it caused. It’s too late to clean up, so I sit down. The door opens a crack until it hits the lamp. Hannah peers inside.
“Why won’t this door open?” Hannah says. Ben looks in the front window at the living room.
“Um, Mom, you might want to look at this,” he says. Hannah walks to the window.
“Oh my, what a mess! What did Zelda do?” she says. “Let’s go in the back door.” A minute later, the family walks into the house.
“Zelda, what did you do?” Nate asks as they walk into the disaster zone. I just stare at him with my big, beady pug eyes. “I guess you wanted some candy.”
“Looks like she knocked over the lamp,” Hannah says.
“How on earth did she do that? Crazy pug.” Nate replies.
“Who knows? She is full of secrets,” Hannah says. “C’mon, Ben and Lucy, help us clean up the candy before Zelda gets sick from eating it.” Ben and Lucy start picking up the treats and putting them back in the smiling orange bucket. After the floor is cleaned up, Lucy walks over and pets my head. It feels so good. Then she whispers in my ear.
“I’ll give you candy whenever you want it,” Lucy says. She shows me a treat hidden in her hand. “C’mon, follow me.” She walks up the stairs to her room. Once we are alone, she hands me the treat. I lick her face, then I dig in.
8
Zelda and the Missing Milk-Bone
Now that the leaves are missing from the trees, I have been spending time outside in the yard before the white stuff covers the ground. It is chilly outside, but if the sun is shining I am plenty warm with my pug fur.
“Zelda, do you want a treat?” Nate shouts from the doorway. I run from the back fence to the door.
“Good girl, Zelda,” Nate says. I already know what’s coming, so I sit and wait patiently.
“Good sit, Zelda. Okay, Zelda. Shake.” I quickly raise my right paw to Nate. He shakes it and then bends over and gives me a treat.
It’s a Milk-Bone!
I haven’t seen one of these in months! At the old house, I used to get a Milk-Bone almost every day in the mail slot. I sat on the couch waiting for the mail lady. When she walked by the window, I knew it was time. She opened the slot and dropped the Milk-Bone along with some pieces of paper and envelope. When I heard the treat drop, I’d run to the closet and find it. Sometimes it landed on the floor; other times the bone was stuck in the slot. I’d use my paws to knock it out. Most days, I didn’t eat the Milk-Bone right away. Instead, I would find a place to hide it, like in my dog bed or under a blanket. When I was hungry the next day, I would retrieve the bone and enjoy its crunchy goodness.
One day, the mail lady turned into a mailman and the Milk-Bones stopped appearing in the mail slot. I was depressed about it for weeks, but eventually I forgot all about the mail lady and the mail slot. Until now.
Once again, I have a Milk-Bone. I grab it with my mouth and walk away. I look around the living room, searching for the perfect spot to hide it. I need to keep it safe until I need a late-night snack.
With Hannah and Lucy in the living room, I decide it is a better idea to hide the bone upstairs. I walk upstairs into Lucy’s room. Her bed is a mess with blankets and pillows everywhere.
Perfect.
I jump onto the bed and dig for the best hiding spot. With the blankets out of the way, I lay the Milk-Bone on the bed. I drag the blankets over it. I take a step back. I can smell the bone, but I can’t see it. That will do.
I jump off the bed and run downstairs. I find a toy and play tug-of-war with Lucy. A few minutes later, I grow tired and cuddle up on the couch next to Hannah. I fall asleep.
When I wake up, I am starving. I take a walk to the food bowl and have a few bites when I remember the Milk-Bone. I run upstairs to Lucy’s room. The lights are out; she is already asleep. I jump on the bed, careful not to wake her. I nuzzle my way under the covers toward the bottom of the bed where I left the Milk-Bone. I begin to suspect it is missing when I smell nothing. Sure enough, it’s gone. Disappointed and frustrated, I decide to go to bed. I curl up with Lucy and fall asleep.
/>
The next day I wake up recharged and refreshed. It’s not the first time I’ve lost a toy or bone. I’m sure I will get another one. I will have to find a better hiding spot for it.
My day passes like many others. I go for a walk in the neighborhood and a romp in the backyard with Lucy and Ben. When I come inside, Lucy walks to the treat cabinet.
“Do you want a treat, Zelda?” she asks. I wait patiently as she pulls a Milk-Bone out of a box and hands it to me.
“Here you go,” she says. I grab it and run to the living room. Today, the living room is empty and perfect for milk-bone hiding. I bury it in the blanket on the couch. When I finish burying it, Lucy is staring at me. I ignore her stares and find a blue Nylabone to chew.
The evening passes by like most other days. I go for a walk with Ben and play with Nate. They eat dinner at the table while Ben passes little bits under the table to me. When Lucy disappears upstairs, I know it’s time for bed. But first I want to check on my Milk-Bone. I hop onto the couch and move the blanket aside.
The Milk-Bone is gone again!
This time I investigate further. I check in the crevices of the couch and under the pillows. I find nothing. Dejected, I wander upstairs to bed and fall asleep with Lucy.
The next day, I am determined to find the culprit behind the Milk-Bone disappearances. I wait patiently all day until Hannah gives me one in the afternoon. I hide it in the blanket on the couch and find a perfect lookout spot across the room on the chair. I lie down and wait.
When I wake up, Lucy and Ben are home from school. I really want to greet them with a lick and maybe a sneeze, but I stay put. I don’t want to take my eyes off the Milk-Bone.
“Hey Mom, is Zelda feeling okay?” Ben asks. He walks over and pets my head.