Strudel's Forever Home Page 3

  “Very funny,” said Mom. “I don’t do that on the best days, and this wasn’t one of those. Amber was out sick. I had to do her work and mine.”

  “Aww, sugar. Take a load off, why don’t ya? Want a beer?”

  Mom took a head of lettuce and some carrots from the fridge. “I need to get some vegetables into these kids,” she said. “Their grandpa’s bringing pizza in a few.”

  “The kids’ grandpa?” Arnie frowned. “You mean your father’s coming over?”

  “It’s Friday night,” she said. “He always brings pizza on Friday night.”

  Arnie sighed. “Guess I forgot.”

  “Try not to fight with him,” Mom said, “for once?”

  Arnie did not reply to that.

  I heard all this from a spot beneath the table. Jake and I had followed Mom into the kitchen. He began to retrieve plates from the cupboard. By this time, I was getting mighty hungry. Any second, someone was going to feed me, right? But when I looked around for a dog dish, I didn’t see one.

  At my previous home, my dish had been made of white pottery, with a picture of a handsome dachshund on the side. My human had washed it twice a day, even though this was unnecessary. Being an excellent eater, I invariably licked it clean.

  All of a sudden, my hunger pangs were joined by pangs of sadness. Even though my loyalty was to Jake now, even though I wanted to do what Maisie said and look forward, I could not forget my previous human.

  Come to think of it, he was like Maisie in some ways, elderly and quiet. He was not the kind of human you played Frisbee with. He never would have balled up a piece of paper and thrown it under the bed for me to fetch. But he had been kind and gentle.

  And he had never once forgotten to feed me right on time.

  When Grandpa arrived, I barked two neat little barks to announce his presence, not to sound an alarm or scare him away. He was carrying a pizza, and no black-hearted, lily-livered polecat ever showed up carrying pizza.

  Maybe it was because I’d been thinking about my previous human that Grandpa’s smell reminded me of his—shaving cream, well-worn clothes and dust. Grandpa walked with a stoop. His face was wrinkled like a bulldog’s. On his head his gray hair was so sparse that pink scalp shone through here and there. I wondered if maybe he had a mild case of mange.

  “Grandpa!” Jake greeted him with a hug. “Look at what I got—my own dog! Isn’t he great?”

  “Sainted Maria!” Grandpa shook his head. “Is that a dog or a hot dog?”

  Frowning, Jake took the pizza box. “You are not funny, Grandpa.”

  I agreed with Jake. At the same time, I would have forgiven this guy anything in exchange for even a tiny morsel of the sausage I could smell on the pizza. Heck, I would have forgiven him in exchange for a greasy corner of the cardboard box.

  Had they brought me here to starve, or what? I was getting really worried. Mutanski came in. The family sat down to eat. I had a hopeful thought. Maybe this was one of those households where the dog eats people-food from the table. I knew from some of the small-to-medium-size canines that this kind of paradise existed. My previous human gave me cookies sometimes, but never from the table. He would have found that idea disgusting.

  The family talked as they ate. One topic was the game called football, especially the team called the Eagles. It turned out the bird on Arnie’s shirt was one of these eagles. My previous human did not care for football, so I had missed out on the pretzels and snacks my dog buddies told me were easy pickings when games were on TV.

  From what they were saying, Jake and his family loved the Eagles. Maybe there would be a game tonight. Maybe I would be dining on nachos and onion dip.

  The thought made me so hungry, I almost missed it when the humans started to talk about me.

  “Dogs are a lot of work,” Grandpa was saying, “and who’s going to take care of him when you go away?”

  Mutanski laughed. “When is it we ever go away?”

  “And if we ever did, you could watch him, Grandpa,” Jake said.

  “I would be embarrassed to be seen with a dog like that,” said Grandpa.

  “Those were my words exactly,” said Arnie.

  “Were they?” said Grandpa. “Then maybe I should reconsider.”

  “Dad?” Mom said.

  “Aw, he’s just a kidder,” said Arnie. “Right, Mr. Allegro?”

  Grandpa didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed his chair back and regarded me where I lay beside Jake. I did what I could to make myself adorable, but it was hard work. I was beginning to get wobbly. So far the only thing that had fallen my way was a lettuce leaf, and a lettuce leaf is not sustaining.

  “What time did you feed Killer, here?” Grandpa asked. “He looks peaked.”

  “Jake?” his mom said.

  “Feed him?” Jake repeated. “Oh gosh—I didn’t! I guess I figured he ate at the shelter.”

  “You need to eat more than once a day, and so does he,” said Mom. “He must be starving.”

  I am! I am! I am!

  “I told you he wasn’t responsible enough to have a dog,” said Mutanski.

  Jake stood up. “Where’s his food, Mom?”

  Yesss! My mouth watered, and I would’ve spun around and wagged my tail—except I was too weak.

  Mom’s face fell. “Uh-oh. My turn to be embarrassed. The pet aisle is not on my usual grocery route. I completely forgot to buy dog food.”

  Mutanski snorted and rolled her eyes. “I should’ve known. Mom’s not responsible enough for a dog either.”

  “Oh, pipe down,” said Mom. “I’ll pick up dog food tomorrow when I’m out. As for tonight, we can just make do. There has to be something around here a dog can eat.”

  “I don’t think pizza’s good for him,” Jake said.

  Yes, it is! I jumped up and put my paws on his chair. Trust me! Pizza is good for dogs! Good, good, good!

  “Well, I hope you don’t expect me to share,” said Arnie, and he took the last piece from the box.

  Seven

  My first dinner in my new home was not prepared by Chef Pierre. It was not premium dog food. It was not even cheap kibble like they served at the shelter. My first dinner in my new home was Lucky Charms cereal. It is sweet and crunchy, all right, but it doesn’t fill you up the way dog food does. And those tasty little marshmallows get stuck in your teeth.

  I ate three bowlfuls.

  But my hound-dog digestion was never built for so many artificial colors and flavors. In the middle of the night my tummy woke me and, in a hurry, I leaped from Jake’s bed.

  It could have been worse. The multicolor mess landed on the rug, not the pillowcase. And Jake slept through the whole disgusting episode. In the morning, his cry, “Ewww, Strudel! Gross!” woke me up.

  I was truly sorry. On the other hand, who was it that fed me three bowls of Lucky Charms?

  Mom heard Jake and came running. “Oh, for the love of Mike,” she said when she saw the rainbow display. “Jake, there’re rags in the bathroom and spray cleaner under the sink. Take care of that before school, or so help me, he’s going back to the shelter! I don’t have bandwidth for one more thing, kiddo, I am telling you.”

  I thought of what TJ had said about some humans. Was Mom one of them? Would I get swatted on the nose for something I couldn’t help?

  Maybe I should run away—back to the shelter. Shira and the volunteers had a lot of animals to take care of, so it wasn’t like having a family of your own. But at least the meals were on time . . . and Maisie was there.

  “I’ll clean it up, Mom. I promise,” Jake said. “The cereal must have upset his stomach.”

  “Well, that’s just great,” said Mom. “So what do we feed him this morning?”

  “Maybe we can borrow real dog food from Lisa’s family,” Jake said.

  Real dog food! Yeah! Good idea! Good idea! Who’s Lisa?

  Mom said, “That’s a possibility. I’ll send Laura over to ask. And one more thing. Put the beast out on the patio wh
en you go to school.”

  “Sure. Absolutely. Okay.” Jake was being extra obedient so Mom would calm down. We dogs know that routine by heart.

  While Jake cleaned up, he told me Lisa was a girl in his class at school, and she lived with her family across the street.

  “Her poodle’s name is Rudy,” Jake said. “I’ll take you to the dog park, and you’ll probably see him. He goes all the time. Lisa says he has a ton of energy he has to burn off.”

  Rudy, huh? I had liked his scent, and it was good to put a name to it. With luck, I’d soon be meeting him nose-to-nose.

  Mutanski grumbled about going out, but came back with two scoops of dog food and even scratched my back when no one was looking. The kibble was top of the line, too. This Rudy fellow must have a cushy deal.

  I ate a bowlful, and for the first time in a while my belly felt comfortable. This cheered me up so much I didn’t even mind when Jake set me down on the patio and said, “G’bye, Strudel. I hope you’re okay out here. Try not to bark and bother Mrs. Rodino next door. She’s a cat person, and grumpy because her last one just died. I’ll be home from school around 3:15, and then we’ll play.”

  Play! Yes! Absolutely! Playing is good, good, good!

  I gave him my best big-eyed, adorable expression. Then the door slid closed, and through the glass I watched him walk away. Now I was alone, and I wanted to howl with longing. My human would be gone for hours! I hoped he wouldn’t forget me.

  Eight

  Dachs means “badger” in German, and a dachshund is a badger hound—bred to chase badgers for the humans who want to hunt them. Since badgers dig burrows underground, we dachshunds were bred to be low to the ground and diggers, too.

  In stories, the badger characters are usually shy and humble. In real life, they are mean, nasty and ferocious. We dachshunds, being smaller than they are, have to be smarter—and braver, too. When necessary, we will ignore fear and pain to get the job done.

  That is just the way we dachshunds roll.

  Now I used the skills of my breed to check out the patio, my new domain. It was small, maybe half the size of the kitchen. Its floor was made of paving stones, which felt cool and damp to my paws. There was a picnic table with attached benches in the middle, and a barbecue in the corner. Here and there were potted plants, some healthier than others.

  Two sides of the patio were enclosed by the brick walls of the houses next door. The wall of Mrs. Rodino’s house extended about three-quarters of the way to the alley. The rest of that border was a solid wooden gate. The patio’s back boundary was an ivy-covered fence. In front of it was a boxwood hedge.

  To make the space homey for me, Jake had set out a mixing bowl full of water and a cereal bowl with the last of Rudy’s kibble from breakfast. For a bed, he’d given me a worn pink pillow that smelled good, like Mutanski.

  Inch by inch and scent by scent, I gathered information about this new territory. I was investigating a sharp, sour smell in a corner beneath the hedge when I got a snoutful of creepy crawlies—ewww! Ants!

  I wouldn’t nose around that corner again.

  Elsewhere, I smelled beetles and roaches, stray bits of old food, lighter fluid and charcoal (sickening), old cooked meat (yummy), plastic gardening pots, muddy trowels, a hoe and canvas gloves.

  The odors told me there was a rat living somewhere nearby, but this I could tolerate. Rodents are everywhere, and unless this one made himself annoying to me or my humans, I could safely ignore him.

  I also picked up the subtle background odor of—forgive me, but there’s no way to say this politely—cat. Sadly, few places are free of this foul stench. At least the odor was old. No cat had actually entered the territory for a long time, and if I had my way, no cat would.

  My investigation almost complete, I had begun to think about a nap on my pillow when, in the corner by the screen door, I saw something coiled, green and menacing. . . .

  My ears pricked, my tail straightened and my heart jumped into my throat.

  I had never seen such a thing in real life, but I recognized it right away from the first Chief story Jake ever read to me.

  It was a rattlesnake!

  True, this particular one smelled like rubber rather than flesh and blood—but its fiendish cleverness couldn’t fool me. That rubbery aroma must come from the lethal poison in its fangs.

  Setting myself firmly on all four paws, I waited. Soon it would give itself away with its rattle. Wasn’t that what the one on Chief’s porch had done?

  But this fellow turned out to be extra sneaky. No matter how patiently I waited, he kept still and silent. Finally, I couldn’t stand the suspense. I leaned back onto my haunches. I prepared to pounce. I growled . . . and even then the snake did not so much as blink!

  I concluded it must be asleep.

  And I couldn’t attack a sleeping creature. Only barbarians do that. So I barked to awaken it; then, for good measure, I barked some more.

  From the house on the left, I heard scraping. I looked up and saw a woman leaning out of an open window above me.

  “Hey, you down there, quiet! You hear me?”

  Uh-oh. This must be Mrs. Rodino. But no fair! If she could yip at me, I ought to be able to yip back.

  And I did, too, but only a little. I had more important things to worry about—like deadly serpents in my own backyard.

  Mrs. Rodino yelled, “I’m warning you, dog!” Then she closed the window.

  Guess I showed her!

  My eyes returned to the snake, which still hadn’t blinked. At least I didn’t think it had. Do snakes have eyelids? For that matter, where was its head?

  Oh, to heck with being civilized. It was time to put this venomous monster out of its misery and . . . attack!

  With a last warning snarl, I sprang forward and snapped my jaws, neatly puncturing the creature’s flesh, which tasted—yum—like a brand-new chew toy. As for the blood, it was as clear as water.

  Soon the snake’s green flesh was shredded, and I could step back, survey the carnage and enjoy my victory.

  Wouldn’t Jake, Mutanski and Mom be grateful? Just like Chief, I had prevailed over evil so that peace and justice could triumph.

  Nine

  It wasn’t Jake but Mutanski who let me back inside that afternoon. Earlier, she had left the house with pink lips. Now they were painted pale blue.

  Not that I cared. I was just happy, happy, happy that one of the humans was home!

  I rolled over, spun in circles, sniffed her shoes and licked her hands. Where had she been? Did she also go to that place called school? She tasted like potato chips, ink and strangers—besides the usual lotions and sprays. When she bent down and gave me a hug, her breath smelled like mayonnaise. I tried to get a taste, but she pushed me away.

  “Bleahh—Strudel! No doggie kisses! Yes, you’re a good dog, you are, and I’m glad you’re glad to see me. Look at that tail wagging!”

  It’s true that when I’m happy my tail takes on a life of its own. “Okay, enough now,” said Mutanski. Then she stood, went over to the fridge and opened the door.

  Anything in there for me?

  Rudy’s food had been gone for hours. Hoping to get Mutanski’s attention again, I chased my tail, which is funny every time to a human. Then, to mix it up, I lay down and rolled over.

  “Hey—cute!” said Mutanski. “I didn’t know you could do that! How about a cookie?”

  Cookie! Cookie! Cookie! Yes!

  I opened my mouth and let my tongue loll. Mutanski went to the cupboard and opened a blue package. The sugar and fat smelled delicious. Chocolate? Yuck. But I could overlook it just this once, and almost before I knew the cookie was in my mouth, I had swallowed it.

  Eating fast is a bad habit of mine.

  To earn a second cookie, I repeated my tricks: roll over, shake, sit up, beg . . . I threw in one more tail chase, even though I was getting dizzy.

  “Super cute, Strudel, but no more cookies,” Mutanski said. “We can’t chance anoth
er barfing incident. Anyway, you’re supposed to be Jake’s dog. Mom’s idea is that taking care of you will teach him responsibility, which is sort of a laugh coming from Mom.”

  I get it—no more cookies! But how ’bout a little bologna?

  If Mutanski understood this, she didn’t let on. A second later I heard footsteps on the front stoop, then the click and bump of the door latch. Wasting no time, I ran to the living room and sat down, ready to sing a loud, long song of welcome.

  My human’s home! My human’s home—yippee!

  Jake didn’t mind a bit when I licked his face.

  What was this place called school, anyway? Obviously there were lots of other kids there. I could smell them. I could also smell his teacher—hairspray, coffee and breath mints. I remembered because once she had come to the shelter with Jake to visit.

  “Thanks for letting him in,” Jake said to Mutanski.

  She shrugged. “He was pretty excited when he heard someone was home.”

  “Did you give him water?” Jake asked.

  “Hey, he’s not my responsibility. I don’t even like dogs. Now you gotta take him for a walk, remember?” Mutanski said.

  “I’ll do it later,” Jake said, “after I play some Random Apocalypse. He’s been outside all day, y’know.”

  “Outside is not the same as a walk. He needs to, uh . . . do his business. Plus he needs exercise.”

  “Oh, all right.” Jake shook his head. “Sheesh, you’re as big a nag as Mom.”

  Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy—a walk!

  I dashed to the front door and sat down beside the pile of shoes there.

  “Whoa, good dog! See that, Mutanski? It’s like he knows what we’re talking about,” said Jake. “He is really smart.”

  “He’s got to be smarter than he looks,” Mutanski said.

  But she didn’t mean it. I was beginning to get the idea about Mutanski. Most of the bad stuff she said she didn’t mean, especially when she was talking to her brother.

  Jake pushed the door open, and the second he did I rocketed outside and down the steps, tugging my human along behind me.