The Pet War

by Allan Woodrow

  We were halfway down the street when a biker rode by us. Jim Jam leapt at him. “Come on, guys. Can’t we just settle down?” I howled. Jim Jam growled at the biker, jumping over Amber, who got down on her back and lay still. “What are you doing?” I screeched. Amber just lay there. I shook her to get her moving, but she growled at me. Then Max rolled onto his back. So I scratched his stomach, but that seemed to make Amber jealous, because she barked, and then Mrs. Merryweather started poking me with her nose. “Stop it!” I bawled. “Guys! We have to walk!”

  Finally, they all stood up, and we made our way slowly down the sidewalk, Jim Jam and Max wanting to go in different directions from each other and from me. But we inched onward.

  Jim Jam saw the squirrel first. Jim Jam barked, and then froze. The sudden stop made me stumble. The stumble made me let go of his leash. As I tumbled forward, I spied the squirrel standing under the tree. It hesitated for a moment. I was still stumbling. And then it took off.

  Squirrels are fast. Jim Jam barked twice and took off after it, but not before smashing into Amber. Amber’s and Max’s leashes got tangled up, and Amber’s sudden jerk yanked the leashes from my grasp. Mrs. Merryweather poked my butt as I was finally stopping my stumble, and then I tripped over her. I had the choice of either letting go of her leash or landing on my nose. I chose to save my nose. And just like that, all the leashes were flying behind the dogs, who were all off chasing the stupid squirrel.

  “Help! Dogs on the loose!” I screamed, getting back on my feet and sprinting after them. I couldn’t believe I had runaway dogs again! The squirrel had the lead, Jim Jam close behind, followed by Max, Mrs. Merryweather, Amber, and then me helplessly in last place.

  “Jim Jam! Amber! Mrs. Merryweather! Guys!” I cried, running after them. “Be calm! Oh, come on!”

  They scampered across four lawns, over bushes, and around trees. The squirrel was way ahead of them. I think it turned around and stuck out its tongue at one point, but I’m not entirely sure about that. It dove through a hole in a fence. The dogs were just small enough to get through, but I wasn’t. I had to climb over it, and I fell and hurt my toe. We were in the backyard of someone’s house. It was a large house with a big wooden deck and thick bushes crowded together, lining the side of the house.

  The squirrel had apparently jumped into the bushes. The dogs followed and were stuck. They barked and bit and tried to get untangled. I limped up to them and grabbed their leashes, my head dripping sweat.

  “Guys. Settle down. It’s gone,” I groaned, panting heavily. They didn’t struggle as I pulled them out of the bush. But they were all covered in burs and yipping unhappily about it.

  It took a long time to remove the burs. Max had over a dozen of them. The dogs were antsy but at least they didn’t sprint away again.

  By the time I got the dogs back to their homes, it was way late.

  “What did you do to Amber?” cried Mr. Hardaway, removing a bur from her coat.

  “Sorry. I missed that one,” I said. “But I got the others out.”

  “Others?” Mr. Hardaway looked pretty mad. Amber looked pretty disheveled. Her coat was all ruffled, and dirt was caked on her nose. I couldn’t look Mr. Hardaway in the eye. He knelt next to his dog, scratching behind her ear. “That’s okay, Amber. You’re home now,” he soothed. “As for you.” He pointed his finger at me. “I no longer need your services. You oughta not call Otto.” He didn’t even pay me.

  The other dog owners weren’t pleased, either. I guess I missed a bunch of burs, but in all fairness it’s really hard to get them out when you’re walking four dogs. Maybe Malcolm was right: multi-dog-walk-tasking was a bad idea.

  You know it’s funny about get-rich-quick schemes. They never seem to work out. I guess that’s why there aren’t that many people who get rich quick.

  Despite the dog walking incident, I arrived at soccer practice on time that night, thanks to Malcolm’s scheduling skills. He had blocked out a big chunk of time and written in thick, black marker: SOCCER PRACTICE. Coach should have been happy to see me, given me a slap on the back and told me he was delighted I could make it despite my hectic schedule. But Coach Drago wasn’t the nice, slapping-on-the-back type. He was the growly, never happy, only-liked-to-say-bad-things-to-me type.

  “Otto, pay attention!” he yelled. “Otto, what are you doing?!” he screamed. “Otto, run! Otto, kick! Otto, block! Otto, Otto, Otto!” I don’t think he mentioned anyone else’s name the entire practice.

  But it’s not easy playing soccer when your sister is getting rich making signs, you’re really far from earning five hundred dollars, you’re way behind in schoolwork, you have twenty dollars that’s not really yours in a shoe box, and your soccer coach keeps blowing whistles in your ear.

  Even worse, Malcolm had turned into the world’s greatest soccer player. He was playing way over his head, and everyone’s head — he kept heading balls into the net. I tried to head balls, too, but they kept hitting my nose. It does not feel good to have a ball constantly hitting your nose. That’s why they are called headers, and not nosers.

  It became obvious that Malcolm would be starting our first game of the season instead of me. During goal kicking practice he nailed every shot. I missed half. In dribbling drills he went around the cones flawlessly. I kept running into them. In juggling practice he was a whirlwind of ball motion, and mine kept bouncing randomly away. And then we played a scrimmage. Malcolm played with the starters and I played with the second string.

  If only I hadn’t taught him so many tricks before the season began!

  “I’m not sure what I’m worse at, soccer or math,” I complained to Malcolm as we took a water break. I took a big gulp of water from my water bottle. “I can’t wait until this month is over.”

  “You know what Coach Drago always says?”

  “‘Otto, you’re terrible’? ‘Otto, pass the ball to Malcolm’? ‘Otto, sit down’?” There were so many things he said that I couldn’t pick just one.

  “Other than that.” Malcolm laughed. “He says to leave everything you have on the sidelines. If you play, play to win. And if you lose, at least you know you gave it your all. Have you given your pet challenge your all?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “That’s all you can do.”

  But that wasn’t good enough. There are no awards for trying hard, no dogs in your house for giving it your best. “Do I have a chance of earning five hundred dollars?” I asked, thinking of my shoe box filled with not nearly enough money.

  Malcolm shrugged. “Unlikely. But you never know. And I do have an idea.”

  “Is it better than your last idea? I wish you hadn’t insisted I walk four dogs at once.”

  “What?” said Malcolm, spitting out water from his water bottle. “I told you not to walk more than one dog. You didn’t listen.”

  “That’s not how I remember it,” I grumbled.

  “Do you want to hear my idea?” asked Malcolm. I sighed, and then I nodded. “So, my mom subscribes to magazines, right?”

  “I could start a dog magazine!” I shouted. “Brilliant!”

  Malcolm shook his head. “No, it’s not. You cannot start a dog magazine. That’s a horrible idea. But my mom pays for her magazine in advance, right? Last night she sent out a check for the next year of magazines. Why don’t you offer dog walking subscriptions? Like a package. Pay now. Dog walk later.”

  “We can do that?” I was intrigued.

  “Why not? Say, charge fifty bucks for a pack of ten dog walks. Normally, that would be sixty dollars, so it’s a great deal for them. And you get your money now, when you need it.”

  I knew it would pay off to have a Mathlete champion helping me. “You’re a genius.” I could have hugged Malcolm right there and then, if it wouldn’t have just been really weird.

  “And I’ve been thinking,” Malcolm said after taking a swig from his water bottle. “You don’t have to pay me anymore. I want you to win.”

  M
y eyes must have bugged out. “Really? Are you sure you don’t want your half of the money?”

  “Twenty-five percent is not half. But yes. I’ll work for free from here on out. Or at least until you get a dog.”

  “You’re the best friend ever.”

  “I know. It’s about time you recognized my extreme wonderfulness.”

  “It’s hard to notice under your extreme ugliness.”

  “Cod-liver-oil spleen-vomiting rumpus worker.”

  “Gorilla-baiting eel hugger.”

  “Cockroach-infested motel-room rusted-tweezer lover.”

  But we were smiling the entire time.

  “Water break’s over, let’s get going,” yelled Coach Drago, clapping his hands.

  I couldn’t get the grin off my face the rest of practice, even after I tripped over an orange cone during our next soccer drill.

  When Mr. Colander instructed us to take out our pencils for the big math quiz, I almost raised my hand and asked, “What math quiz?” Today? Wasn’t that next week? I thought the test wasn’t until March 27.

  Oh. Today was March 27.

  I wrote my name on the top of the page, and it was downhill from there. It usually takes Mr. Colander a week to return our tests. That would be after we got a dog. Or a cat. No, a dog. So even if I missed every question, I’d still have a dog, and have someone to play with after I was grounded for the rest of my natural born life for flunking math.

  Besides, this wasn’t all my fault. Not really. Sure, I forgot about the test. Yes, I was doing lousy at school. But how was I supposed to concentrate when I saw signs from Lexi everywhere? When she smirked at me from across the dinner table? When Malcolm was becoming the world’s greatest soccer player?

  But at least Malcolm was on my side, unlike my dreadful sister and her stupid signs. The school hallways were filled with them — I think everyone running for student body president hired her. There were dozens of glitter-gorged signs on every wall with expressions like, THINK BIG AND VOTE FOR SAM SPRIG! and GOOD GOLLY, VOTE MOLLY MYERSON! and PUNCH YOUR TICKET FOR ERICA RICKETT. It was enough to make you queasy and wish someone was running for office whose name didn’t rhyme with anything.

  I picked up a new dog for a walk that day. Barker was a Siberian husky. He had a thick white coat and the top of his head was black. He was all panting tongue and wagging tail. Barker also had the deepest ice-blue eyes you’d ever seen, eyes that just made you want to wrap your arms around him and give him a hug. Some dogs you want to roll around with, and others you want to run with, and others you want to stand back from and treat with respect and dignity. But with Barker, you wanted to hug him. He had a great smile, too, a smile that made you feel all warm inside, like you were wrapped in a warm, woolly blanket.

  Hugging dogs. Now that I thought of it, those were probably the best kinds of dogs to have.

  Barker was a medium-sized dog, but pretty thick. Huskies are sled dogs, so they’re powerful and have a lot of stamina. This wasn’t the sort of dog I was going to tire out.

  “If you buy ten dog walking appointments now, they are only fifty dollars. That’s a savings of twenty bucks!” I told Mrs. Mundsen, Barker’s owner.

  “Twenty dollars? I thought you charged six dollars for a walk. Isn’t that a savings of ten dollars?”

  “That’s what I meant,” I mumbled. Stupid math.

  She only had twenty-five dollars in her wallet, but I told her that would be good for five more walks. She seemed hesitant until I assured her I was the most responsible dog walker on the planet, and did Barker have any eating problems, like with vanilla ice cream? Barker didn’t.

  I sold a package to Buttercup’s owner, too. Although she said she would only pay forty dollars for ten walks, take it or leave it. I took it. Forty bucks is forty bucks. Just like that, I was back in the race. I was practically wealthy. I felt like the king of the world.

  I put the money in my pocket, adding to an already sizable wad of cash. Ever since I’d snuck into Lexi’s room, I had carried most of my money with me. If I accidentally took twenty dollars from her, she could do the same to me! So I didn’t like leaving my money unguarded, even though my shoe box was way in the back of my closet behind a pair of shoes, and not just any shoes but the smelliest shoes I owned. Even I hated going near them.

  Of course, if she took money from me, that would clearly be stealing. But I hadn’t stolen from her — she practically owed me twenty dollars for a lifetime of being annoying. That twenty dollars was rightfully mine, right? Right?

  Maybe if I thought it enough, I’d start believing it.

  “Come on, Barker,” I said. “Mush!” He bounded forward, but not before flashing me a smile. I bent down right in the middle of our walk and gave him a hug. Sometimes you just have to hug a dog.

  With my dog walking subscriptions, the only thing that could stop me now was a horrible, four-letter word: Lexi. She had to be close to five hundred dollars. In fact, every time I came home I cringed, half expecting a cat to jump out at me. When I got home from dog walking, I cringed. When I woke up, I cringed.

  “Why are you cringing so much?” Mom asked.

  “No reason,” I said, cringing.

  I got home from walking Barker and I cringed, of course. But the house was still cat-less, so I uncringed.

  As I went upstairs, I passed Lexi coming down. She has a way of crawling under my skin. Just looking at her brought a frown to my face.

  “Only a few days left.” She grinned. “Getting close?”

  “Of course,” I snarled. “Piece of cake.”

  “Cake? And we know what a good baker you are.” She giggled. “Made any chocolate chip cookies lately?” I frowned. “Sorry,” she said, and she sounded like she almost meant it.

  But she couldn’t fool me. Not for a nanosecond. “The only thing I’ll be burning is you. When I smoke you in this pet battle.”

  Lexi rolled her eyes. “Maybe you can bake some cat cookies for Fluffernutter.”

  “We are not getting a cat,” I yowled.

  “We are not getting a dog,” she hissed.

  As she walked down the steps I paused in front of her room, fuming. I’d wipe that grin from her face. I’d show her that she wasn’t better than me at everything.

  I pushed open her door. A dozen posters sat on the floor, taunting me with their glitter and perfect lettering.

  Lexi’s nightstand stared at me, too, with beady, evil dresser eyes. It practically dared me to look inside the jewelry box again. I took a deep breath and thought of that twenty-dollar bill still sitting in my room.

  I turned and left. I could beat her my way, fair and square. She’d see.

  But as I walked to my room and put my hand on my doorknob to turn it, I saw a Post-it note stuck on the door. It had glitter poured on it and a single word: MEOW.

  That did it. She couldn’t mock me and get away with it. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I clomped to Lexi’s room and threw open her door. I was sick of her. Sick, sick, sick. I picked up her signs, put them under my arm, and marched back out. I threw the boards on my bed and took out the scissors from my top desk drawer.

  I’d show Little Miss Perfect. Let her try to win with all her posters cut into tiny pieces.

  I grabbed the first poster in the pile, a green one that was almost finished. It said, PTA BAKE SALE, and below it but smaller, COOKIES AND CAKE, ALL FRESHLY BAKED! This would be the first victim.

  Which seemed fitting. I bet the cookies only had one chocolate chip in them, if any.

  I slowly closed the scissors, cutting the poster edge. I snipped some more. The slice grew longer, almost reaching the glitter.

  And I stopped.

  My hands trembled.

  I dropped the scissors.

  A bead of sweat dripped from my forehead and landed on one of the posters, smearing a letter.

  I took a step back.

  I couldn’t do it.

  I don’t know what felt worse: cutting Lexi’s sign or realizing I couldn
’t go through with the sabotage. I was aware of how hard I was working. Lexi was working just as hard. I knew all is fair in war. I knew it’s kill or be killed. I knew war is not for the squeamish.

  But I thought about what Mom said. This wasn’t war. Not really. It was family.

  Maybe winning wasn’t everything. Maybe.

  The board had a small slice in it, only about a few inches long. I hoped Lexi wouldn’t notice. I put the posters back into her room. I think I put them back in the right places.

  Mr. “It takes me a week to grade tests” Colander handed back our math quizzes that very morning. Really? Just when things were starting to go right for me, too! I looked at my grade and felt like screaming. For joy. I didn’t do great. A C− wasn’t going to get high fives from Mom, but at least I wouldn’t get a note home telling Mom I flunked. I actually yelped a little from excitement. I couldn’t help myself.

  “Yes, Otto?” said our teacher.

  “Nothing.”

  “You yelped.”

  “Just happy.”

  “You got a C.”

  “A C minus. Isn’t life wonderful?”

  I felt so good I didn’t even get upset staring at Lexi’s wall of posters along the hallway when I left class. The student body elections would be next week, and the posters would all come down.

  Next week life would be normal. Lexi’s signs would be gone. I’d be a soccer star. I’d work extra hard to bring my grades back up. And I’d come home every day to an exciting, hug-ready dog.

  “I got a C minus on my math test,” I told Malcolm at lunch. “Fist bump!”

  Malcolm made a potato chip, carrot stick, and peanut butter sandwich. That’s when you open your bread and crumble your chips in it, and then add your carrot sticks. Malcolm said it made a sandwich that was crunchy and sweet and healthy all at the same time, but I just thought it was a waste of potato chips. “You know that a C minus is a horrible grade, right?”

  “I think ‘horrible’ is a bit strong. ‘Less than stellar,’ I would say.”