Pup Idol

by Anna Wilson

April huffed loudly and made some comment about not watching ‘a load of old rubbish with her baby sister’, but I wasn’t really listening.

  Honey came and sat by my feet as I got comfy with my lasagne and the remote control. She was being so cute and loving in my Hour of Need.

  There were a few adverts, and then Pup Idol started, with the marvellous Monica Sitstill introducing the show! She was looking as scary and impressive as ever, wearing a short leather skirt and extra-pointy high-heeled boots that went up to her knees. ‘Not very practical for dog-training,’ I said to myself; but then I remembered she was only being a judge on this show and not actually doing any of the training, so she was allowed to be .

  ‘I was delighted when I was asked to help make this show,’ she was saying. ‘Agility is a wonderful way to bond with your dog. Dogs love to learn new things, and really there is no truth in the saying, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks” – you can! Every minute you spend with your dog teaching him new things is a minute well spent.’

  At this I sat up and paid a lot more attention. This was the kind of advice I had been looking for! I was so fixated to the screen that I had forgotten about the lasagne.

  I watched carefully as the camera moved away from Monica Sitstill and showed an arena with little jumps and hoops and plastic tunnel-type things.

  It was an obstacle course for dogs!

  I used to love the obstacle-course race at sports day. We don’t do it in Year Four, which I think is a TRAGEDY. It was my absolutely most favouritest race because you didn’t have to be a good runner or a high jumper. You just had to remember which way round the course to go, and there were so many different bits to it: balancing bits, dressing-up bits, hopping bits . . . And this dog obstacle race was exactly the same! (Except I did notice that there was not a dressing-up bit. But then I suppose it would be a bit hard to get a dog to wear your mum’s trousers and welly boots. And probably a bit cruel as well.)

  ‘This course is the sort of thing pedigree dogs are expected to do at shows like Crufts,’ Monica Sitstill explained. ‘But on this show we are not interested in pedigree dogs. Our contestants tonight are all rescue dogs: strays or pets that, up till now, have had difficult lives where they may have been abandoned or even, sadly, mistreated by their owners.’

  How DEVASTATINGLY awful, I thought. Honestly, some people just do not deserve to have the opportunity of being a dog owner. When I am as famous as Monica Sitstill I am going to make sure that only people who love dogs as much as I do are allowed to own them

  Monica Sitstill then went on to introduce the contestants. There were three different pairs, and frankly, even though the dogs were cross-breeds and strays, they were much more attractive in my opinion than the weird celebrities who were taking them around the agility course.

  First of all there was a man called Geoffrey, who was very tall and had dark curly hair and apparently was some kind of celebrity from a show about cars, or something equally yawnsome. The dog he was paired with was very much more interesting. (Not that that would be difficult. After all, most things in life are more interesting than old men droning on about cars.) She was a beautiful scruffy wiry-haired dog called Teasel, with a very waggy tail.

  Honey went right up to the telly as if to say hello.

  Teasel had been found locked in a shed on a building site and hadn’t been fed for weeks. It was such a sad story I felt quite full of tears. But Teasel was luckily much happier and healthier since the RSPCA had found her, so now she was all fit and raring to go on the agility course. I was beginning to get a bit fed up with Honey standing in front of the telly, but then she got bored of trying to get Teasel to play with her and came and sat back on the floor at my feet.

  The yawnsome Geoffrey was very showy-offy and kept saying things like, ‘Well, of course, training this hound will be a doddle after handling a supercharged Jaguar XKR.’

  What a ridiculous thing to say, I thought. As if any man can train a jaguar. Everyone knows that they are wild and furious beasts of a terrifyingly dangerous nature.

  Anyway, he was useless at taking Teasel around the agility course. Teasel was trying really hard, but Geoffrey kept walking the wrong way around the course, crashing into things, kicking the equipment and saying very rude words which the telly people had to ‘beep’ out.

  Monica Sitstill quite obviously thought that Geoffrey needed a lot more training than Teasel. (That would make a brilliant programme: I would love to see Geoffrey being trained by Monica Sitstill to behave properly!) But she only showed her feelings in her face and did not say anything. In any case, she was much more interested in what Teasel was doing, and she gave a truly fantastic commentary:

  ‘And here comes the lovely Teasel. She’s approaching the jump. She looks a bit worried about it (who wouldn’t be worried with a trainer like Geoffrey . . .) But – aaah, look! She’s cleared it beautifully. No help from Geoffrey; it seems he’s too busy shouting and jumping up and down, but never mind . . . Let’s see how Teasel does on the A-frame . . . Remind me – what was that you said about Jaguars, Geoffrey?’

  The audience laughed at Geoffrey, which made him say a few more beepy things. Then they ‘ooohed’ and ‘aaahed’ at Teasel, and I must say I did too, as she was so clever at doing the course. She seemed quite pleased with herself too, and barked in what I thought was a very happy way every time she did something right. And every time she barked, Honey did too!

  The coolest bit was when Teasel did the ‘slalom’. She had to weave in and out of some upright wobbly sticks without missing one out. She had to do it really quickly too. It’s a bit like those guys on skis at the Winter Olympics who have to swerve through poles without falling over. (Except that Teasel didn’t have to go downhill. And she didn’t have skis on.)

  The whole course had to be done in as short a time as possible. It was totally mega. The audience clapped and cheered when Teasel had finally finished. So did I.

  Honey got really excited at all this clapping and cheering and started rushing around the sitting room wagging her tail rather dangerously in the direction of the ornaments on Mum’s coffee table.

  Monica Sitstill gave Teasel loads of praise, but told Mr Geoffrey Rude-Boy in her most fearsomest way to ‘watch his language’ in future. He actually did look quite scared, and did not answer back, I was pleased to see.

  Then Ms Sitstill faced the camera and said, ‘This kind of agility work – when done properly –’ she glowered at Mr Geoffrey Rude-Boy – ‘is an excellent way to develop a truly special bond with a dog . . .’

  When she said this, it was like a penny dropping and the lights all coming on and I felt my brain actually have a real-life brainwave.

  My brainwave was this: I would not be going back to that horrid Mrs Woodshed and her obedience class (otherwise known as Public Humiliation Class). In fact, Mrs Woodshed could go and jump into a lake and take her huge Bosom and her moustache with her, as far as I was concerned. There would be no more obedience classes for me, oh no.

  From now on I would train Honey on a One-to-One Basis. That way, we would be One Girl and Her Dog, and we would not need to ask for anyone else’s help: not Frank’s, not Molly’s, not anyone’s. Ever.

  10

  How to Come Up with a Masterly Plan

  I spent Saturday morning talking non-stop about the agility course to Mum, which helped me (a little bit) forget about Molly and Rosie and what they might be doing together. Without me.

  ‘If you helped me, Mum, we could set up a course in the garden and then I could do one-to-one training with Honey,’ I told her.

  ‘Why do you want to do one-to-one training when you are already taking her to obedience classes at the leisure centre? Mrs Gritter is giving you a lift to the next one with Frank and Meatball,’ Mum said, not looking up from her newspaper.

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said, brushing that comment aside as I did not want to have to explain about Honey’s embarrassing incident with the pee on the floor and how I could not
suffer the humiliating-ness of going back again. ‘The thing is, I’ve been doing some research and I have discovered that it is much better to train your dog in a one-to-one CAPACITY.’ That will impress her, I thought.

  It didn’t.

  Apparently Mum was not going to spend her blinking weekend helping me to set up a blinking course in the garden so that no one could Rest and Relax in the garden which is what blinking gardens and weekends are for. At least she didn’t mention the obedience classes again.

  ‘Look, Summer, why don’t you find a friend to do this training with? I really don’t have time for it just now,’ she finished with a sigh.

  I thought this was quite a harsh and unfair thing to say, considering that Mum knew that Molly and I had had a Falling Out and that I was in need of love and attention.

  I pointed this out: ‘But I haven’t got anyone to do it with except you, Mum. Molly is not speaking to me and no one else is interested in Honey.’

  Mum sighed and put her newspaper down very slowly on the table and said in an extra-gently-type manner as if she was making a big effort to be patient, ‘Summer, I know you are upset about your argument with Molly. Listen, why don’t you just ask her over to tea instead and not mention the agility thing?’

  For a split of a moment I actually thought that my mum had come up with a good idea. Maybe if I involved Molly in my new project she would want to be best friends again. I was just about to thank Mum for her advice, when she went and ruined it by adding:

  ‘And why don’t you ask Rosie Chubb too? I expect she’s a lovely girl really – she’s probably just feeling a bit left out and trying to get your attention.’

  I spent the rest of the weekend in my room on my own, drawing designs for agility courses and promising myself never to talk to Mum ever again about friendship-related problems.

  However, by Monday I had planned such an amazing course to set up in the garden that I decided I had to involve Molly. I was sure that as soon as I got a chance to properly tell her all about the breathtaking show Pup Idol, she would immediately forgive me for not taking her to the obedience class. Especially if I told her I was not going back anyway and that instead I was going to work on my own Pup Idol-ish agility course at home with Honey and that she could help me by being my Number One Special Advisor.

  The only problem was, I had to get her on her own before Rosie came and stuck to her like an oversized tube of superglue.

  I raced into school with a big smile on my face and went to find Molly. On the way I planned carefully what I would say:

  ‘Hey! Do you want to come round tonight for marshmallow-and-chocolate ice cream and we can set up an agility course together?’

  And in answer to my most tempting and exciting PROPOSAL she would probably say, ‘Does Batman wear pants over his tights?’ which is Molly’s way of saying ‘without a doubt’ – in other words ‘Definitely.’

  When I arrived in the playground I was to see that Molly was alone. She was sitting on a bench and scribbling in a notebook in a very INTENT and concentrated manner, and there was no Rosie in sight.

  ‘Hey, Molly!’ I yelled as I ran towards her.

  She looked up and started to smile as if she was pleased to see me, but then she frowned instead and looked down at her notebook again without even waving or saying hi.

  I walked up to her and said, ‘Did you see that great new programme on the telly on Friday—’

  ‘Hi, Molly,’ said an annoying squeaky voice. Hyena-Girl had sneaked up behind me. ‘Is anyone bothering you?’

  ‘Yes, actually, now you come to mention it,’ said Molly, in a very posh voice as if she was an important grown-up teachery person who could not possibly be disturbed from what she was writing in her EXCLUSIVE notebook. ‘There’s a whiny voice coming from somewhere in front of me which is proving to be a distinct irritation.’

  ‘B-b-but, Molly,’ I stammered, ‘I was going to tell you all about my new Masterly Plan for training Honey and ask if you wanted to help—’

  ‘There it goes again!’ Molly interrupted. ‘Can you hear it?’

  Rosie giggled and giggled her pathetic laugh as if Molly had just said the most hilarious thing in the history of all things hilarious when in fact even Frank Gritter has been known to come up with more comedic outbursts than this.

  I stood there with my mouth hanging open. I knew it was not attractive, but I couldn’t help it. My truest and bestest friend in the whole of the galaxy was not even going to say hello, let alone give me the chance to tell her all about my Masterly Plan. It felt like total and complete Public Humiliation.

  I spent the rest of the day keeping myself to myself (which wasn’t hard as I didn’t have a friend in the world) and dreaming about how I was going to have to do Honey’s training programme alone.

  By the afternoon I had just about managed to get myself into an OK mood, when Mr Elgin made an Announcement that ruined everything again.

  ‘Class – are you listening? . . . Yes, I know you don’t listen with your nose, but it’s off-putting for me to have to look at you— Don’t answer back! Right, everyone . . . I have an exciting announcement! As you know, every year, Year Four is in charge of raising money for a local charity. Well, this year it has been decided that you will do this by putting on a Talent Contest and selling tickets to your nearest and dearest. I suppose you are all acquainted with programmes such as Seeing Stars . . . ?’

  Seeing Stars! That was one of Molly and my most favouritest telly programmes!

  I tried not to think about the Days Before Rosie and forced myself to concentrate on what Mr Elgin was saying.

  ‘. . . so I want you all to think carefully about what sort of an act you could do for the contest and let me know by the end of next week. We want singers, actors, dancers –’ I heard Rosie whispering to Molly and they both started giggling – ‘but if you’ve got an idea for something a bit more unusual, then let me know. All ideas are welcome at this stage.’

  Then the bell went for last break.

  This is it, I thought. This is my last chance to make up with Molly – I’ll get her to come round and plan an act for the Talent Contest.

  I followed Molly out of the classroom, but it was no use. Rosie pushed in front of me and soon she was telling Molly all about her idea for a ballet dance for the contest, and how Molly would look ‘simply gorrrrr-geous’ in one of her Molly looked over her shoulder straight into my eyes, and as Rosie droned on and on I thought for one split of a moment that I saw Molly raise one eyebrow in a QUIZZICAL manner that was a bit like my Dubious look. But when I tried to smile in an understanding and encouraging way, Molly suddenly stuck her tongue out at me and flounced off with Rosie.

  Life was just so mega-unfair and horrible. Before Public Enemy Number One came on the scene, Molly and I would have LOVED the idea of a Talent Contest. We would have spent all our free time talking about it and how we would win and be famous like the people we used to talk about in our Celebrity Club.

  It seemed liked DECADES since we had done our Celebrity Club.

  I managed to keep my sadness inside until the final bell rang, but then my eyes immediately started doing the welling-up thing and I had to run into the cloakrooms to hide and try to stop them. I slumped down on to one of the benches and put my head in my hands.

  Just my luck – Frank Gritter was in there, getting his smelly footy kit from his peg. I wished for about the ten millionth time that the school would finally build a separate kit area for the boys. If we girls had our own kit area it would be clean and fresh and smell of spring – instead of which in real life it smells of socks and dirt and snot.

  ‘Hi, Summer,’ said Frank, grinning from ear to smelly filthy ear. ‘Coming to obedience class again tonight? Slipped in any puddles lately? Hahahaharrr!’

  I sniffed loudly. I couldn’t speak otherwise he would know that I was trying not to cry and that would be level one hundred and fifty on the mortification scale.

  ‘Hey – don’t do t
hat! I . . . er . . . I was only teasing, I didn’t mean to –’ I peered up from under my mess of horrid tangly hair and through a wash of annoying tears I saw that he was the one who actually looked mortified.

  ‘Just – go – away,’ I said in a rather embarrassing hiccupy manner.

  ‘Er, look, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he said, coming a bit nearer.

  For one horrifying moment I thought Frank was going to put his arm around me! I edged away from him as his aroma threatened to ENGULF my senses. I thought I might choke, so I edged away a bit more. Unfortunately my edging had now brought me to the edge of the bench and I fell on my bottom with a crash.

  I thought Frank would laugh at me like he usually does when anyone hurts themselves in such a comedic manner, but instead he said, ‘Listen, I don’t know about you, but I thought that class last week was pants.’

  I know it is not a mature thing to do, but I always have to laugh when anyone says ‘pants’. And even though I had been crying, I found that I was laughing now too.

  ‘And as for that Mrs Woodshed’s Bosom,’ said Frank. ‘You could have put four wheels on it and called it a bus.’

  Now I was laughing so hard I was almost crying again. ‘Bosom’ is another word that often sets me off. And the image of the bus was pretty hilarious too.

  ‘And you know something else about that woman?’ he continued.

  I shook my head weakly.

  ‘Well, she’s obviously really a man in disguise,’ said Frank, snorting with huge amounts of laughter too.