Martha Speaks Shelter Dog Blues
BASED ON THE CHARACTERS CREATED BY Susan Meddaugh
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WGBH
Copyright © 2010 WGBH Educational Foundation and Susan Meddaugh. "MARTHA" and all characters
and underlying materials (including artwork) from the "MARTHA" books are copyrights, trademarks, and
registered trademarks of Susan Meddaugh and used under license. All other characters and underlying
materials are trademarks of and copyrights of WGBH. All rights reserved. The PBS KIDS logo is a
registered mark of PBS and is used with permission.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file.
Book design by Stephanie Cooper and Bill Smith Studio
ISBN: 978-0-547-36897-9
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www.marthathetalkingdog.com
Manufactured in China/LEO 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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MARTHA SPEAKS
Shelter
Dog Blues
Adaptation by Jamie White
Based on a TV series teleplay written by Matt Steinglass
Based on the characters created by Susan Meddaugh
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN HARCOURT
Boston • New York • 2010
Daniel
Helen's dad
Mariela
Helen's mom
Helen
Martha's best friend
Jake
Helen's baby
brother
Carolina
Helen's fashionable
older cousin
Martha
a talking dog
Truman
Helen's smart and
curious friend
T.D.
Helen's good
and loyal friend
Alice
Helen's athletic
but clumsy friend
Skits
the family's
non-talking dog
MARTHA
SAYS HELLO
Hi there!
It's me, Martha, here to introduce my story.
If I were any other dog, my introduction might go something like this:
Woof. Woof, woof.
But ever since Helen fed me her alphabet soup, I've been a dog who can speak. And speak and speak...
No one's sure how or why, but the letters in the soup traveled up to my brain instead of down to my stomach.
Now, as long as I eat my daily bowl of alphabet soup, I can talk. To my family: Helen, baby Jake, Mom, Dad, and our dog Skits, who only speaks dog. To Helen's best friend, T.D. To anyone who'll listen.
Sometimes my family wishes I didn't talk quite so much. But who would want to discourage a talking dog from, well, talking?
Besides, my speaking comes in handy. One night, I called 911 to stop a burglar.
So I guess I'm fortunate. Lucky, that is. But you never know when you might go from lucky to unlucky. Last week I found out what it's like to be unlucky and lose the most precious thing of all—freedom.
Sit, stay, and
hear all about it...
A BUBBLE-
NOSED DOG
It all started in the bathroom.
Martha could think of only one good reason to visit the bathroom: to drink from the toilet. But sometimes Martha was dragged to the bathroom against her will.
"You have no right!" Martha yelled, squirming in Helen's arms. "It's not fair!"
"You have to take a bath," Helen said. "Get in there!"
Helen began to drop Martha into the soapy water.
"No!" Martha cried. "Not the bubbles! Anything but the—"
SPLASH!
"Bubbles," Martha groaned. She was soaked. "I HATE bubbles! They get in my mouth!"
"If you ever stopped talking, that wouldn't happen," Helen said.
"They get up my nose too. Look!" Martha snorted two bubbles into the air.
"Martha, you're fortunate to have a family that gives you a bath when you need one," Helen said.
"Having to do something you hate
doesn't seem very fortunate to me," Martha replied.
"If you knew how many dogs are all alone in the world, you'd appreciate how lucky you are."
Helen snapped off Martha's collar. She hung it on the shower rod so she could scrub Martha's neck. Outside, a truck rumbled.
"Helen!" Mom called from downstairs. "Did you take out the garbage yet? I hear the truck coming!"
"Be right there!" Helen said. "Lucky dog," she said to Martha. "Just a quick bath today."
Hooray for garbage trucks, Martha thought. She leaped out of the tub.
"So are you fortunate to have to take out the garbage?" Martha asked as Helen dried her off.
"No, but Mom is fortunate she has me to take it out for her," Helen said. "I'd better go."
As soon as Helen left, Martha felt strange. Something was missing, she thought. She looked up at the shower rod.
"Wait," Martha said. "You forgot my collar!"
"I'll get it later!" Helen called.
Humans, Martha thought. If a dog wants something done right, she has to do it herself.
Martha jumped onto the edge of the tub and reached for her collar. The tub was slippery. Her paws slid—and oof! Martha fell onto her belly.
"It's times like these I wish I had hands," Martha said.
She leaped back onto the tub. But her paws refused to stay put. Martha slipped again.
"ACK!" she cried, grabbing the shower curtain.
This time, Martha took the curtain and rod down with her. They all crashed into the tub.
When Martha's head popped out of the water, she looked like she'd grown a bubble beard. She eyed what had fallen onto the soap dish.
"My collar!" Martha said, grabbing for it. "Whoops!"
Her paw hit the edge of the dish. The collar shot through the air and landed on the windowsill.
"Phew," said Martha. "Safe and sound."
And that's when her collar slid right out the window.
THE DOGGONE
DAY BLUES
"NOOOOOO!" Martha cried, looking out the window.
Her collar was in the trash can below. It had fallen on top of a banana peel and a half-eaten hot dog.
Hot dog—yum! Martha thought. Wait, I can't think about food at a time like this. I have to get that trash can!
"I WANT THAT GARBAGE! DON'T LET THEM TAKE IT!" Martha cried. She raced downstairs.
By the time she got outside, the trash man was already dumping the garbage into his truck. He handed the empty can back to Helen.
"GIVE ME THAT TRASH!" Martha yelled.
The truck began to pull away.
"Martha!" said Helen. "Why are you all wet again?"
"No time for chitchat," Martha said.
Helen and Mom watched Martha chase the truck down the street.
"No time to talk?" Helen said. "What's gotten into Martha?"
Mom shook her head. "Chasing after garbage trucks! That dog is acting like a ... dog! Next thing you know, she'll be drinking from the toilet."
As Helen and Mom watched Martha disappear, the trash man watched Martha grow closer. Covered in bubbles, she was a scary sight. The trash man called Animal Rescue.
"Officer Kazuo here," said the voice at the other end. "Can I help you?"
Kazuo was driving the Shelter Mobile. BUM, BUM, BADUM went the radio. People could hear him coming from blocks away.
"An out-of-control dog?" Kazuo said. "Chasing you? Covered i
n foam? Stay away from that dog. I'll be right there!"
Kazuo slammed his foot on the gas. A dog that was foaming at the mouth could have rabies! The Shelter Mobile sped down the street.
Meanwhile, the garbage truck stopped to pick up a dumpster. Martha caught up to it.
"Hold on! My collar is in there!" she yelled. But her voice could not be heard over the sound of the garbage truck.
Why won't he listen to me? Martha wondered. I'm a talking dog, for crying out loud. If only I could speak to him face to face...
She leaped to his window.
The trash collector still couldn't hear Martha. But he could see a crazy-looking dog pop up and down.
"Oh, golly!" he yelled, locking his door.
"Collie? No, I'm looking for my collar! That's the thing that goes around my neck," Martha said.
The Shelter Mobile screeched to a halt next to her.
"Let's rock and roll," Kazuo said, hopping out. He put on his headphones and crept toward Martha. He held a long stick with a loop at its end.
Oh, good, thought Martha. Someone to help me.
"Could you explain to him that I'm searching for my collar?" she asked.
Kazuo walked closer. With his headphones on, he couldn't hear a word Martha said.
"Doesn't anybody here understand human?" said Martha. "Hey, what's that stick thing for?"
Kazuo lowered his catch pole.
"Gotcha!" he said.
Before she knew it, Martha was locked in the back of the Shelter Mobile.
She was alone, with no one to hear her. In this situation, there is only one thing for a dog to do, she thought.
Martha sang the doggone day blues.
Woo-woo-roo!
Well, you may think that you're born free...
THE DOGGY
SLAMMER
It was a sad, lonely ride to the animal shelter. It was also a long time for Martha to go without talking. It was the first thing she did when Kazuo took her out of the Shelter Mobile.
"You don't understand! My collar is lost in the garbage," Martha tried to explain.
It was no use. Kazuo was still wearing his headphones. BUM, BUM, BADUM, he hummed.
He carried her to the back of the pound's reception area. He pressed a button on the wall.
BZZZZ.
A door opened to a room full of cages. Dogs of all shapes and sizes barked at them.
"In you go!" said Kazuo, shepherding her into a cage.
Martha looked around her small cell. The only things in it were an old chew toy and a bowl of dry dog food.
"What, no burgers?" Martha said. "No chops? Not even a lousy meatball? Maybe I can order in?"
Kazuo left.
"Wait!" Martha cried. "I don't belong here! This is all a big mistake! I have a family!"
In the cage next to her, an old bulldog barked. Ruff, ruff!
"What do you mean, 'That's what they all say'?" Martha asked.
At home, Helen was worried. She hadn't seen Martha in hours.
"Don't fret," Mom said. "She's been gone longer than this before."
"She'll be back when she's hungry," said Dad. "Martha never misses a meal."
"You don't think she feels neglected, do you?" Helen asked.
"Neglected? Martha?" Dad said. "How could she? Neglected dogs are dogs who are forgotten or ignored. You take good care of Martha. You wash her, you groom her—"
"WASH?" Helen cried.
"Oh, no! I just realized something. I never put Martha's collar back on after her bath. She's not wearing her tags!"
"Oh, dear," Mom said. "Let's call the animal shelter."
Dad ran to the phone.
Kazuo was locking up for the night when he heard the telephone ring.
He picked it up and said, "Hello. This is the Animal Rescue Shelter. We're about to close."
"Could you tell me if you picked up a talking dog today?" Dad asked.
"Sir, I can't check the records now, but—" Kazuo narrowed his eyes. "Did you say a talking dog?"
"Yes," said Dad. "A dog that can speak. Human language."
"Sir, is this some type of joke?" Kazuo asked. "Of course not. I'm looking for a talking—" Click. The phone went dead.
"I guess that's a no, then," said Dad.
MARTHA'S SIDE
OF THE STORY
So there I was, in the pound. The pooch hooch. The doggy basket of steel.
The place was full of tough dogs who looked like they'd just as soon bite me as sniff me. There was Estelle, the grizzled old poodle;
Wally, the pointer with the chewed-up ear; and Miranda, the cutest Yorkie-poodle you ever saw. (Okay, maybe they weren't all so tough.)
Someone growled in the cage next to mine. It was Pops, the bulldog. He was the toughest of them all.
"Sorry, is there a problem?" I asked.
Pops glared at me.
"I'll only be here a day or two," I gulped. "I don't mean to cause any—"
RAAARR! RUFF!
"Oh. My name? I'm Martha," I said. "What's yours?"
"Pops," he barked.
"What are you in for?" I asked.
Pops told me his story. It was rough. He was once a junkyard dog. Pops protected his master's yard like a one-dog burglar alarm.
But then his master sold the junkyard, bought a flashy car, and sped off. Poor old Pops was left in the dust. Then there was Miranda in a nearby cage. Her story was sad too. She lived with a rich lady in a big house. She was a good dog. She barked
politely. She obeyed every command. Her golden fur perfectly matched the golden colors of the lady's living room. Until the lady changed the room to blue, that is.
"Honey, you don't match the drapes," the lady said one day. And Miranda was tossed into a limo for a one-way ride to Poundsville.
Every dog here was abandoned and alone. Estelle's owners moved to a building where no pets were allowed. And the puppies—Streak, Butterscotch, and Mandarin—never had an owner at all. Or at least they had been brought to the shelter before they could remember.
"I know how you feel," I told them.
Ruff! Ruff! barked Pops.
"What a harsh thing to say," I replied. "Of course I've had it rough. Why, just today, I had to take a... bath!"
The dogs rolled their eyes.
"With bubbles!" I said. "They get in your nose!"
Pops growled.
"Sure, my family will get me in the morning. But I know what it's like to feel unloved," I said. "I was in the shelter when I was a puppy. That's where Helen found me."
They had stopped listening. They had turned their backs. I needed to do something—fast.
"What if I told you I could get us all out of this place?" I said. "Together."
The dogs barked in excitement. Even Pops looked interested.
"Leave it to me," I said. "I have a plan!"
Okay, I thought. Time to come up with a plan.
BREAKING
AND EXITING
Martha's plan to break out of the shelter had three simple steps:
Step one: Pick up a piece of dog food.
Step two: Flick it at the door's access button.
Step three: If steps one and two don't work, try them again.
Martha didn't really expect to need step three. But she did. She flicked dog food at the button for hours.
The dogs watched pellet after pellet fly by. Some pellets hit the door. Some hit the wall. But even when they hit the button, the door didn't open. Finally, the dogs fell asleep. The only one left watching was a pigeon perched on a cage. And he just shook his head and rolled his eyes.
If I could just figure out how to make something heavier fly across the room, Martha said to herself.
Then she remembered what had started this whole mess. My collar flew into the air when I hit the soap dish, she thought. Aha!
Martha rested the chew toy on her bowl. She slid the bowl out through the bars of her cage. Then she slammed her paw onto the bowl. The chewie whizzed across
the room.
Bull's-eye! The door opened with a buzz.
"I DID IT! WE'RE OUT!" Martha cheered, looking around at the dogs. "We're out! We're, uh..."
The dogs yawned.
"There must be something I've overlooked," Martha said. "What did I forget?"
Ruff, ruff! Pops barked.
"Er, right," Martha mumbled. "I forgot that we're all inside locked cages."
Martha rattled her door.
"Hey, pigeon!" she called. "Can I get your help down here?"
Coo, coo, said the pigeon.
"What's in it for you?" Martha repeated. "No wonder they call you flying rats!"'
The pigeon turned away.
"Wait!" Martha said. "My neighbors keep a twenty-pound bag of birdseed in their garage. You get me out, I'll get you in."
The pigeon swooped down to Martha's cage. It pushed the door's unlock button with its head. Click. The door swung open.
"Yippee!" Martha said. "I'm free!"
Martha hurried to open the other cages. A happy pack of dogs ran into the reception area. Everyone raced for the exit.
"Now all we have to do is open this last door," Martha said. "Then we'll be as free as—Kazuo?!"
The dogs skidded to a halt.
"Negative," Kazuo said, walking in with a phone to his ear. "Dog escape is under control. Repeat, dog escape is under control!"
"Well, this is unfortunate timing," Martha said.
Near her, Pops growled.
Shelter Dog Blues Page 1
