The Pet War

by Allan Woodrow

  Mrs. Mundsen didn’t take the news of her dog’s injury as badly as I thought she might. I explained what happened and gave her the instructions for taking care of Barker. I didn’t think she was going to hire me again, but she didn’t yell or threaten to sue me.

  That night at home, I lay in bed with my shoe box next to me. I counted my money, twice. There was no way I could earn enough money for a dog now. I had even missed all the rest of my appointments that day because of the vet visit. I called my customers to explain. They were understanding, except for Mrs. Linkletter, who complained that she never should have bought a subscription. I told her I would throw in an extra dog walking day and that made her happier.

  But I knew I’d already lost the challenge, and there was nothing I could do to make enough money to win, short of selling all my clothes and Mom’s computer. And selling Mom’s computer wouldn’t get me a dog, it would just get me grounded for the rest of my natural born life, my unnatural life, and probably three or four other lives as well.

  Yet I felt calm, just like they say you’re supposed to feel when you walk dogs. Even though I was going to lose the challenge. Even though I would be living with a cat, I had taken responsibility. Being responsible means accepting what happens even when things don’t go right. Being responsible means not blaming someone else, either. Even though I really, really wanted to blame everything on Lexi.

  It was pretty late that night when I sat at the kitchen table, my math worksheets spread in front of me.

  Lexi sat at the table, too, doing homework. She had as tall a pile of sheets as I did. I hadn’t seen her a lot the last few days, since she was always making signs or buying art stuff.

  She looked up and saw me staring at her. “A lot of homework?” she asked, pointing to my stack.

  “Maybe,” I replied, waiting for her sneer. “You?”

  “Too much,” she said with a sigh.

  “Yeah, right,” I scoffed. There was no such thing as too much homework for Little Miss Perfect. The more the better.

  “I’ve been working so hard that I’m way behind in school.”

  I waved at her stack. “Please. You can probably get through that in like ten minutes.”

  “I wish. It’s going to take days to catch up. I just hope Mom doesn’t see my grades before tomorrow.”

  “Get a few As instead of A pluses?”

  “No,” she groaned. “I’ve been making signs. Tutoring. Doing everything but studying. I don’t get good grades by blinking, you know.”

  “You don’t?” Blinking was one of my theories about why she did so well.

  “No. I work really hard because I have to, not because I want to. If you spent as much time on your homework as I did, you’d get straight As, too. I just know that school’s important.”

  I stared at her, my mouth open. Sure, I saw Lexi study. But I thought that was because she liked it. I never really thought Lexi actually studied because she needed to.

  “It’s called being responsible. Not that you would know anything about that,” she grunted.

  “I know more than you think,” I mumbled. “Especially now. So, when are you getting Fluffernutter?”

  “What makes you think we’re getting a cat?”

  “Because I lost. I don’t have enough money. We’ll have a cat and every day you can gloat.”

  “I don’t have enough money, either,” she admitted.

  “B-but I see your signs everywhere,” I stammered. “You tutored like everyone in school.” I didn’t mention the stack of bills I spied in her jewelry box the other day. Or the twenty dollars I had taken.

  “I gave a lot of those signs away for free. I figured it was good advertising. People would see my signs and want one. But when I sold them, I didn’t get paid enough, and art supplies cost a fortune. Do you know how expensive glitter is? But everyone kept wanting more and more glitter and I couldn’t say no. I didn’t make that much from tutoring, either. Kids just don’t have a lot of money. And half my friends aren’t even talking to me because they said I was mean. I don’t know. I just got frustrated when they didn’t know the answers. I guess I’d make a poor teacher.”

  “Well, you make a poor sister, so I suppose that’s fitting,” I said, smiling.

  “I make a better sister than you do a brother.”

  I nodded my head. “You’re probably right.” I sighed. “I thought you never had problems.”

  “I wish! I can convince Mom to do stuff. But try to present charts to your friends and they just think you’re weird.” She threw me a half very-non-smirky smile. “I haven’t been too nice to you lately. Sorry. I guess I just got carried away with our war.”

  I nodded. “Tell me about it.”

  “I can’t even count money right. I somehow lost twenty dollars,” she groaned. “How do you lose twenty dollars?”

  I squirmed in my seat a little. “Yeah, that’s strange.” I looked down at the table. “Then I guess we’re not getting a pet.”

  “I guess not. A shame, huh? After all that work, too.”

  She was right. We were both doing poorly in school. We had both sacrificed a lot. Not having any pet seemed unfair. I mean, I knew cats were stupid and I hated them. But maybe a cat was better than nothing. What’s the point of having a war if both sides lose?

  But I guess in some wars that’s how it works. There aren’t winners in wars, not really. Just one side that does less awful than the other one.

  “How much did you earn?” I asked.

  “More than four hundred dollars. I was really close. You?”

  “Less than that. Hold on.”

  I went up to my room and removed my shoe box from behind my smelly shoes, only gagging once. I took out the money. I could have done a lot with that cash. I could have bought that two-hundred-dollar pair of sneakers I really wanted. Or that ultraviolent but ultracool video game I read about. I knew I was handing victory to the enemy. But somehow it felt okay. It felt right.

  Maybe Mom was right. There are more important things to spend money on than sneakers and games.

  Besides, twenty dollars of it was Lexi’s. I had stolen it. There wasn’t any other way to put it.

  But first, I counted out the money I owed Mom for her bowls, and her toner, and her pencils, and the other odds and ends I had used, taken, or broken. But there was still a lot of money left for Lexi and her cat. Our cat.

  “Here,” I said, handing her my money after I came back downstairs. “It seems silly for us both to lose.”

  “Really?” Her eyes grew wider and wider as she looked at the money. “But this is way too much.”

  I shrugged. “Well, not all of it is mine. Remember that twenty dollars you lost? I took it. I don’t know why I did. I just got carried away, too. I wanted to see how close you were and it just sort of happened. I wanted to win so badly.”

  Lexi nodded. “I looked for your money once. I wanted to know how close you were, too. But I couldn’t find your loot. And I didn’t want to look in your closet. Your sneakers really smell.”

  “That was the idea.”

  Lexi picked up my stack of bills. “I guess this makes up for your stealing.”

  “I hope so.” The way Lexi looked at me, all grateful and stuff, it almost reminded me of Barker and his wide-open thankful and trusting eyes. I almost had the urge to hug Lexi, but I’m glad that feeling faded away quickly.

  “Maybe you’re not the world’s worst brother,” she said.

  “Thanks. I guess you’re not the world’s worst sister. Maybe just second-worst. There must be someone who keeps her brother locked in a cage and force-feeds him peas. That sister would be worse. Maybe.”

  Lexi smiled and grabbed my homework. “Let’s see if I can help you a little here. I bet we’ll get through this in no time. After all, I’m an expert tutor.”

  “But what about your homework?” I asked.

  “I’ll get to it. Come over here. A big sister is supposed to help her baby brother, right?”
<
br />   “I’m not a baby.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “So,” said Mom, intertwining her fingers as we sat around the kitchen table. “Today’s the day.” She smiled at Lexi and me. “How did it go?”

  “Great,” I said. “Easy.”

  “Really?” said Mom, surprised. “The contest is over, but if we get a pet, it will still be a lot of work. For both of you.”

  “We’ve talked about it,” I said. “I’m going to still walk dogs, but I’m going to cut down quite a bit.”

  “And I’m going to tutor again,” said Lexi. “But a lot fewer students.”

  “So I guess that means we’re getting a pet,” said Mom. “Otto?”

  I shook my head. “Not a dog. I didn’t make it.”

  Mom arched her eyebrow. “Really? You worked so hard, too. And you were being responsible — don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  I handed her an envelope filled with bills. “This is the money I owe you. For the toner. And the bowls and stuff.”

  “I thought we were missing some bowls.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I guess I wasn’t always responsible. But I tried. And we’ll have to talk about my grades, too.”

  “I guess we will,” she said in a not-very-pleased voice. But then she turned to my sister. “Lexi? How much money did you earn?”

  Lexi put a large wad of money on the kitchen table, a wide grin on her face. She smiled, but there was nothing sneaky or smug about it. It was just a happy smile. “Five hundred dollars,” she said. “For Fluffernutter.”

  “Congratulations, Lexi,” I said, and I meant it. I didn’t tell Mom about our conversation last night. I didn’t tell her that Lexi had fallen short, too, but we had succeeded together. This was Lexi’s moment. I was actually happy for her, sort of, kind of.

  I know she beats me at most things, but maybe that’s because she works harder at it. I can’t hold that against her, at least not totally.

  It would be nice to have an animal in the house. And who knows? Maybe Fluffernutter would hate Lexi and love me. I wondered if I could make that happen. Keep some milk hidden in my room. Have a drawer filled with secret cat toys. Pipe supersonic noises into Lexi’s room that are too high for the human ear to hear but that a cat could, so it would stay away.

  This wasn’t about getting a cat. This was war.

  No, strike that. I was done with wars, for now. “Can we get it today?” said Lexi. “There’s a house a few blocks away giving away kittens. I just happened to see a posting on a website on your computer this morning. There was a picture, too! They are so cute: golden yellow with streaks of brown. I know just the one I want. There’s one kitten that looks just like a Fluffernutter.”

  I admit it. The kitten was cute. She didn’t have claws yet, so when she swatted your fingers it felt like velvet cloth rubbing against them. When you held her in your hands she purred softly, her stomach vibrating. I knew she would grow up to be a standoffish, not-very-cute adult cat, a yucky, good-for-nothing flea ball, but for now she wasn’t so bad.

  And I hated to admit this, too — but she sort of looked like a Fluffernutter. I wouldn’t have named her that, of course. And I would never tell Lexi the kitten looked like a Fluffernutter. But the name seemed to fit. And Lexi called her Fluffy for short, which wasn’t as awful.

  I’d have plenty of time to play with her since Mom grounded me for two weeks because of my grades, except for school, dog walking, and soccer. Frankly, I feared worse.

  Fluffy bounded across the carpet and landed in my lap, where I gently scratched behind her ears.

  “She doesn’t dislike you,” said Lexi. I think there was a tinge of jealousy there. After all, Fluffy had bounded into my lap and not Lexi’s. “But I’m sure she will grow to hate you as much as I do.”

  “She can never hate you as much as I hate you,” I shot back.

  “Lame brain,” said Lexi.

  “Cobweb cranium.”

  “Dumb skull.”

  “Cerebellum-challenged amoeba-minded hollow head.” But we both smiled after I said it.

  And you know what? It turns out I’m better at insults than Lexi. Who knew?

  Lexi lifted the kitten from my lap and held her in her arms. I watched her stroke Fluffy. I liked her more than I thought I would, but she was still no dog. Everyone knows dog people are clever, friendly, good-looking, funny, and overall fantastically wonderful, and cat people are not. Just because I tolerated Fluffy didn’t mean I had turned into a cat lover overnight.

  Maybe in a year or two, I could convince Mom that two pets were okay. A cat and a dog.

  The sound of barking interrupted my thoughts. A joyful, loud bark from outside. At first, it made me a little sad, as if I were being teased, but the barking was getting louder, and closer. It came from behind the front door, and the doorbell rang.

  When I answered it, there was Dad, holding a leash. Standing next to him, tongue and tail wagging, was a beautiful light-brown golden retriever. At first I thought it was Alfalfa! But this was just a puppy, and when I looked into his dark eyes, I recognized him.

  “Thumper!” I said.

  “Dad? What’s going on?” asked Lexi. She and Mom came into the hall behind me.

  “You know I always wanted a dog as a kid,” said Dad. “And all this talk of dogs made me realize I still wanted one. Mom called me yesterday and told me that Lexi won the challenge, and so I decided that maybe I could be the dog owner of the family. His name is Horseradish.”

  “His name is Thumper, Dad,” I said.

  Dad shrugged. “One of the great things about having your own dog is you get to name him. I’ve always liked the name Horseradish.”

  I questioned Dad’s choice of names, but I couldn’t question his choice of dogs. I bent down and Horseradish ran over to me, leaping on my knees and licking my face. I grabbed him and rolled on the floor, rubbing him as his tail wagged and his tongue raced up and down on my cheek.

  Horseradish was the rolling-around type of dog. He was the licking type of dog. He was the loving and happy type of dog. Most important, he was my very own dog (almost). And really, those are the best kinds of dogs of all.

  “Can I … ,” I started to say.

  “You can come over and play with him whenever you want,” said Dad, stepping into the front hall and closing the door behind him. “You, too, Lexi.”

  Lexi still held Fluffy, and she came closer, slowly. Fluffy didn’t seem scared, she just stared at Horseradish with her curious black eyes. Horseradish barked happily. When Lexi sat down closer, Horseradish nudged Fluffy playfully with his nose.

  “I think he likes her,” said Dad.

  “I’m sure they’ll be best friends.” Mom laughed. I bet this was all her idea.

  “Can I take him for a walk?” I asked.

  “Of course. You are the expert.” Dad smiled.

  “Is it okay, Mom?” I asked. “I’m still grounded.”

  “Go ahead,” she said with a wide grin.

  I ran to the mudroom and grabbed my shoes and jacket, where I had hung them the day before. “Come on, boy.” I beamed, grabbing the leash from Dad. “I know a whole bunch of good trails we can take. And, Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We need to talk about his name.”

  Fluffy meowed good-bye, or at least meowed, and I was off with Horseradish. “But Horseradish is still a much better name than Fluffernutter,” I added, shouting over my shoulder as I stepped outside.

  I had soccer practice that night. I showed up on time and Coach Drago hardly even screamed at me at all. We played a scrimmage and I scored two goals, the last one after I faked one way, kicked the other, and left my defender so confused he tripped, leaving me a wide-open shot. Malcolm scored three goals. And you know what? We both played on the first team, Malcolm on the left, and me on the right. But I bet we’d be really good, no matter who started. After all, it takes a team to win a game. Just like it takes a team to win a war.

 
; Growing up, my dad was allergic to dogs and cats, so we had fish. Fish are not the most exciting pets — very few of them play fetch. So I need to give a loud shout-out (bark-out?) to the following dog lovers, owners, and experts for sharing their cat wisdom and dog anecdotes since I had none from my youth: Dr. Eve Cheung, Karen Oppenheim, Stephanie Shulman, Elisa Yuter, and most especially Dr. Kiran Singh and the generous staff of the VCA Hawthorn Animal Hospital. I’d like to also thank my kennel-full of expert critiquers (and outstanding authors) Suzanne Slade, Barb Rosenstock, Michele Weber Hurwitz, Sherry Randle, Juli Caveny, Susan Stephenson, and Carole Vaughn.

  This book would not exist if it weren’t for the remarkable Jody Corbett, editor and inspirer extraordinaire, and her group at Scholastic. Also, if it weren’t for the efforts of Joanna Volpe, Danielle Barthel, and the staff of New Leaf Literary.

  I need to also thank my long-dead pet turtle and fish — particularly Fred and Ginger Fish — whose stories of demise in this book are, unfortunately for them, completely true. Lastly, thank you to my sister, Deena, or at least the twelve-year-old version of her, for inspiring numerous conversations and confrontations in this book. We may have argued often, but we both know I was always right and I was Mom and Dad’s favorite.

  Allan Woodrow grew up in Michigan, always wanting to be an author. But his teachers told him to write about what he knew, and he discovered he didn’t know very much. It turns out he didn’t know very much for quite a long time. Allan isn’t sure he really knows anything more now than he did in third grade, but he got tired of waiting and decided to start writing anyway. He is the author of The Pet War, the Zachary Ruthless series, and other books for young readers written under secret names.

  Allan currently lives near Chicago with his family and two goldfish. The goldfish are vicious. For more about Allan and his books, visit his website at www.allanwoodrow.com.

  Copyright © 2013 by Allan Woodrow

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