“Sit!” I said to Rupert after he’d finished drinking.
Rupert sat down right away, water dripping from his beard. He looked at me, waiting for whatever was next. I like it that he listens to me. I especially like it when Poppy sees that Rupert is listening to me.
“Good boy!” I said, petting Rupert’s head. “You’re a good boy!”
Rupert stood up and gave himself a shake. He ran to the front door, where Poppy was standing, ready to leave for his camping trip.
Rupert looked at Poppy.
Poppy looked at Rupert.
Rupert sat down, his tail wagging, and tilted his head like he was a bit confused.
“Be a good boy while I’m gone,” said Poppy. “I’ll be home soon.”
Poppy bent down and kissed Rupert smack on the lips.
“MMMMMWWWWWWAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
On the lips!
“Kith kith,” said Sam, making kissing sounds.
That made Rupert stand up and bark.
“Okay, settle down, Rupert,” I said in a soothing voice.
Rupert stopped.
Poppy smiled and gave me a hug.
“Take good care of my boy,” he said.
“I will, Poppy,” I said. “I promise.”
Once Poppy was gone, Rupert just sat there, staring at the front door. After a long while, he let out a big sigh and lay down.
“Can we take Rupert out for a W-A-L-K?” I asked, spelling out the word so Rupert wouldn’t understand.
“He just got here,” said Dad. “Maybe a little later.”
Typical …
33
I’ve gone on lots of walks with Poppy and Rupert since last summer. Whenever I ask Poppy when I’ll be allowed to hold the leash again, he always says the same thing. He saysI’ll be allowed to hold Rupert’s leash when he can see that I’m ready.
I felt ready.
“Can I hold Rupert’s leash?” I asked Dad when we took Rupert to the park, later in the morning.
I thought Dad would say no.
He didn’t.
He said YES!
I held on to Rupert’s leash and pretended he was my dog. He was being good. He wasn’t pulling or sniffing too much or anything like that. I was sure Rupert was being good because he knew it was me holding the leash.
Dad pushed Sam in the stroller.
“Woopah good boy,” said Sam. “Woopah good boy.”
We were near the swings when I noticed Gretchen Thorn walking toward us, along the main path that goes through the park. Dad went ahead to the swings with Sam. Gretchen was dressed in green from head to toe. It almost looked like she was wearing some sort of a leprechaun costume. She smiled as she got closer. She was walking with her wiener dog.
Rupert noticed her dog and started pulling on his leash. He wanted to say hello. Once they were nose to nose, they sniffed each other. They sniffed and sniffed until they were sniffing each other’s butts. I don’t know why dogs always do that. It’s weird, if you ask me.
“Hi, Henry,” said Gretchen, ignoring all the butt sniffing. “That’s two!”
“Two?” I said. “Two dogs?”
“That’s two times I’ve talked to you this summer,” she said.
“Oh,” I said.
“I didn’t know you have a dog,” she continued. “He’s so cute. What’s his name?”
“Rupert,” I said. I didn’t want Gretchen to know Rupert wasn’t my dog. Having your own dog is definitely cooler than dog-sitting.
“What kind of dog is he?” she asked.
“He’s a wirehaired fox terrier,” I said. “What’s your dog’s name? Is it yours or are you dog-sitting?”
“Dijon,” she said. “She’s mine.”
“Dijon?” I said. “Oh, I get it. Like mustard on a hot dog. That’s funny.”
She scrunched up her face and didn’t say anything.
I could feel my face turning red.
“I have to go,” I said.
“See you later, Henry,” she said.
And that was it.
“Who’s she?” asked Dad when I got to the swings.
“Just some girl from school,” I said. But it was getting weird. It’s like she was everywhere.
As we continued through the park we saw the same teenagers we’d seen on the weekend. They were playing catch again. I stopped to watch. They threw the ball hard, and they always seemed to catch it. I wondered if I’d be that good if I practiced with Dad.
Rupert sat down beside me.
“Good boy,” I said. “Stay.”
Rupert tracked the baseball’s movement, back and forth, his head turning side to side. He was concentrating on every throw.
I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I wanted to know that this time Rupert would listen to me and stay, even if I wasn’t holding on to the leash. Maybe I wanted to delete the memory of last summer when Rupert had taken off on me. I glanced over at my dad to see if he was looking at me. He wasn’t. He was talking to Sam in the stroller.
I gently set Rupert’s leash on the ground.
“Good boy,” I said. I tried to sound as much like Poppy as I could. “Stay!”
At first, Rupert stayed. He kept following the movement of the ball back and forth and back and forth, his head turning from side to side.
Then one of the guys missed a catch.
“Heads up!” called the other one.
The ball went over my head and landed on the grass beside the picnic tables. It rolled along the grass, down the hill and toward the soccer field at the bottom of the hill.
Rupert looked up at me and then turned to look for the ball.
“STAY!” I said.
Rupert waited for a split second.
Then he bolted!
He ran faster than I’ve ever seen him run. He ran like he was a race dog.
It was the same thing as last summer. I should have run after Rupert and tried to grab his leash, but I didn’t. I froze. All I could do was watch him run away. This time, though, he wasn’t running to Poppy.
“Go! Woopah! Go!” said Sam.
Rupert ran down the hill, past the ball and across the soccer field.
“No! Rupert! No!” yelled Dad. “Stop!”
But Rupert didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around. He kept right on running.
“Go! Woopah! Go!” said Sam, bouncing up and down in his stroller. He was laughing, like he was watching some sort of chasing game.
And then there was nothing more to watch.
Rupert was gone.
I felt sick. I thought of Poppy. That made me feel even sicker.
It was my fault. I had let go of Rupert’s leash on purpose. But I was the only one who knew that. No one else had seen me set Rupert’s leash on the ground. I could pretend it was an accident. I could blame Sam. It would serve him right for laughing when Rupert took off.
“Woopah gone,” said Sam, sounding surprised. “Woopah gone.”
“Of course he’s gone!” I barked back at him. “You told Rupert to go. It’s all your fault. Poppy is going to be really mad at you, Sam.”
“That’s enough, Henry!” said Dad. “It’s no one’s fault! Not yours. Not your brother’s.”
“Sam said go,” I said. “Rupert went. Now he’s gone.”
Sam looked at me. His face dissolved in tears.
“Bye-bye,” he wailed. “Bye-bye, Woopah.”
This was bad. This was very bad.
Dad looked worried.
“RUPERT!” he called out. “Come back, boy!”
The guy who threw the wild pitch ran over to us.
“Was that your dog?” he asked. “He’s fast. I hope he comes back.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” s
aid Dad. “We’ll find him.”
“What if we don’t?” I asked. “What’s Poppy going to do? What’s he going to say? He’ll be really, really mad. Poppy loves Rupert more than anything else in the world.”
“We’ll find him,” said Dad. “Don’t worry, Henry.”
But that’s exactly what I was doing. I was worrying about what I was going to tell Poppy. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t tell him I’d let go of Rupert’s leash to prove that Rupert wouldn’t take off on me. I couldn’t say I wanted to know that Rupert would listen to me the same way he listens to Poppy. That would sound stupid. It was stupid.
We walked around the park for a long time, looking for Rupert and calling his name. We asked people if they’d seen a wirehaired fox terrier dragging a leash. We looked by the trees. We looked by the benches. We looked up and down the hill. We looked around the soccer field. We looked everywhere.
Nothing.
“Woopah good boy,” said Sam through his tears.
“Stop crying,” I said.
“Tham bad,” he whimpered.
That made me feel even worse.
34
On the last day of school, Mr. Buntrock had made us promise we would make mistakes. He’d told us we’d learn from our mistakes. He hadn’t said anything about how we’d learn from them or how we could fix them. I was on my own for that.
We looked everywhere for Rupert. Then we looked everywhere again, and still we couldn’t find him. I had to do something. On the last day of school, Mr. Buntrock had also told us we could do anything we wanted. I wanted to find Rupert. I just had to come up with a plan.
We were walking along the outer edge of the park when I noticed a sign taped to a pole. It had a picture of a rabbit on it.
Lost Bunny. Big Reward!
Our little Hopper ran away.
If you see him please call us.
Like Gretchen Thorn’s flyers, it had tabs along the bottom with a phone number on them that you could tear off.
“I have an idea!” I said to Dad. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Where?” said Dad.
“Home,” I said.
“Home?” said Dad.
“HOME!” said Sam. He looked at both me and Dad. He looked serious. “Woopah home!”
“Rupert’s not at home, Sam,” I said. “But we’re going to find him. We’re going to print up some posters. We’ll put them up all over the place and give them out to people. We’ll offer a reward and someone will call us and we’ll get Rupert back.”
I didn’t care about having nothing to do for the summer. I didn’t care about not being signed up for anything. I didn’t care if I spent the entire summer sitting at home with Sam and watching television. I just wanted to find Rupert.
When we got home I went straight to the computer.
“Up!” said Sam. “Up!”
I lifted Sam up onto my lap. I was being extra nice because I felt bad for blaming him for Rupert running away.
“Okay, Sam,” I said. “Let’s make a poster.”
I found a picture of Rupert and Poppy and cropped Poppy out of it so it was just a picture of Rupert.
“Poppy!” said Sam.
I copied the picture and pasted it into a document and started to type.
Lost Dog. Massive Reward!
Rupert Ran Away.
If you see him please call us.
We have to find him.
I typed our phone number along the bottom of the poster. I didn’t have time to figure out how to do the tear-away tags.
“How big should the reward be?” I asked my dad.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“It should be big,” I said. “Massive.”
“Big!” said Sam. “Big!”
“A hundred dollars,” said Dad. “I’ll pay a hundred dollars if someone finds Rupert.”
I was surprised.
“That’s really big,” I said.
“Rupert’s really lost,” said Dad. “We have to do something to get him back. I don’t care what it costs.”
I added the reward money to the poster: $100.
“Poppy’s going to blame me,” I said. “I was supposed to be holding on to the leash.”
“But Henry, you’re also the one who thought of the idea of making posters,” said Dad, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll print them and put them up all over the neighborhood. We’ll keep looking until we find Rupert. Don’t worry. We’ll find him. And Poppy isn’t going to blame you. It was an accident.”
“But Poppy doesn’t let me hold Rupert’s leash,” I said. I wanted my dad to know at least part of the reason why I felt so bad. “I shouldn’t have been holding it to begin with.”
“Don’t worry,” said Dad. “We’ll find him.”
“I hope so,” I said.
We had to.
35
Back in the park, we put our posters up everywhere. We gave posters to everyone we saw. At first, I was sure we’d find Rupert or someone who’d seen Rupert. After a while, though, I wasn’t so sure.
I wanted to tell Dad the truth. But I was scared he’d get mad. I knew I’d done a stupid thing. Maybe it would be okay to tell him once we found Rupert. If we found Rupert.
Maybe.
“Here, Rupert!” I called, an empty feeling filling my heart. “Come on, boy!”
“Rupert? Come on, boy!” called Dad. “Come on, Rupert!”
“WOOPAH!” called Sam.
Nothing.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
Finally, Dad said it was time to go home for lunch. He said we needed energy so we could keep looking for Rupert later.
“Home,” Sam kept saying as we walked. “Woopah home.”
So much for Sam being smarter than all of us.
“Three,” said Gretchen Thorn, appearing out of nowhere. She was walking Dijon again. I didn’t want to talk to her. I didn’t want her to know we’d lost Rupert. She’d call me a pawn for sure.
“Hi, Gretchen,” I said, trying to play it cool, like nothing was the matter.
“Where’s your friend?” she asked.
“What friend?” I said. “Max? He’s away at camp.”
“No, silly,” she said. “Your four-legged friend. Rupert.”
“Um … I don’t know,” I finally admitted. “We can’t find him. We’re looking for him now.”
“Did he run away?” she asked. She didn’t wait for my answer. “Sometimes a dog just wants a little freedom and adventure. Don’t worry. You’ll find him eventually.”
“Exactly,” said Dad. “We’re going to keep looking until we find him.”
“Woopah home,” said Sam.
“Why do you keep saying the same thing over and over?” I said to Sam. “You sound like a big baby.”
“He is a baby,” Gretchen said softly, crouching beside the stroller so she could hear what Sam was saying. “Babies are supposed to sound like babies. Give him a break.”
“Woopah home,” Sam said to Gretchen.
“I don’t get it,” she said, looking up at me. “Is your dog at home or is he lost?”
“Sam doesn’t know what he’s saying,” I explained. “We were walking Rupert and then he went chasing after a ball. He just kept running. Now we can’t find him.”
“Who knows?” she said to me. “Maybe your brother is right. Maybe Rupert will find his own way home. He might even be waiting there now!”
“Do you think?” I said.
“Maybe,” she said, walking away with Dijon. “Good luck!”
“She’s an interesting girl,” Dad said to me.
“I think she knows a lot about dogs,” I said.
No one said anything as we walked home. No one except Sam.
“Woo
pah home,” he kept saying over and over again.
36
I don’t know why I believed Gretchen Thorn. I totally expected Rupert to be waiting outside our building when we got there. He wasn’t. I was an idiot for hoping.
When we got upstairs to our apartment, Dad went into the kitchen to get lunch ready.
“Woopah home,” Sam said to Mondo, his sock monkey, as I helped him out of his stroller at the front door.
“Listen,” I said in a hushed voice. I bent down so we were face to face, eye to eye and nose to nose. “No more ‘Woopah home.’ Okay? He’s not here. Do you see him anywhere? No! He’s gone. So stop it. You’re driving me crazy.”
“Woopah no here,” said Sam.
“What’s happening out there?” Dad called from the kitchen.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just talking to Sam.”
But I wasn’t just talking to Sam. I was mad at myself, and I was taking it out on Sam. Isn’t that what baby brothers are for?
“Woopah home,” Sam said to Mondo again.
I gave Sam the stink-eye and then went to my room and closed the door. I remembered what Mr. Buntrock had said about doing laughter yoga on your own.
I looked into the mirror and tried it out. I almost choked on my own laugh. I sat down on my bed, grabbed my pillow, hid my face in it and screamed as loud as I could.
Screaming yoga.
That felt a bit better.
37
I came out of my room a while later.
“Did anyone call?” I asked Dad, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Did anyone see the posters?”
“Nope,” he said, putting a sandwich on a plate for me.
“Where’s Sam?”
“He’s pretty upset about the whole thing,” he said. “I gave him something to eat, and then he conked out. He’s napping in his crib.”
“We should go back out and keep looking,” I said.
“We’ll let Sam sleep for a bit, and you need to eat,” said Dad.
“What if we don’t find Rupert, Dad?” I asked. “What then?”
“Don’t worry,” said Dad. Then, after a long silence, he added, “If we keep looking long enough, we’ll find him or we’ll find someone who has seen him.”
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