A Pug Tale

by Kristen Otte

  Rebecca walks to me and squats down to my level. I back away, but she’s too quick. She grabs my harness, so I can’t move. With her other hand, she strokes my head. My defenses kick in. No strangers pet me. I only allow those I love to touch me. I feel my fur begin to stand on my back. I know I shouldn’t bite her, so I do the only other thing I can. I sneeze, showering Rebecca’s hand and face with snot. Upon snot impact, she releases me, dropping a treat before walking away.

  I carefully walk to the treat, suspicious of Rebecca and the treat, but the treat smells like cheese. I look both ways. Rebecca is on the other side of the room, so I take the risk. I gobble it up. It’s the right choice.

  “C’mon Zelda,” Hannah says.

  My family guides me out of the store, steering clear of any other dogs. I wonder if I’ll ever see Chloe, Bella, and Rebecca again. Didn’t I hear Rebecca say something about

  next time?

  7

  Zelda and the Vacation

  “Let’s go, Nate. We are going to be late,” Hannah says.

  “How can we be late to leave on our own vacation?” Nate replies.

  “We are on a time schedule,” she says and walks out the door.

  “Let’s go, Zelda,” Nate says. “Before she leaves without us.”

  We walk to the car. I jump into Ben’s lap in the back. I have no idea where we are going, but I am excited. I love trips, exploring new places, and discovering new smells. With a new adventure so close, I hop from one seat to another until Ben grabs me, pulling me close. I squirm, but he doesn’t release his grip. I give up and relax my body.

  We arrive at a strange house with familiar faces. I cannot place when or where I met the man and woman of the house, but I know we have met. I jump out of the car and run into the yard, dragging Ben and the leash behind me.

  “Let’s go inside,” Hannah says.

  “Are you sure we can’t bring Zelda with us?” Ben asks.

  “Sorry, Zelda can’t go on vacation with us,” Hannah says.

  I follow my family into the house. When Ben unleashes me, I dash up the stairs to explore. The house is much bigger than ours. It has a full flight of stairs with lots of space for playing. The upstairs has a long hallway leading to three bedrooms. The living room, kitchen, and dining room are on the other side of the top floor. Scattered throughout the living room and kitchen are a few of my toys, my bed, and my bowls.

  How did they get here?

  I scamper down the stairs. The bottom floor has one main room with a big couch. The other two rooms are small and filled with boxes. Downstairs the air is damp and dark.

  “Zelda, come here,” Hannah calls from upstairs. I run up the stairs and find her in the kitchen.

  “It’s time for us to go,” she says. “Say your goodbye to Zelda.” Lucy bends over and scoops me up. She gives me a big squeeze.

  “I’ll miss you,” Lucy says. She puts me back on the ground. Ben reaches down and pets me.

  “See you later,” Ben says. Hannah and Nate both give me a quick pet.

  “See you in a week Zelda,” Nate says. “Be good.”

  A week? What’s happening?

  “We will take good care of her,” the woman says.

  “Bye Zelda,” Nate says. They walk down the stairs and out the door.

  I run to the couch in the living room. I put my front paws on the windowsill and look out. I see my family get into the car without me.

  I feel the panic rising inside, and I can’t stop it. I double over and start heaving, trying to catch my breath.

  “It’s okay Zelda,” the woman says. She pets my forehead wrinkles, and I finally stop goose honking.

  “C’mon, Zelda, let’s go downstairs,” she says. I cannot believe my family left me, but I have nowhere else to go, so I follow her.

  Downstairs, the man sits in a big chair and the woman sits on the couch. I find a comfy spot on the opposite end of the couch and lie down. One of the benefits of being a pug is I can sleep anywhere and anytime. Sleeping always makes me feel better.

  I rise from my nap a few hours later with a grumbling stomach. I wander upstairs to my food bowl and find it full. I chow down, eating away my sorrows.

  “Steve, can you take her out?” the woman asks. Steve must be his name. He gets up, puts on his shoes, leashes me, and takes me outside. I do my business before coming back inside.

  “I’m going to bed Megan,” Steve says.

  “Okay, I’ll be up soon,” she replies. Bedtime sounds good to me. I follow Steve upstairs to the bedroom. There is no way I can make the jump onto this bed–it’s too high. I walk over to Steve for some help. He ignores me and gets into bed. I lie on the floor next to the bed and wait for Megan.

  She walks in a few minutes later. I give my best sad pug eyes, but she doesn’t do anything.

  “It’s time to go to sleep,” she says. Megan crawls into her bed. I walk into the living room and curl up on the couch alone.

  The next day I lie on the couch in front of the big window, waiting for my family’s return. They said they would be gone a week, but I can’t remember how many dark sleeps are in a week. I think it’s four or five dark sleeps, but I don’t want to be away from my family for that long.

  I barely move from my window seat on the couch over the next few days. On the fourth morning, I decide to stop sulking. Steve and Megan aren’t as snuggly as Lucy, as playful as Ben, or as funny as Nate and Hannah, but they are sweet and treat me well. I stop window watching, and I follow Megan during the morning hours. When she grabs my leash, I run in circles around her feet. She understands my hint.

  On our walk, a distinct dog smell fills my nose. It’s not a common dog smell. I look to the house on my right.

  What is that?

  Standing two pug-lengths away from me is a gigantic canine. The dog is brown and white, with floppy ears and a droopy face. The dog’s head is the size of my whole body, and the dog is almost as tall as Megan!

  The dog shuffles its huge paws in our direction. I back away behind Megan, prompting her to turn around. She shrieks, and her whole body shudders.

  “Oh my gosh! It’s a Beethoven dog! C’mon, Zelda, let’s go!” she says. She pulls me forward, but I race ahead to lead her away from the giant dog.

  The remainder of the walk is uneventful, but my fur remains upright on my back from our encounter. When we return home, I am exhausted. I find a comfortable spot on the couch and lie down.

  I fall asleep, but Beethoven visits me in my dreams. I am on a squirrel chase when Beethoven sneaks up and snatches the squirrel. In my next dream, I see Hannah and Nate sprinting in my direction away from Beethoven. I awake shaking. I don’t want to dream anymore.

  I get up and wander through the house. I realize nobody is home. I find my old spot in front of the window on the couch. The daylight is almost gone when Megan and Steve return home. I go downstairs and greet them with a friendly bark. We play with some tennis balls, and then I snuggle on the couch with Megan.

  The next few days pass without any encounters with the giant dog, but we have avoided his house on our walks. I find myself enjoying the freedom of a bigger house and start to feel guilty. I wonder if my family is coming back. I go into the kitchen to listen to Megan.

  “What time will they be here?” Steve asks.

  “Around 7:00pm,” Megan replies.

  “Okay, I’ll be home by then,” Steve says.

  Wait, does that mean my family is coming back?

  I run three laps around the kitchen and living room. When I finish my laps, I leap on Megan’s lap and lick her face.

  “Are you excited for your family to come home?” she asks in between laughs. I lick her face again and bring her a toy.

  The day goes by painfully slowly. I wait by the window hoping the car will arrive. When the car pulls into the driveway, I race down the steps to the door. I jump on the screen door; it pushes open. I sprint straight to the car, arriving as Nate opens the door. I leap in the car, landing
on his lap.

  “Well hello, Zelda!” Nate says with a smile. “Did you miss us?”

  I lick his face before jumping to each seat and greeting my family with kisses, sneezes, and a wagging tail. My family is home. Life is good.

  8

  Zelda vs. the Leaf Pile

  From my perch on top of the couch, I watch the leaves blow from the trees, and the squirrels scurry through the yard. The hot and humid days of summer are gone for now, and the cool breeze feels great ruffling through my fur.

  The weather is perfect for pug walking. I take long walks with the family in this weather. In the mornings, I walk with Hannah, and when Ben and Lucy return home in the afternoon, the family goes together.

  This morning, Hannah finds her hoodie and yellow shoes, sits down, and ties her shoes. I run to her and grab the shoelaces with my mouth. I try to help her tie the yellow shoes, but she pushes me away. I wait by the door until she is ready.

  We head out the door a couple minutes later; I veer to the left. Hannah follows my lead, and we turn right onto Edgewood–my favorite street. A canopy of large oak and maple trees line both sides of the street, creating shade on the sidewalks at any time of the day. The big trees attract squirrels and chipmunks–animals I love to chase. The houses are filled with dogs of all shapes and sizes.

  My favorite spot on this street is a light post on the corner of Edgewood and Meadowfield. The light post sits at a popular intersection. With many dogs passing by the light post, every visit introduces me to a new smell. I love the light post. I lead the way down Edgewood, pulling Hannah along behind me.

  Squirrel!

  I spot the first squirrel midway down Edgewood. The squirrel is on the opposite side of the street, out of my reach, so I ignore its taunting. A second squirrel runs up a tree in the next yard on our side of the street. I charge forward, sprinting four strides before Hannah yanks me backward.

  “Zelda, calm down!” Hannah yells. I ignore her and press forward. The tree is a few pug steps away.

  I want that squirrel. It’s so close.

  When I reach the tree, the squirrel stands a few branches above me. I jump up and try to gain traction on the tree trunk.

  “Let’s go!” Hannah pulls me away from the tree and the squirrel. I walk a few paces and sit in the grass, disappointed. Hannah pleads with me to keep walking. I lie on the grass and look at the street ahead.

  The light post!

  I dart up and run towards the corner light post at the end of the street. As I approach the corner, I sneeze. Something isn’t right. I don’t smell the normal mix of dog scents, so I slow to a walk. Ahead, I see the source of the problem. Something is on top of the ground around the light post. I walk with caution to the corner.

  As I approach the corner, I realize the barrier is a collection of leaves in one big pile. I stop and stare at the leaf pile. Why would anyone put a bunch of leaves in a pile? And why did they pile the leaves on my corner light post? Is the pile covering up something?

  I step closer, sniffing to examine the pile, but my nose doesn’t provide any hints about the leaf pile. Walking straight into the pile could be a trap. What if there are thorns in it?

  I decide to ignore the leaf pile and the corner light post for today. It’s too risky. I bet the pile will be gone tomorrow.

  Hannah and I stroll past the elementary school and through the park. I see two more squirrels, but I don’t catch either one. When we arrive home, I’m thirsty and tired. I drink a bowl of water and sprawl across the couch.

  On our walks the next few days, I lead my family to the corner light post, but the leaf pile remains. Since the leaf pile seems permanent, I lead Nate in the opposite direction of our normal route, hoping to find a new favorite smell spot. We turn down Sunbrook. I haven’t walked on Sunbrook in several days. Huge oak trees line the yards, but the lack of dogs causes me to steer away from Sunbrook most days. I like streets with action and excitement.

  While we walk down the street, I notice something strange in the distance. I pick up the pace; I recognize the similar shape. It’s another leaf pile. Confused, I keep walking.

  When we reach the corner of Sunbrook and Meadowfield, I turn left towards Edgewood. When I turn the corner, I see another leaf pile. My excitement rises. Since more leaf piles have appeared, maybe the other leaf pile will be gone. We pass the elementary school, and Nate stops to talk to the man in the blinding yellow shirt. I want to see the light post. I bark and pull Nate forward.

  We arrive at the corner light post, and my frustration returns at the sight of the leaf pile. I sigh, ignoring the squirrel running across the street. I am too distraught by the leaf piles everywhere. They surround fire hydrants, tree trunks, and light posts. I don’t know what to do.

  When we return home, Nate takes a seat on the couch and turns on the television. I curl up in his lap and fall asleep, trying to forget about the leaf piles.

  I awake later in the afternoon. I feel refreshed and light-hearted from my nap. Nate asks if I want to go outside. I answer by waiting at the front door. He takes me out to the backyard. I notice the grass is covered with red, yellow, and orange leaves. I hear a noise and look at the next yard over. I see Don, our neighbor, working outside in his flower beds. He rakes the leaves out of the flower beds into a pile.

  He’s making a leaf pile!

  I dash in the direction of the front yard, but Nate pulls me the other way, inside the back door. I have to wait to test my theory.

  After dinner, Nate grabs my harness. I am so excited for this walk that I run at least twenty circles around Nate before he catches me to put on the harness.

  When he opens the door, I lunge forward, pulling Nate on a search for a leaf pile. There are none on our street, so we turn onto Edgewood. I see a leaf pile across the street, and I pull Nate in that direction. He obliges, and we cross the street. I run for the leaf pile and dive into it. The leaves move out of my way and collapse around me.

  I stop and smile. I am in the middle of the leaf pile. The leaves come up to my neck, but it’s okay. I can breathe. There are no sharp or spiky things. The leaves feel great, and a delightful smell fills my nose. The leaf pile is better than the corner light post.

  I start kicking, sending the leaves in the air in every direction.

  “Zelda, you are getting me dirty,” Nate mumbles. I ignore him. Kicking the leaves is so much fun, and the amount of leaf piles on our route is endless. I walk out of the leaf pile. I see another pile a house away. I sprint for it.

  9

  Zelda and Squeaks the Squirrel

  Only a few leaf piles remain on the tree lawns in our neighborhood. Every day the breeze becomes a little colder, so I know winter is around the corner.

  With winter on its way, I try to spend most of my day outside kicking leaf piles and taking walks. The squirrels are busy collecting nuts in the trees at the far edge of the yard. Some days I lie in the grass and watch them jump from branch to branch, wishing I could join their fun.

  I notice a new squirrel scent in the backyard. The squirrel scents are concentrated along the tree line on the far edge of our backyard. This scent, however, is not along the tree line. I smell one squirrel in two new spots–behind our garage and at the oak tree bordering the patio. I wonder why the squirrel dared to wander into my territory on its own.

  My curiosity takes over me, so I change my backyard habits to investigate the mysterious squirrel. When I go outside, I run to the edge of the backyard looking for the squirrel. So far, I haven’t had any luck, so I begin watching for the squirrel through the kitchen window. An hour into my stakeout, I notice something brown and fluffy in the oak tree.

  Squirrel!

  I stand with my front paws on the windowsill, observing the squirrel’s every move. When I hear a car pull into the driveway, I know it’s the perfect opportunity. I run to the back door. Moments later, Ben opens the door, and I run outside before they can stop me.

  “Zelda, no!” Ben says. It’s too la
te. I dash to the oak tree in the backyard. I am ten pug steps away when the squirrel runs from the tree to the ground. I chase after the squirrel, but I can’t catch him before he darts up a tree. I gaze at the squirrel on his perch on top of the branch, and he starts squeaking and screeching. I bark and kick the ground.

  “Zelda, come!” Nate yells. He steps toward me with a bag of treats.

  Treats! Forget the squirrel!

  I sprint to Nate, and he gives me a few treats. We walk inside. After enjoying my snack, I remember the squirrel. I walk to the back window and look out, but he is gone.

  After our encounter, I name the squirrel Squeaks. I look for Squeaks day and night, inside and outside. I sit on the kitchen chair, staring out the window for any signs of him. Most days, I fall asleep on my chair midway through the day. Today I am determined to stay awake. I sit in my chair, scanning the yard for movement.

  When a flash of brown appears in the corner of my eye, I squint, focusing on the brown flash. Squeaks runs down the oak tree, toward the garage. I can’t see Squeaks when he moves behind the garage, but he only stays behind the garage for a moment. Then he runs back to the oak tree. Squeaks repeats the pattern five times, and then he disappears into the woods.

  I have no idea what he is doing.

  When Nate takes me outside later, I pull him to the back of the garage. I follow Squeaks’ scent to a small pile of acorns–Squeaks’ secret acorn stash. I have an important decision to make.

  Is Squeaks a friend or foe?

  I break for the oak tree, dragging Nate behind me. I find an acorn, scoop it into my mouth, and run to the stash next to the garage. I place the acorn in the pile and run back to the tree. I grab another acorn; I bring it back to the stash. I place my third acorn in the pile before Nate grows tired of walking in circles with me. He leads me inside.