“I walk my own dog,” said Sylvester Stringer when I handed him a flier.
“If you break your legs, call me!” I said.
The janitor had just mopped the floors so they were slippery. But unfortunately, Sylvester didn’t fall and break anything.
I even taped fliers on the wall, many right next to Lexi’s tutoring signs. My small pages looked pretty wimpy compared to her large, glittery poster boards. But I taped ten of my signs around just one of hers, which helped.
“If your dog needs walking, you oughta call Otto,” I said to Tara Wilson, who was reading one of my signs.
“I don’t own a dog,” she said.
“Then get one,” I suggested. “And then call me to walk it!”
She rolled her eyes and walked away, so I don’t think she was going to get a dog anytime soon. But if she did, I bet I would have been the first person she called.
I arrived at my four o’clock appointment exactly on time, except I had told Ms. Brownstone I would be there at three thirty. Apparently I wrote down the time wrong. She grumbled but handed me the leash to Truman, a black-and-white border collie. I once read that border collies make the best Frisbee-catching dogs. I was sure Truman would be great at it — he looked like a small ball of energy, ready to leap a mile. Maybe we could enter Frisbee-catching competitions. Those must pay serious prize money. His ears stood at attention, and he kept walking faster than me. He was a runner, no doubt about it. So when we got to the park and saw a guy tossing a Frisbee to his dog, I asked if Truman could have a turn.
“Why not?” said the guy, handing me the disc.
I waved the Frisbee under Truman’s nose so he could sniff it. He wagged his tail and nuzzled his nose against the plastic edge. He was going to be an exceptional Frisbee catcher. You can tell those things. “Ready, boy?” I asked. Truman barked. “Let’s show this guy what you’re made of.”
Frisbee dogs. Those were probably the best kinds of dogs, if you thought about it.
I hurled that disc as far as I could. I whipped that thing a mile and a half. Then I let go of the leash. Truman took off like a jet plane, except with loud barks instead of loud engines.
“Go, boy, go!” I screamed.
Truman kept running. And running. And running.
“Come back, boy, come back,” I whimpered.
I sprinted after him. I couldn’t believe I had another runaway dog!
I caught up with Truman a block away. He sat under a tree, panting, as if nothing had happened. With no Frisbee in sight.
I wasn’t taking any chances with my next dog, Jetson. The responsible Otto didn’t take chances. At least the mostly responsible Otto. I was forty-five minutes late picking him up because I couldn’t read my writing, and I dropped Truman off late, and I stopped home for a snack. And I didn’t realize how long it would take me to get from one house to the other. But Mr. Finley didn’t seem to mind. At least he didn’t mind too much. Jetson was a sandy-colored Labrador retriever. He was a big dog. A strong dog. A serious dog, with a serious expression. He stood straight with his chin up. He didn’t seem like the type to run away. Besides, they wouldn’t call them retrievers if they didn’t retrieve things and bring them back, right? We could enter fetching competitions and make extra cash. But I wasn’t taking any chances. Not this time. I was too responsible for that. So when I saw the perfect fetching stick next to the sidewalk, I knew I was going to toss it. But I wasn’t going to let go of Jetson. I wrapped the leash around my hand. I hurled the stick as far as I could. We’d get it. Together.
“Fetch, boy!” I yelled. “Fetch!”
That went well for the first three steps, Jetson running and me sprinting alongside him, until I tripped. Jetson didn’t stop, though. He dragged me behind him, my arms flailing, my legs trying to get under me but instead bouncing wildly. “Stop! Wait!” I cried, my butt skimming across the grass. “No! Ow! Please!” I bumbled, twisting to avoid a rock. But retrieving dogs love to retrieve, I guess.
We stopped two blocks later so Jetson could pee on a fire hydrant. Standing on my shaky legs, I removed the stick from his mouth. “Good boy,” I panted. “Good boy.”
I was done with throwing things, whether they were sticks or Frisbees or whatever. But that was okay. Fergie wasn’t the Frisbee-catching or stick-fetching type anyway. She was a cream-colored, brown-spotted cockapoo. She was a shaggy little dog and looked so innocent you wanted to scratch her ears and pet, and pet, and pet her.
Innocent petting dogs. Now those were the best kinds of dogs, if you ask me.
Dogs attract people, especially cute, innocent-looking dogs like Fergie. Every block or so kids would run up to us and pet her. Some kids asked first. But others just started petting. Which gave me an idea of how I could make more cash, and I didn’t even have to enter any fetching or catching contests.
No, this was a responsible way to earn money.
“Can I pet your dog?” asked a boy, running up. He looked to be in second grade or so. He was a bit of a mess — his shoes were untied, and he had a big blue stain on his half-tucked-in white T-shirt. But he looked perfect to me.
“What’s your name, kid?” I asked.
“Fisher.”
“Fisher, I’ll tell you what. How’d you like to not just pet the dog, but walk her?”
“Really?” His face lit up. You’d think I had just asked if he wanted to celebrate Christmas twice a year instead of the usual once.
“Well, the You Oughta Call Otto’s Dog Walking Service is having a special today. For just two dollars you can walk this dog for three whole minutes. You won’t find a bargain like that just anywhere.”
Fisher’s happy smile immediately ducked behind a rain cloud. “I don’t have two dollars.”
“Then you better run home and get cash. And tell your friends. Two dollars for your very own once-in-a-lifetime dog walking experience.”
I was a genius! If I had really long arms, I would have patted myself on the back. I walked Fergie back and forth for a few minutes until Fisher returned. He waved two one-dollar bills in the air. Three other boys were with him, too. They all carried money.
Fisher handed me his bills first. “Tooth fairy money,” he explained.
“A smart investment, kid,” I assured him. “The tooth fairy would be proud.” I handed over the leash. “Here you go. Three minutes. Starting now. And whatever you do, don’t let go of the leash.” I started counting the seconds in my head.
Fisher had obviously never walked a dog before. He seemed nervous. He walked slowly and held the leash out as far away from him as possible.
“Relax, kid. She won’t bite. Probably.”
Fisher walked Fergie for only about a minute before giving the leash back to me. I collected each kid’s dough while they took turns. Easy money.
After everyone had a turn I threw them a big smile. “Thanks, guys. I’ll be back. Same time, tomorrow. Tell your friends. You Oughta Call Otto’s Dog Walking Service — just three dollars a walk!”
“I thought it was two dollars,” moaned Fisher.
“Supply and demand, kid,” I said, patting my pocket, crammed with cash.
So, I felt pretty good about my first full day of business. I had money in my pocket and a moneymaking, dog-sharing side job. Now that the You Oughta Call Otto Dog Walking Service was up and running, my dog walking empire was growing by Frisbee-leaping leaps.
As I walked home, I passed Mrs. McClusky from down the street, unloading grocery bags from her car. Mrs. McClusky lived by herself and was pretty old. The bags looked heavy. But as you know, I was pretty good at bag carrying from my Schnood’s Grocery Store days.
So I carried her last bag into the kitchen, and I didn’t even ask to be paid for helping. That’s because the new, responsible Otto did nice things for people.
The new, responsible Otto didn’t let dogs run away. He did good deeds. He cleaned up at home. And he didn’t fight with his sister.
Well, let’s not get too carried
away.
Lexi was tutoring in the kitchen when I came home. I didn’t recognize the girl next to her, but the girl looked frustrated. “Just try it again,” said Lexi.
“It’s too hard.”
“No, it’s not, Shelby,” insisted Lexi, clearly annoyed.
“Yes, it is,” Shelby whined.
“Fine, I’ll just do it,” Lexi said with a big grunt. She slid the girl’s worksheet in front of her and wrote down an answer. No wonder kids liked having Lexi tutor them — she did their work for them! Lexi looked up at me and growled, “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” I sneered right back at her. Maybe Little Miss Perfect wasn’t so perfect after all. “I’m surprised you have time to tutor, though.” This was my chance for a little Lexi-bashing. “Have you made up the three tests you flunked last week?”
Shelby gasped and grabbed her worksheet back from Lexi.
“I did not flunk three tests,” Lexi snarled, and snatched the paper back.
“Right, it was four,” I said. “Silly me.”
Shelby tried to grab her paper again, but Lexi lifted it out of her reach. “He’s kidding,” she hissed. “I’ve never flunked a test in my life.”
Shelby didn’t seem convinced. She reached for her homework, but Lexi threw daggers with her eyes. “Don’t even think of touching this homework.”
The girl put her hand down and sat rigid in her seat, quivering. “Okay,” she squeaked. “You can have it.”
Lexi was writing down answers as I left the room. I sort of felt a little bad about being mean to Lexi, but just a little. A very, very little.
The next day I picked up Duchess, a small, light brown puggle with deep wrinkles in her forehead and drooping ears. Puggles are crosses between pugs and beagles, so they aren’t big. She was a big-time sniffer, though. For some dogs, the world was nothing but a million wonderful scents. You would think a sidewalk would smell like sidewalk. But then, you’re not a dog.
Smelling sorts of dogs like to smell everything, so it was hard to get Duchess going in the right direction. “C’mon, Duchess,” I begged. “This way.”
Duchess ignored me and smelled a lamppost.
“Duchess!” I wailed. “We’ve got money waiting.”
Finally, we got to the street corner a few blocks away, although it took forever to get there. Thankfully, Fisher and about ten of his friends were still waiting. When they saw me, they cheered. I waved. If they each brought three dollars, and they each walked Duchess, well, I didn’t have to do the math to know I’d be sitting on a big pile of money.
“One at a time,” I shouted, handing the leash to some boy with snot all over his face. “You’ll each get a turn.”
I lay down against a tree. The day was warm. The shade felt good. “Walk for three minutes, and then pass Duchess to the next kid. Just don’t let go of the leash,” I muttered.
It was really peaceful under that tree. A bit too peaceful, it seems. Because the next thing I knew, someone was kicking my leg.
“What? Huh? Done already?” I mumbled, surprised. Standing above me was a lady, probably someone’s mother, wearing an angry frown. She handed me Duchess’s leash and shook her finger at me. Her face was flushed. “What do you think you’re doing?” she screeched.
“Dog walking?” I said
She yelled at me about stealing money from little kids. I tried to explain that I didn’t steal anything — that it was all the law of supply and demand and they had a demand I was supplying. But the lady didn’t want to hear any of it. She must not have studied economics in school. She made me return all the money to the kids and told me if she saw me charging kids again, she would call my parents.
And I couldn’t let that happen. Mom would just say I was irresponsible. But I wasn’t! I was trying!
It’s just not as easy being responsible as you’d think.
And I needed to earn money quickly. I would have explained that to the woman, but she was already stomping away, leading the kids across the street. A bunch of them looked back at me, disappointed.
The lady was probably a cat person.
Back home, Lexi still tutored. I don’t know how anyone could stand being around schoolwork for so many hours in the day. If it was me, my brain would have exploded. As I passed Lexi’s room, her door opened and her friend Sophie walked out. They didn’t notice me. I stopped in the hallway, my hand on my doorknob. I kept silent.
“Thanks, Lexi,” said Sophie. “Sorry I can’t pay you or anything.”
“That’s okay,” said Lexi. “That’s what friends are for.”
“It’s just that I’m saving my money to buy those shoes I was telling you about.”
“Don’t worry about it. Hannah isn’t paying, either. Same time tomorrow?”
“You bet!”
As I turned my doorknob to go into my room, it squeaked just loudly enough for Lexi to notice. “What are you looking at, baby brother?” she snapped.
“I’m not a baby.”
“Are you spying?” she snarled.
“I’m just standing here. It’s a free country. And a free hallway. And apparently, free tutoring.”
“It’s none of your business what I’m doing,” she barked.
“It’s a shame people can’t actually pay you.” I removed a wad of cash from my pocket. “I wonder how much money I made today,” I slowly counted out the bills. “Five dollars … ten dollars …”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know we’re getting a dog.”
“We’re getting a cat.”
“A dog!”
Just then the doorbell rang. Lexi shook her head. “Whatever,” she mumbled. She headed downstairs to answer the door.
“Another free lesson?” I called behind her. “Have fun! I’ll be throwing all my money on my bed and rolling in it!”
“Baby brother!” yelled Lexi.
“I’m not a baby!”
Sticks and stones break bones, but names don’t. I bet half of her customers weren’t paying her. I couldn’t help but smile. Her great tutoring plan wasn’t so great after all. She should know nothing in life is free, especially pets.
She should create a glittery chart: how long it takes to earn five hundred dollars when you don’t charge anyone money. The answer was forever. Even me, the non-math genius, knew that.
I went to my room, which was now my business office. All mega-companies need offices. I had my shoe box to keep my money in. I had my notebook to write down my appointments. I had three pencils to write with, and only two of them needed to be sharpened. I had a box of sandwich bags and brown paper bags to keep dog poop in. After all, You Oughta Call Otto’s Dog Walking Service was about cleanliness. I had a calendar, although it was last year’s. Still, a Tuesday is a Tuesday, right? It’s not like the days change names every year.
I wrote down in my notebook:
“Pay Mom back for three pencils, sandwich bags, and paper bags: $8.00.”
I threw the money I had collected that day on my bed. I greedily counted it. $22.52.
I thought I should have had more money, though. I had absolutely no idea where the fifty-two cents came from. I had been given a one-dollar tip by Mr. Roofus, but I must have given the wrong change back to Mrs. Greely. Or maybe I charged her the wrong amount. In fact, I think I had been making money mistakes every day.
I called Malcolm to tell him how well things were going, not including the math problems. Or my falling asleep. Or accidentally showing up late for every appointment that day. But it wasn’t my fault my watch broke. Two weeks ago.
“My next appointment is at three thirty tomorrow,” I told him, looking at a note I squinted to read. I was pretty sure it said three thirty. Yes, it said three thirty. Definitely.
Probably. I groaned.
“What was that?” asked Malcolm.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Things couldn’t be going better.”
“It sounded like you groaned. Have you finished
those math worksheets yet?”
“Almost,” I answered, although I didn’t remember getting any math worksheets. Still, almost can mean just about anything. When Mom asked if my room was clean, or if I was ready for bed, or if I was done with a chore, I’d just say, “Almost.” Who could argue with that? “Things are perfect,” I boasted to Malcolm, my fingers crossed.
I looked at another appointment scribble. The pencil tip had broken while I wrote down that address, so it was a little messy. I wasn’t sure if I wrote 426 Pine Drive or 928 Pline Avenue. Pine. Pline. Those are stupid street names, anyway. They should name roads with names like the Amazing Otto Drive, the Unbelievably Awesome Otto Avenue, and the Super Terrific Otto Highway.
Maybe I could get paid for naming streets. I’d do it for a one-time fee of five hundred dollars. That would have been a pretty excellent deal if you asked me.
After I hung up with Malcolm, I stayed up kind of late looking over my notes and trying to read them. I was going to be on time tomorrow to my appointments.
I was going to try really hard to be extra responsible. After all, I was the new, responsible Otto.
I sat in the school lunchroom with Malcolm, eating pizza. Unfortunately. School had the worst pizza in the history of pizza. It looked good. It smelled edible. I’d buy the pizza, thinking, How bad could it really be? And every time it still tasted spine-chillingly lousy. It didn’t taste as bad as horseradish, but it was a close runner-up.
So I gnawed on the burnt, rubbery crust with tire-tasting sauce and runny, nauseating cheese, telling Malcolm my problems.
“No one wants every street named Otto,” he said.
“Forget the street-naming part. That wasn’t really the point.” I tried to saw my teeth through the pizza crust. I think I might have chipped a tooth. I continued admitting my problems; it felt good to tell the truth. “I can’t keep track of all my appointments. The You Oughta Call Otto Dog Walking Service is having growing pains, like the Incredible Hulk.” Malcolm stared at me, confused. “The Hulk is a dweeby science guy who turns into a giant monster but is still wearing the same pants. I mean, isn’t your underwear riding up your butt when you’re the Hulk? I know he’s practically invulnerable and all, but that’s got to hurt. I’d hate that.”
The Pet War Page 9
