“No,” said Dad, scratching his head. “It’s the same old, worn-out couch that was in our basement for years. The same couch you’ve always hated because you say it smells like peas.”
“I like the smell of peas now,” I said. Not really. “The place looks really nice.”
“Thanks, I guess,” said Dad.
He didn’t have a lot of furniture. The main room had a television, a recliner, a couch, and one plant: a cactus. Lexi and I had bought him a fern when he first moved, but he never watered it, so it died. The next four plants we bought him died, too. Lexi finally bought him a cactus because those hardly ever need to be watered. It still didn’t look very good. Obviously, Dad wasn’t a plant guy.
The sink in the kitchen was filled with dirty dishes. There was some sort of green blobby stain on the carpet that wasn’t there last time we were here, too. And, yes, the couch smelled like peas.
“It just needs a woman’s touch,” said Lexi with a smile. “I’ll clean up for you. It’ll look like new.”
“No. I’ll clean up,” I insisted. I couldn’t let Lexi get the upper hand, like usual. Not this time.
“I will,” growled Lexi.
“We’ll see about that,” I growled right back.
“Okay, baby brother.”
“I’m not a baby!” I yelped.
Lexi grabbed the glass cleaner before I could, but I found some rags in Dad’s closet for dusting. There was plenty to dust; I doubt Dad had ever given the apartment a thorough cleaning before. It was important that I did an excellent job, better than Lexi did, so I removed the books from the bookshelf (he only had two books so it wasn’t that hard), and I dusted the picture frames (one of the frames had a picture of Lexi and me, and the other two still had the smiling couples that come with the frame when you buy it from the store). I even dusted the baseboards and the blinds, and no one ever does those. I don’t even think Mom dusts those at our house.
“The kitchen looks great, Lexi,” Dad said from the other room.
“I dusted the baseboards and the blinds,” I yelled from the hallway. “And no one ever does those! Not even Mom!”
“Wonderful. Thank you!” Dad craned his neck to look. “But why are you dusting them with one of my best neckties?” His voice growled.
“I thought they were rags,” I mumbled. “They were in a ball in your closet.”
“They’re my neckties for the office. They fall off the hanger a lot.”
“Oh,” I said, squirming. “Sorry.”
Dad showed me where he kept his rags, both of them, and I finished the few remaining dust spots. His ties weren’t ruined, just dusty, but I apologized about a million times, times two. I still needed to make up for my mistake. I was supposed to be buttering him up, after all. So I offered to vacuum the apartment, twice. The second time, just in case I missed something.
“I don’t own a vacuum cleaner,” replied Dad.
So I didn’t vacuum. But I promised myself to never walk around in my bare feet at Dad’s place anymore.
The bathroom needed cleaning. Lexi grabbed the disinfectant first. That was fine with me. I didn’t really want to clean a toilet anyway. But I bagged Dad’s garbage and straightened out his silverware drawer to keep busy.
Dad seemed to be enjoying all our work. He kept walking around, nodding his head and thanking us. Eventually, he just sat on his recliner and read a magazine.
His apartment had never been this clean, ever. I doubt any apartment in the history of apartments had ever been this clean. I sat on the couch, tired. Lexi was finishing up in the bathroom.
“So why the sudden interest in housekeeping?” Dad asked.
“No reason at all,” I sang. “I just love you.”
Dad said in return, “I love —” but before he could finish, Lexi rushed into the room and leapt onto the seat cushion next to mine. “Your bathroom is as good as new!” she shouted. “Need anything else done?”
“Okay. What’s going on?” asked Dad, his eyes suspicious slits. “You guys don’t do anything nice without a reason. Last year Otto ironed my clothes because he wanted to go to the water park.” He shook his head and frowned.
“I said I was sorry,” I squeaked. “I didn’t know the iron would burn through your shirt.”
“That’s why you never leave an iron on top of clothes while you watch television.”
“But there was a really good show on TV, so it wasn’t completely my fault. Blame the cable TV guys. I talked to one recently. Honestly, they don’t seem very bright.”
“That’s okay,” said Dad. “It’s water under the bridge. But I know you two want something. What is it?”
“Why do you think we want anything?” remarked Lexi with a fake innocent smile. “You look really handsome today, Dad.”
Dad picked a crust of food off his T-shirt.
“Hey, I have an idea!” I exclaimed. “I should get a dog!”
“I have a better idea,” exclaimed Lexi. “I should get a cat!”
“Cats are boring,” I said. “They spend their days licking themselves and ignoring you. They don’t play fetch. They don’t do tricks. Man’s best friend is a dog, and Dad is a man, so that means dogs are his best friend. When Dad was a kid he wanted a dog. Right?”
Dad nodded. He looked out the window as if remembering those long-lost dog-wanting days. “Grandpa and Grandma said a dog was too hard to take care of. I begged and I begged. They always said no.”
“Grandpa and Grandma sure are smart!” crowed Lexi. “That’s because they’re older and wiser. Always listen to your elders. I bet they’d both agree that a cat is the best pet ever. They are much easier to take care of, and twice as smart, and they don’t smell like dogs do.”
“They smell better than you,” I chirped in.
“It’s perfume!” she whined.
“You smell worse than Dad’s couch!” Dad threw me a dirty look. “Not that your couch smells bad, Dad.” I fidgeted. “I like peas.” I took a deep breath of the seat cushion behind me. “Great!” I stifled a cough and a wheeze.
“You guys want pets?” asked Dad. We nodded. “Ask your mother.”
“We did already,” explained Lexi. “And we’re having a contest to see who can earn money the fastest. But Mom said we needed your permission, too. I’ll bring my cat with me when we come to stay.”
“No, I’ll bring my dog!” I threw Lexi a dirty look.
“I see,” murmured Dad. He scratched his chin. He examined his cuticles. “I might agree to your owning a pet. Maybe. Not sure. I need more convincing.”
“I’ll take care of the dog,” I promised. “I’ll take it on walks and feed it and everything.”
“You’ll love a cat,” insisted Lexi. “I made some charts at home I can show you. They make good mousers, you know. They cost less than dogs, too. And then there’s that smell thing.” I opened my mouth to say something. Before I could, Lexi screeched, “It’s perfume!”
“Both are good arguments,” said Dad. “But my laundry really needs to be done. And my shoes need to be polished.”
You’d think someone had lit the couch on fire the way Lexi and I bounced up. And honestly, the couch should have been set on fire years ago to get rid of that pea smell. But I snapped up Dad’s shoes from his closet while Lexi grabbed the laundry basket.
“Dad’s totally going to let us get a pet,” said Lexi as we passed in the hallway.
I nodded. “Yeah. He’s just milking this.”
“Like the time we wanted to go to the movies and he made us wash his car first.”
“Except I couldn’t find the car wash liquid, so I used his shampoo.”
“At least the car didn’t get dandruff,” said Lexi with a loud snort. I couldn’t help but laugh, too. “But a few chores is a small price to pay for a cat.”
“You mean a dog.”
“A cat.”
“No way,” I snarled out of the side of my mouth. “You might as well surrender. You don’t have a chance
.”
“A lot better chance than you,” she snarled back, but my snarl was snarlier. “How much money have you saved?”
“Plenty. I’m up to my eyeballs in money.”
“You must have eyeballs on your toes.”
“We’re getting a dog,” I hissed.
“We’re getting a cat,” she squawked back, turning around and marching out of the hallway with Dad’s laundry.
But I’d show her. I’d make Dad’s shoes so shiny he’d buy a dog on the spot. I found the shoe polish kit he kept in a plastic bag in the back of his closet and got to work.
Dad showed me last year how to polish shoes, so I knew what I was doing. I didn’t use his neckties, either, but the shoe polishing cloth he kept in the bag. I wasn’t making any mistakes. This time.
I was a natural born shoe polisher. I wondered what sort of money shoe polishers made. I could open up a shoe shine stand. Except you only see those at airports, and the airport was way too far away to ride my bike. While I was on his second pair of loafers, Dad stood over me, supervising.
“Look at that shine!” I beamed, hoisting them up.
“I think we could get a dog,” Dad mused, nodding. “Maybe. But you missed a spot right there.” I scrubbed the side of his shoe again. “Better. But I still need convincing. Polish the other three pairs and we’ll talk about getting a dog.”
“Or a cat, right, Dad?” screamed Lexi from the hallway.
“Yes. Or a cat!” Dad hollered back. “If your mom thinks it’s a good idea, then I guess I’m fine with it.” He pointed to the shoe I was holding. “But only if those shoes are so shiny I can see my reflection in them.”
“Yes, sir!” I smeared a glob of shoe polish onto another shoe. “By the way, I charge one hundred dollars a shoe.”
Dad growled.
“Just kidding,” I quickly added. Not really. For a moment I thought I had stumbled upon a brilliant idea.
But of course Dad would agree to a pet. I continued rubbing in shoe polish, just in case. Polishing shoes wasn’t getting me any closer to earning money, though.
I could see my reflection in his shoes. And I saw a future dog owner smiling back at me.
Dad worked us to the bone. I felt a little like Cinderella, slaving for my wicked stepmother so I could attend the ball. Except having a dog was way better than going to some stupid dance party in a pumpkin.
But I still wasn’t any closer to the brilliant moneymaking idea I needed. Time was dwindling quickly, too. Unless I began making money pronto, I would never earn enough cash by the end of the month.
Dad’s shoes had never looked better, though. His apartment had never looked cleaner. And somehow, Lexi removed that pea smell from the couch. For all the work we did, we should have gotten a kennel full of pets.
I collected all the garbage the next morning. I didn’t need to since Dad had already agreed to a pet, but I wanted to stay on his good side. Parents change their minds sometimes. Just a few weeks before, Mom agreed to let me sleep over at Malcolm’s. But then I accidentally broke a vase in the living room, and just like that, I was grounded. She said that I should know better than to play ball in the house. But she was wrong — I didn’t know better.
I knew better now. You’d think that would count for something.
So when Dad asked me to take out the garbage, I didn’t complain like I would normally. I smiled and grabbed the trash.
A large dumpster sat outside the building. All the apartment people threw their garbage in there. Trash was collected on Mondays, and since today was Sunday the dumpster already overflowed with bags in a fly-covered heap. The garbage stench was overpoweringly awful, too. Don’t flies smell things? You’d think they’d prefer to whiz around a chocolate factory or something. That’s where I’d hang if I were a fly.
I had to throw the bag high in the air so it would land on top of garbage mountain. Just as I let the bag go, just as it soared to the top, I heard barking. It was a sign that I was meant to win this challenge. And not a sign with glitter on it, either.
The bark was a large dog ruff, five rapid, deep woofs one after another. Across the street a lady walked a German shepherd. Golden hair. Black back. Powerful body. I bet it weighed more than the lady walking it. It strode forward quickly, as if it didn’t want to be late to a dog party or somewhere else. The lady struggled to hold it back, constantly shouting, “Slow down, Racer! Not so fast, Racer! Stop that, Racer!” Each time, the German shepherd slowed for a split second and then hurried forward again.
If she wanted a slow dog, maybe she shouldn’t have named it Racer.
It’s not easy to walk big dogs anyway, especially when they don’t listen too well. I suppose small dogs and medium dogs can be hard, too. It depends on the dog. But that’s just another reason why they are so wonderful. They aren’t the same. They aren’t toys in a box. Dogs can be smart, laid-back, happy, grumpy, sleepy, dopey, and the rest of the seven dwarfs except for Doc, since his name didn’t make any sense. It’s not like the guy was a doctor or anything.
The lady could have used some help. But I couldn’t waste time goofing off and walking dogs. I needed to think of a way to make money and wipe that sneaky grin off Lexi’s stinky face.
And then it hit me. A lot of people need help walking their dogs. The Finches always complained about taking Alfalfa out. I enjoyed it, when they let me. It was so obvious:
What do I like to do?
Walk dogs.
What do people need?
Dog walkers.
People. Pay. Money. Walk. Dogs. Me.
It was brilliant, although not very good English. The big idea! The moneymaking plan that wasn’t impossible, or crazy, or stupid, or anything other than perfect.
Supply and demand! Dogs demanded to be walked. I would supply it.
It would also be a great way to show Mom I was responsible enough to take care of a dog, since she always said how irresponsible I am. That’s win-win! And it would be fun! That’s win-win-win! And I bet I could earn money way faster than Lexi.
That’s a quadruple win. But most important, that’s a quadruple dog win.
I couldn’t wait to see Lexi’s face when I raked in the dough and walked my new dog through the front door. I pictured Lexi sulking in the corner, muttering the name Fluffernutter to herself. It was such a great picture, I wished I could frame it.
I sprinted back to Dad’s apartment and went straight to his computer. I was still a little annoyed that my brilliant OTTO’S AMAZINGLY DELIGHTFUL RAINBOW CRAZY COOKIES sale signs were wasted. But I didn’t need fancy lettering or colored borders or pictures of rainbows, or even Lexi’s extra-glittery drawings. Because I had a great idea, and great ideas rise to the top, like inflatable pool toys.
TOO POOPED TO WALK YOUR DOG?
THEN YOU OUGHT TO CALL OTTO! RAIN OR SHINE,
I’M DEPENDABLE AND RELIABLE.
NEED A BREAK? THEN YOU OUGHTA CALL OTTO’S
DOG WALKING SERVICE!
555-1286
I printed two dozen of the signs on Dad’s color printer. As the last one spit out, Dad shouted from the hallway. “Ready, Champ? It’s time to go back to Mom’s house.”
“I sure am!” I couldn’t wait to hang up my fliers around town. “Where’s Lexi?”
“Your mom picked her up a couple of hours ago. She had a bunch of kids waiting for her. I think she’s tutoring them. Isn’t that great?”
Two hours ago? That meant she was making money while I was making signs. I felt my face turning red. I wanted to scream. I forced myself to take deep breaths and calm down.
She might have had the upper hand now, but with my You Oughta Call Otto Dog Walking Service, I’d have the upper, upper hand soon.
Dad drove me back to Mom’s house, and I got to sit in the front seat. It wasn’t a very nice car — old, small, and the CD player didn’t work. When Dad moved out, Mom kept the good car. “You and your sister are really serious about getting a pet, aren’t you?” asked Dad.
“I want a dog more than anything.”
“Then you’ll have to earn a lot of money.” We pulled up into Mom’s driveway. “Hold on,” said Dad as I grabbed the handle to open the door. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed me a ten-dollar bill. “Don’t tell your sister.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, beaming. “I’m going to win this challenge! We’ll have a dog in this family!”
“I always wanted a dog. It’d be a lot of work, but it’ll help you guys learn about being responsible. Good luck.”
“Hey, do you have another four hundred dollars in your wallet you can give me?” Dad shot me a dirty look that said, do-you-even-listen-when-I-talk? “Just asking.”
Dad honked to let Mom know I was home. I ran inside the house, dropped my overnight bag in the hallway, and headed to the staircase.
“Do I get a hello?” asked Mom.
“Hello,” I said.
Mom pointed to my bag in the middle of the hallway. “That goes in your room.”
“I was taking it upstairs,” I said. Not really. I grabbed my bag and lugged it up the staircase. Just as I reached the top step, I heard purring. I stiffened. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
A fat white cat with plush, fluffy hair walked past. It looked up at me with burning blue eyes and an arrogant, Lexi-like smirk. It purred softly. It rubbed itself against my leg.
“Fluffernutter?” I gasped. I couldn’t breathe. I staggered back.
“There you are, Sasha.” Avery Maples, a friend of Lexi’s, walked out of Lexi’s room and picked up the horrid ball of walking white fur. “Thanks for letting me bring her over,” she said to Lexi, who followed her friend into the hallway. Avery stroked Sasha’s coat. “Soon our cats can play together.”
I glared at Lexi, and at Avery, and most of all, at Sasha. I wasn’t fooled by the cat’s cuddliness. I wasn’t taken in by the way she purred softly in her owner’s arms and batted her little eyelids. Cats were the enemy. Lexi was the enemy.
“Get used to it,” Lexi snapped at me. “We’ll be living with a cat soon.”
The Pet War Page 7
