Pug and Peach: The Adventures of Zelda, #3

by Kristen Otte

  Peach meets me at the door and licks my face. After my harness is off me, Peach brings me the owl. I know she is thanking me for getting us home quickly. But today’s walk has me wondering about the future. Maybe having a sister will change my life more than I imagined.

  4

  The Toy Thief The Toy Thief The Toy Thief

  Peach and I warm up under the blankets on the couch. Lucy takes turns petting us and giving kisses. After a few minutes, I slip out of the blanket and find a ball. I bring it to Lucy, and she throws it across the room. I grab the ball and bring it to Lucy. When she tries to grab the ball from me, I turn away and jump onto the floor. She chases me around the coffee table. When she finally catches me, I give up the ball. She throws the ball across the room again. I run to it, but Peach joins the fun. Peach slides into the ball and grabs it with her mouth. She runs back to Lucy.

  After several rounds of ball with Peach and Lucy, I take a break on the couch. Lucy joins me on the couch, but Peach does not. Peach brings the ball over to a dog bed on the floor. She places the ball in the dog bed, turns around, and finds one of my owls. She takes the owl over to the dog bed. Next, she finds a blue Nylabone, and after a few minutes, all the toys in the living room are gathered in the bed. She returns to the bed, picks up one of the blue Nylabones, and plops down, surrounded by all the toys she collected. It is a strange sight.

  “Mom,” Lucy shouts. “Look what Peach did.”

  Hannah walks into the room.

  “Peach has all the toys,” Lucy says.

  “I see that. Did you do that?” Hannah asks with a smile.

  “No! Peach did that!”

  “Huh. I guess she really likes toys.” Hannah turns and walks back to the kitchen.

  As I watch Peach chew on a Nylabone, the desire to chew burns inside. I see a second blue Nylabone sitting beside Peach. I jump down and go for the bone.

  Rarrrf!

  Peach barks and lunges at me, but I use my stealth pug powers to grab the Nylabone and get away. I guess she doesn’t feel like sharing today.

  I return to my spot on the couch and start chewing. The bone feels so good on my back teeth—the only teeth I have left besides the two front snaggleteeth. As I chew, I watch Peach chew her bone. Curiosity overtakes me. I get up and approach her slowly. When I am within one pug step, she stops chewing and looks at me. I take a half-pug-step forward. She starts growling.

  That’s not cool!

  I step back. After a minute, she starts chewing again. I take a step forward.

  Grrrrr.

  I return to the couch. She won’t look at me, so I don’t know why she is upset. Maybe she doesn’t want me ruining all of her hard toy-collecting work.

  Yeah, that has to be it.

  A few hours later, the toy collection is scattered throughout the house again, and Peach is acting like her normal, playful self. I am ready for another play session, so I find the squeakiest toy—the owl. I bring it to Peach, squeaking it as much as my pug mouth can. She takes the bait and charges for the owl in my mouth. I do a quick 180 and run the other way. The chase is on!

  Peach is quick, but I can corner better than she can. I use that to my advantage by making quick turns and using my body to shield me from her attacks. But she catches on to my game, reverses course, and tackles me. She grabs the other side of the owl, and we play tug of war. I am losing my grip; I let it go. I don’t want to lose any more teeth!

  She runs the opposite direction and lies on the floor. I follow her. Peach doesn’t even bother moving when I approach.

  Grrrrrr.

  Not again!

  I back away and find a squeaky duck across the room. I am busy testing its squeaker when I feel Peach approaching. She swoops in and grabs hold of the duck. She shakes it, and I let loose. She runs away with the duck and finds a spot on the floor to chew it. When I approach, the growl returns.

  She looks at me and tells me she doesn’t want to play anymore. I back off. Bummed, I get some water and head upstairs to see what Ben is doing.

  The next day I awake with Peach cuddled next to me. Today is a new day, and I am sure we will be back to normal. We all have bad days here and there, even pugs!

  After our morning romp in the backyard and the mid-morning nap, I am ready to start my day. I go on a blue-Nylabone hunt. I find one pretty quickly, but I know a bigger one exists in the house somewhere. I find it upstairs under Lucy’s bed. I have no idea how the bone got there, but I grab it and take it downstairs. I start chewing. The feeling on my teeth entrances me. I am in the bone zone. I barely notice Peach approaching me. I figure she wants to lie next to me, so I don’t pay attention.

  It happens in an instant. Her big head darts to the bone, and she secures it in her mouth. She lies down in the opposite direction with her butt and her crooked tail by my head. She starts chewing.

  I am stunned. She stole my bone while I was in the bone zone! No pug would ever do that to another pug. But she surely isn’t a pug.

  I stomp over and stand next to her. She ignores me. I reach for the bone.

  GRRRRRR.

  What? There is no way she is getting away with this.

  I try again, but she growls. I know I am quick enough to grab the bone and go, but maybe I don’t want to do that. I can’t read Peach. She isn’t making sense, and I don’t want her to be mad at me. Plus her mouth is bigger than mine.

  I need a plan.

  After a few hours of careful thought and spying, plus a few naps, I still have no idea how to solve this problem. My only plan is to improvise, and that doesn’t sound like a good plan.

  The dark has come for the day, but the family is awake and gathered in the living room. Peach and I are hanging out on the couch with Hannah and Nate. I think having the family around will work to my advantage, so I grab a blue Nylabone and start chewing.

  Soon enough, I feel Peach approaching. She is going to steal the Nylabone again. I can sense it.

  Should I let her?

  Peach lunges for the bone, but across the room is another blue Nylabone, so I let her take my bone. If Peach sees we both can have bones or toys, maybe she won’t want to steal mine all the time. I trot to the other one, grab it, and lie next to her. We both chew happily for a few minutes, which allows me to believe I have solved the mystery.

  After a peaceful stretch of double chewing, Peach looks over at me. Her eyes have a hunger in them. She tells me to give her the bone.

  Uh oh.

  She casually scoots toward me. When she is within reach, she grabs my Nylabone, leaving hers behind. She starts chewing. I get up and grab the one she left behind on the floor. She is so busy chewing that she doesn’t notice. I take it and sit on the couch.

  While I chew on my bone, I realize something. Peach is a toy thief. I need to adapt, otherwise I will never get another toy. But since we both are chewing on bones, I know I am clever enough to survive with a toy thief.

  5

  The Polar Vortex

  The next few days pass without a major toy or bone incident. We have a few disagreements over bones and balls, but we manage to work it out. The mouth game remains one of our favorites, especially since we haven’t been outside much. The white stuff continues to stack in the backyard. Nate keeps a path shoveled for us, but the snow outside the path is higher than my head. Occasionally I will trek into the uncharted territory if I’m on a squirrel- or dog-scent trail. But most of the time Peach and I stay on the path.

  This morning Nate and Hannah put on our hoodies. I start running in circles, expecting a walk since we only wear our hoodies for a walk in the snow. Nate bundles up with more clothes than I have ever seen him wear. He walks to the back door, and I chase after him, confused as to why we are going out the back door instead of the front. When he opens the door, a terrible, freezing wind hits my wrinkles. I tremble and follow him outside.

  “Peach, let’s go,” Nate says. She is standing at the door, not moving. “C’mon, time to go outside.” Peach looks at Nat
e like he is nuts. She has no interest in going outside. Nate walks back into the doorway, lifts Peach outside, and shuts the door.

  “Okay, c’mon,” he says, walking on the path to the back.

  I run in front of him and sprint to the fence—my regular route. When I reach the fence, I am winded. The frigid air hurts my lungs when I breathe. My ears are frozen to my head, and my paws are beginning to ache from the contact with the very cold air. It’s never been this cold before. I turn and look at Peach. She is waiting by the door, trembling. I need to hurry up. I find the spot, quickly do my business, and sprint to the house.

  After a few sprints, I start goose honking. It’s so hard to breathe out here. When I finally catch my breath, I move slowly to help my lungs process the very cold air. As I walk to the door, one of my back paws starts aching. My toes feel frozen together. I lift the paw and continue the trek on three legs. It’s not ideal, but I can manage. As I hop along, I see Nate let Peach inside. He turns and sees me, then jogs to meet me.

  “Oh, Zelda, I’m sorry it’s so cold,” he says. “Come here.” He picks me up, warming my frozen back paw with his hand as he carries me inside. Nate carries me to the couch; Peach has already claimed a spot on the fuzzy blanket next to Hannah. I lie next to her and let my body warm up. I lick the white stuff off my paw. Immediately it feels better.

  “The cold is tough on Zelda and Peach,” Nate says, taking off a layer of clothes.

  “I bet,” Hannah says.

  “I had to carry Zelda inside because she was limping from the cold, and Peach didn’t make it much farther than the door.”

  “Oh, geez. I guess we will do what we have to the next few days to help them out. Stupid polar vortex,” Hannah says.

  “You just like saying ‘polar vortex’.”

  “So? Polar vortex is an awesome phrase.” I tune them out and fall asleep.

  I wake up later in the afternoon to a toy hitting me in the face. I open my eyes to see Peach flying toward me. Somehow she doesn’t squash me. Instead, she rips the duck off my head and jumps back to the floor. I should join the fun, but I really need to go out first. I walk toward the back door.

  “Zelda needs to go out,” Ben yells.

  “Okay, you need to put on her hoodie. And you need to go out with her because it’s so cold. Make sure you bundle up, too,” Hannah says.

  “All right.”

  Ben grabs my hoodie, and I cooperate. I learned from my last trip that the hoodie is a good thing today. He leaves me stranded by the door as he walks upstairs.

  Hurry up, people! I have to go.

  After what seems like five hours, he returns downstairs with more clothes on. He opens the door.

  As I walk into the yard, it feels worse than earlier.

  How is that even possible?

  I don’t even bother running to the back fence this time. It’s too cold. I find a spot on the path and run back to the door in record time. Ben lets me inside, and I run straight for Peach and the duck. I slide into the duck, grab it, and run the opposite direction. Peach chases me around the dining room table and into the living room. In the living room, I shake the duck, which slips from my mouth and goes flying into the air. Magically, it hits Peach in the head, and she stares at me dumbfounded, like I planned for that to happen.

  Peach doesn’t make it outside again until the darkness comes. We both run outside, ready for the coldness. This time Hannah lets us out but doesn’t come with us. We both sprint our fastest to the back fence. Peach spins in about twenty circles before she does her business, then she sprints to the door. I have no idea how she can run in so many circles without falling over. A freezing blast of wind refocuses me. The hoodie barely helps in this wind. As I find the perfect spot, a sharp pain runs through my front paw.

  Shoot. I wasn’t fast enough.

  I head for the door where Peach is waiting. She barks, telling me to hurry so we can go inside. When I don’t speed up, she sprints to me and sees me walking on three legs. She barks again at me, letting me know she is going to get help. She sprints back to the door. I continue hopping along while she barks and jumps at the door. She hits the door with her head one time and then keeps on barking and jumping. Finally, someone opens it. Peach jumps and bites at what looks like Hannah’s hands, then she takes off for me. When she reaches me, she sprints back to the door, which is now closed.

  I feel my other paw freezing, and I know I am in trouble. I keep chugging along. This is the only time I wish we had a smaller yard. I am maybe ten pugs away.

  I hear the door open again amid Peach’s barks. Hannah walks outside and sends Peach in as she quickens her pace toward me. I stop and wait as she scoops me up. She carries me inside, and I let out a big sigh.

  “I’m sorry, Zelda,” Hannah says. “I should have gone out with you. I thought you were going to be quick like this afternoon. I’m sorry,” she says again. I lick her face. I should have been quicker. It wasn’t very smart of me.

  Hannah sets me on the couch. Peach is playing with Lucy. I let the pain in my paws fade, and then I jump off the couch and walk to Peach. I lick her face, and then I steal the duck from her. I’m so glad Peach is looking out for me, but that’s my duck!

  6

  Squirrels!

  The next few days remain brutally cold. Peach and I stay inside as much as possible. When we do go outside, the trips are very quick. We sleep during most of the day and darkness, dreaming about days with a warm breeze and plenty of squirrels to chase.

  A few dark sleeps later, Peach and I are pleasantly surprised when we go outside without hoodies. The snow is as high as ever, but the air feels okay. It’s still chilly, but we don’t have to rush inside before our paws freeze. I sniff around the back fence, looking for signs of other animal life. I smell nothing except for us.

  Bummer.

  I head back inside.

  Peach is inside waiting for me. The look in her big eyes tells me she is no longer in her sleepy phase. She is ready to play. I know I should play with her, but I am not feeling up to it. I’d rather nap for a little while longer. I am in winter hibernation mode. It’s not time to wake up for spring yet! I grab a comfortable spot on the couch. I close my eyes.

  Two minutes later, Peach is in my face with a skunk-tail toy. She shakes the toy, and the tail whips me in the face. I turn away from Peach and close my eyes again. I hear Peach trot up the stairs.

  Good. I can have peace and quiet.

  I don’t make it far into my nap before the sound of owl squeaks comes bounding down the stairs. Seconds later, Peach is on the couch next to me, squeaking the owl over and over. I open my eyes and look. Her eyes are full of eager anticipation; she tells me she isn’t going to give up until I play.

  I drag myself up and reach for the owl. She jumps off the couch. I chase after her until my mouth grasps the owl. We play tug of war for a few minutes before I let her rip it out of my mouth. Peach takes the owl to the dog bed and lies down. I use the break in the action to reclaim my spot on the couch. Soon Peach joins me, and we sleep the morning away.

  The afternoon trip outside is magical. The sun is shining, and the air feels nice on my wrinkles. I run outside to the back fence.

  I smell squirrels!

  For the first time in what seems like five pug years, the scent of squirrels is in the backyard. I turn to Peach, who is sniffing next to me. She looks at me, and I know we are in this together.

  It’s time to find the squirrels.

  Peach and I take off in opposite directions, using our sniffers every step of the way. We each have to blaze our own paths through the snow. I try to eat my way through, but quickly realize my mouth isn’t big enough to make a dent in the mountains of snow. My nose leads to me to a tree at the corner of the fence. The squirrel scent is flooding the tree.

  Ruff. Ruff.

  I look to Peach on the other side of the yard. She is barking and jumping straight into the air. I sprint to her, barking along the way. I have no idea why I am b
arking, but I can’t resist an opportunity for the world to hear me. When I reach Peach, I look up. High in the tree is a squirrel. I can’t believe Peach spotted the squirrel up there, but we have no way to reach it. I walk away disappointed.

  “Zelda, Peach, inside,” Nate yells. He’s right; it’s time to go inside. It’s not quite warm enough to stay outside for hours yet.

  The next afternoon we return outside for our squirrel hunt. It feels a little warmer than yesterday. I even see a few blades of grass poking through the path. We sprint straight to the back fence. The squirrel scent is overpowering. We both follow our sniffers to the tree I was investigating yesterday. A squirrel is sitting in the tree just above the fence.

  Squirrel!

  Peach and I go nuts—barking, jumping, anything we can do to get the squirrel to come down. The squirrel simply stares at us and squeaks.

  Is that Squeaks? No, it can’t be.

  Squeaks was a squirrel friend of mine from our old home. He loved throwing nuts at my head. I look up, but I don’t see any nuts. Peach and I both stop, unsure about what to do next. We stare at each other and then at the squirrel.

  The squirrel does something unexpected. He runs down the tree onto the fence. Peach and I watch mesmerized as he runs on top of the fence. After our moment of awe, we regain our composure and start chasing him. We catch up to him in an instant because he is tiptoeing along the top of the fence to keep his balance. Peach starts leaping in the air and biting at the squirrel tail. I don’t know how she does it, but she is really close to nabbing a bit of the squirrel tail.