The Pet War

by Allan Woodrow

  “I’m done, too,” I muttered, wedging an entire taco into my mouth. I’m not sure if Mom understood a thing I said, since it sounded more like I-o-woo, but I wasn’t going to let Lexi beat me at eating dinner fast, too. Besides, I had a dog walking appointment that night, and then I needed to do some homework, maybe. I didn’t want to think about all the worksheets waiting for me in my backpack.

  “Put your plate in the dishwasher,” Mom ordered me. “And put away your jacket that’s lying in the front hall.” To both Lexi and me she yelled, “And I meant what I said! This is a family, not two countries!”

  But Lexi was already out the door, and I was walking away from the table with my dirty plate.

  Anyway, Mom was wrong. Lexi was the country of Stupid Kittenland. And I was the mighty United Dogs of America. And my country was counting on me.

  When I returned home from dog walking that evening, homework waited for me. I sat at the kitchen table and opened my folder of schoolwork. What I really, really wanted to do, though, was sleep.

  I had gotten some school assignments back that day. I hadn’t done well, but at least I was passing my classes. I stared at all the red pen marks and the note from my teacher that read, “You can do better.”

  I wanted to write back, “But I can’t do better or I’ll never earn enough money and will have to live with a cat.” I kept the schoolwork in my folder. I couldn’t let Mom see it, at least not yet. I’d show her my grades after we had a dog. I knew Mom would fall in love with our new pet immediately and wouldn’t get rid of it no matter how many Ds I got.

  This was the stretch run. The final week. It was no time to slow down and start catching up on school. It was about making enough money. It was about beating Lexi.

  If only there was a way to do homework and walk dogs at the same time. I tried that a few days ago, and my nose still hurt from when I walked into a wall while reading. So that wasn’t going to work. Doing more than one thing at the same time is called multitasking. I needed to multitask.

  I called Malcolm. “How are we doing on money?” I asked. I was a little nervous. We had talked at lunch. I had handed him his share of the earnings and told him how much money I had in my shoe box. He said he’d crunch some numbers to make sure we were on track. The deadline was looming.

  There was silence on the other end.

  “Hello?” I asked. “Anyone there?”

  “Not good,” he finally said. “We need to average about five dog walks a day to make it.”

  “Five a day?” I groaned. “Maybe if I skipped dinner. And school.” And breathing.

  “I have an idea,” he muttered. “But. No. Never mind.”

  But you can’t say never mind to someone, ever. Because the person always wants to hear what you’re never-minding. “Out with it.”

  He cleared his throat. “No. It’s a bad idea.”

  “There are no such things as bad ideas,” I assured him.

  “Of course there are. Bad ideas are a thing,” he said. “Remember the firecracker and cauliflower incident?”

  I would rather not have thought about that. “Fine. There are bad ideas. What’s yours?”

  He sighed. “It’s a bad idea,” he warned. “But … what if you walked more than one dog at once?”

  My eyes grew big. My head shook up and down in agreement, although Malcolm couldn’t see me. “That’s multitasking!”

  “Sort of,” said Malcolm. “But it’s a terrible idea, so forget I said it.”

  “It’s a brilliant idea!” I yelled. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. Double-, triple-, and quadruple-book!” I boomed. “What do you call booking five things at a time?”

  “Quintuple-booking?”

  “Yes, that, too!” Real dog walkers don’t walk just one at a time. They walk a group. “I want a quintuple-booked appointment first thing Monday after school!”

  I’m pretty sure I heard Malcolm arch his eyebrows. “It’s a lot harder walking more dogs. What if something goes wrong?”

  “What could go wrong?”

  “Really? I can think of about three hundred things without even trying. The dogs fight. They don’t cooperate. You can’t control them, you —”

  “Fine, I get the idea,” I said. “But this is my business. You work for me. Make the calls.”

  “You’re being bossy again.”

  “Sorry. Just do it, okay?” I paused. “Please?”

  “Fine. I’ll book two dogs at once.”

  “Five dogs!” I insisted.

  Malcolm sighed and said he’d start calling the next day. I hung up and opened my social studies textbook. I was supposed to read chapter eighteen, but I never made it past the second page in the chapter. I read it about eight times and I still had no idea what I was reading. I’m not sure how long I was there, but when I woke up I was still in the kitchen, and my head was on the book and the sun was up. I was still on the second page.

  At least it was something. I’d do the other eighteen pages of homework some other time. Soon.

  From looking at the place, you wouldn’t have known Lexi and I had spent the entire weekend cleaning Dad’s apartment just two weeks ago. A pizza box sat on the kitchen table, three bags of garbage needed to be taken to the dumpster, and some dishes in the sink needed to be washed.

  “Really, Dad?” I said. “You couldn’t tidy up a little? And why does it always smell like peas in here?”

  Dad sat on the couch, putting his feet up and lying back. “I’ve been busy. But now that you guys are here, I thought you’d like to help straighten up. And I like peas.”

  “No time to help, Dad,” said Lexi. “I need to make signs.” She had brought both her regular suitcase and a giant portfolio case filled with art supplies. She hurried into her bedroom to work.

  “I hoped you could do some dusting … ,” began Dad, but Lexi was gone. He looked straight at me.

  “Sorry. I’ve got a dog walking appointment in twenty minutes,” I explained, dragging my suitcase to my room.

  “You guys can’t help a little?” squeaked Dad in a small, desperate voice.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Sorry!” hollered Lexi from her room.

  “I could still change my mind!” yelled Dad. “Maybe I don’t think a pet is a good idea!”

  “Too late, Pops,” I replied. “That ship has sailed.”

  Dad stood in the hallway outside our rooms. I didn’t like to unpack when I visited, because that just meant I had to pack again in a day or two, so I threw my suitcase in the corner. “I’ve made some fun plans for us,” said Dad. “I thought we could see a movie.”

  “Sorry. I’m too busy,” I said.

  Lexi yelled, “Me, too!”

  “Lexi, we could go shopping!” shouted Dad.

  “Sorry!” yelled Lexi.

  “Otto, we could play soccer,” he pleaded.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “We could play Sorry,” said Dad, referring to his favorite board game.

  “Sorry,” I said, and then quickly muttered, “I mean, no thanks.”

  Dad stood in my doorway with a frown on his face. He usually acted like he had to do some sort of father-kid bonding when we visited, since we only saw him every other week. But this was the home stretch. I didn’t have time for parents.

  I had responsibilities now. I couldn’t play games.

  But I had to admit that playing soccer and Sorry sounded fun.

  “How’s saving money going?” Dad asked as I hurried past him. “Good? You know I always wanted a dog myself.”

  “I know, Dad,” I said, heading to the front door. He followed me.

  “I thought we could go out to eat tonight,” he said.

  “I doubt I’ll have time. Maybe we could just order in a pizza.” I looked at his kitchen table and the pizza box sitting on top of it. “If you’re not sick of pizza, that is.”

  “You know, I really need help cleaning out the storage closet downstairs,” said Dad. “Really.�
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  I started to answer, but Lexi appeared in the hallway before I responded. “I’ll do it! How much does it pay?”

  “It doesn’t pay anything. I just need help,” explained Dad.

  “Oh. Then, no thanks,” said Lexi, disappearing back in her room.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said, holding my arms up after Dad turned to me and threw me an eager smile. “I’m booked.” I walked out of the apartment.

  “I shouldn’t have to pay my own kids for quality father-child bonding time!” Dad cried after me. But I was already hurrying down the hall.

  Although I did have one of his trash bags in my hand. I figured I could toss it in the dumpster on my way out. It was the least I could do.

  When I arrived back at the apartment around dinnertime, Lexi was in her room and Dad was eating pizza by himself on the couch. I grabbed a slice and leaned back on the recliner next to him.

  “How was dog walking?” asked Dad. “I’m impressed. Both you and Lexi are working really hard.”

  “If I don’t work hard, we’ll get a cat.” I raised my voice so Lexi could hear me, “And we are not getting a cat!”

  “We are not getting a dog!” she yelled back. Dad’s apartment has thin walls.

  “Growing up, your aunt Rosalyn wanted a cat,” said Dad. “But I wanted a dog, just like you.”

  “What happened?” I asked between pizza bites. I needed to eat fast so I could make my final appointment, which was across town. Staying with Dad meant longer bike rides to get to my dog walking gigs. Half my time was spent traveling. I wished Dad lived closer to Mom’s house.

  “We couldn’t agree, so we got neither. I ended up getting a turtle, but I didn’t know how to feed it and dumped the entire box of turtle food on its head, and it suffocated. I was only about five years old.”

  “It’s much better having a dog,” I agreed. “You probably couldn’t buy enough dog food to dump on its head and kill it.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Any pizza left?” asked Lexi, entering the room. She snagged a slice and plunked down on the couch. I couldn’t help noticing all the paint and glitter on her hands. There was some in her hair and on her nose, too.

  “Done for the night?” asked Dad. “We could still catch a movie.”

  “Just taking a five-minute break,” explained Lexi.

  “I need to get going, too.” I took a final slice for the road.

  “Maybe next time,” whimpered Dad, frowning.

  “As long as Fluffernutter can come along,” said Lexi with a giggle.

  “We are so not getting a cat!” I yelled as I stepped into the hallway.

  “We are so not getting a dog!” Lexi screamed back at me.

  “You’ll see!” I yelled, slamming the door. “This is war, you know!” But with the door closed, I’m not sure if she even heard that last part.

  The next day, Dad didn’t seem too disappointed we were leaving, although he had his game of Sorry sitting on the counter when we woke up. He put my glass of morning orange juice next to it and said things like, “I’m SORRY you can’t stay,” and, “SORRY you have to work so hard.” I pretended I didn’t understand what he was getting at.

  When we got back to Mom’s house, Lexi needed to run out and buy more art supplies. She goes through them faster than I go through candy the day after Halloween. We passed each other on the staircase.

  “Dad seemed pretty bummed we’re so busy,” Lexi said.

  I nodded. “Only a few days left, though. I can’t believe you turned down the chance to go shopping!”

  She smiled. “There’s a first time for everything. Are you getting close to five hundred dollars?”

  “Very close,” I assured her. “Any minute now.”

  “Really?” Lexi laughed. “Any minute? You mean in two minutes you’re going to have five hundred dollars?”

  “Fine. Not any minute,” I admitted. “But soon! Sooner than you!” I added, squinting my eyes. I hated when Lexi acted nice to me.

  You shouldn’t be nice to the enemy during war. It’s just confusing. Lexi smiled and waved as she ran downstairs, but I glared at her the whole way. I had to be tough. Unforgiving. Vicious.

  That’s what war is all about.

  I thought of horrible things I could do to her.

  Cut off her hair.

  Paint her face green.

  Duct-tape her to the ceiling.

  Steal her bed.

  None of those ideas were good enough, though. After all, I owed Lexi a lifetime of payback for being annoyingly perfect all the time.

  Winning this challenge and owning a dog would be the perfect revenge.

  In her hurry to get supplies, Lexi left her bedroom door open. As I entered the second-floor hallway, I saw it. Just a crack. A streak of light shining from a window and onto the carpet by my feet. I hesitated in front of it. She was gone. Mom was downstairs. Somewhere in her room was a pile of money. How close was she? I kept imagining her riches, piles of gold coins raining down like from a waterfall.

  I needed to know.

  Just a peek.

  Did I have a chance of winning this war?

  So I crept noiselessly into her room. I knew she would kill me if she ever found out. Mom would probably let her. So I had to be careful. I wasn’t going to do anything bad. Just count her money, that’s all. See how close she was. And if she wasn’t close, I could breathe a little easier and worry about my own money earning.

  Her room was a world of sparkly glitter. There were a half-dozen signs in various states of creation: partly done, half done, mostly done, all done.

  One of the boards said, GET YOUR FOOD AT SCHNOOD’S! but I couldn’t bear to read the others. I seethed. First Mr. Schnood fired me, and then he hired the competition. I’d put him on the top of my revenge list, after Lexi. Maybe I’d go to his store and topple over another pyramid of cans.

  That would show him.

  I was pretty sure I knew where Lexi hid her money: in a jewelry box in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. She had showed me her cash supply when I was six years old. You should be careful what you show people. It can come back and haunt you later.

  I pulled open the nightstand drawer. The jewelry box was sitting inside, with its painted pink princesses and unicorn stickers. I lifted the box, put it on her bed, and opened it.

  Money. A big stack of it. And not just one-dollar bills, but fives and tens, and even a couple of twenties. I dumped it on the bed and had just started to count when I heard the front door close downstairs.

  Lexi. She was back.

  I recognized her footsteps immediately.

  She must have forgotten something! But she would never forget me sneaking in her room. I threw the money back into the jewelry box, slammed it closed, and stuffed it back in her drawer. My heart pounded. As I turned to sprint out of the room, I saw a twenty-dollar bill on the bed. I didn’t have time to put it back into the box, and I couldn’t just leave it there as evidence, so I seized it. I stepped into the hall and stuffed the bill in my front pocket, just as Lexi walked up the final staircase step.

  “Were you in my room?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “If I had been in your room, I’d be covered in grossness. So, no.”

  “You’re already covered in grossness.”

  “That’s from talking to you.”

  She rolled her eyes. I went down the stairs. From my pocket, the twenty-dollar bill stuck out. I stared at it.

  I could use the money. I needed every dollar I could get my hands on.

  This wasn’t stealing, either. Not really. Lexi owed me for making my life miserable. She should pay me hundreds of dollars, and not just a small twenty. A lifetime of misery was worth lots more than this.

  So why did I feel so guilty putting it in my shoe box later that night?

  Mr. Hardaway frowned when he handed me the leash for Amber, his border collie. I stood on his porch with Mrs. Merryweather the poodle, Jim Jam the beagle, and Max t
he Jack Russell terrier. My first multiple-dog walking appointment. I wanted Malcolm to book five dogs at once, but he only managed to book four. He was probably right that I should start small. But eventually, I’d walk twenty, thirty dogs at the same time. I’d probably set world dog-walking records.

  Maybe the old Otto couldn’t have handled it. But for the new, improved, and mostly responsible Otto, this would be a snap.

  Or not.

  It didn’t help that Mrs. Merryweather and Jim Jam were all antsy and barking, and Max wanted to run off and chase leaves. I read that dogs can sense whether you’re calm. They smell it, like garlic. So I thought calm thoughts and shouted, “I’m calm! I’m calm!” in Jim Jam’s ear, but it just made him bark more.

  “Maybe we should forget it,” stammered Mr. Hardaway, pulling Amber back inside.

  “This will be great,” I assured him. “Amber will make some friends. Everyone needs a friend.” Amber seemed nervous, her head bowed. She hid behind her owner’s leg as Jim Jam let loose a few loud arfs, and Mrs. Merryweather growled, and Max fought his leash. “Oh, their barks are worse than their bites,” I said with a smile.

  “They bite?” Mr. Hardaway cringed with concern.

  “No, no!” I said, forcing a laugh. Mr. Hardaway didn’t look convinced. That was okay, because I wasn’t entirely sure, either. But it was too late to back out now. With a wave, I led the dogs, including Amber, down the sidewalk.

  When walking a group of dogs, they are supposed to move in unison like an army platoon. That’s what all the dogs do in online videos. But there must have been a secret to walking them that no one told me. Amber shuffled slowly forward. Jim Jam quickly rushed forward while barking at things. Max wanted to go somewhere other than the direction we walked. Mrs. Merryweather just wanted to poke the other three with her nose, mostly in their butts. They kept crisscrossing each other so their leashes got all wrapped together. I had to stop every few feet to untangle them all.

  “Stop doing that, Jim Jam,” I pleaded as he tried to jump on a jogger passing on the right. “No, this way!” I shouted to Max. “Just calm down, guys! I’m calm! Be calm!”

  Max growled in response. Amber growled in return. Mrs. Merryweather poked Jim Jam with her nose.