Be Careful What You Sniff For

by Nancy Krulik

  The man’s smile grows bigger. I smile back at him. The man holds out his arms. I run right for him and then…

  The man grabs me, picks me up, and throws me into the back of his machine!

  The door swings shut. We start driving away really, really fast.

  The machine bumps up and down on the road. I’m getting thrown all around.

  Bump. Bump. Bump.

  Oooo. My stomach feels sick. With each bump I feel something ooey and gooey race up into my mouth.

  Bump. Bump. Bump.

  Bleeechhh.

  Uh-oh. The sausage and fries aren’t in my tummy anymore. They’re all over the floor. And they don’t smell so yummy now. I’m trapped with that stinky stuff as we drive off.

  Wiggle, waggle, I wanna go home! But I’m not going home. The two-leg takes me out of the machine and throws me into a room with bars. “Let me out of here!” I yelp as loud as I can.

  But the two-leg just walks away.

  My paws start to dig nervously at the ground. Diggety, dig, dig…Ow. There’s no dirt or grass. It’s just a cold stone floor. It hurts my paws just to scratch it.

  There’s no comfy couch to cuddle on here. Or any pillows to wiggle around in. And worst of all, there’s no Josh here to hug me and scratch between my ears.

  Suddenly I hear Frankie’s voice barking in my head. The place where they keep the dogs nobody wants…An awful place. Big cages with bars on the wall. They don’t let them play or run or dig.

  Oh no. It can’t be.

  But it has to be. It’s exactly how Frankie described it. I’m in the pound!

  But why? I didn’t do anything that bad. I just ate some food and buried a bone in a hole. Then I remember what else Frankie said: Two-legs hate holes.

  “This is all your fault!” I bark at my paws. “You dug that hole—two holes!”

  “Hey, look, boys—fresh meat!”

  I turn around and come face-to-face with three of the fiercest-looking bulldogs I’ve ever seen.

  “Hello?” I whimper. My tail immediately buries itself between my legs.

  “I can’t believe they threw another dog in here,” one of the bulldogs grunts.

  “Just someone else we have to share the grub with,” another barks angrily.

  “Yeah! Like we share,” the third adds. All three of them laugh.

  I try to move away from the bulldogs. But they follow me.

  “You can’t get away from the Bulldog Boys,” the largest one warns me. “We run this joint. Don’t we, Buster?”

  “Sure do, Bruiser,” Buster answers him.

  “We don’t like strangers,” Buster growls at me. “What do you think about the newest addition, Barnaby?”

  Who are these dogs? And what do they want from me?

  The fattest of the three bulldogs waddles over and sniffs my rear end. “I don’t like the smell of him. He stinks like sidewalk pizza.”

  “Like what?” I ask him.

  “Sidewalk pizza,” a small voice answers.

  I turn around and see a little gray-and-white dog sitting in the corner.

  “Sidewalk pizza is what Londoners call throw-up,” the dog explains, walking over to me. “You eat something, feel sick, and then it comes back up and lands on the sidewalk.”

  “Watson, just hearing your voice makes me feel sick,” Buster growls. “Go back to your corner.”

  The gray-and-white dog pads back to the far-off corner with his tail between his legs.

  “That’s better,” Buster laughs.

  I don’t like the sound of Buster’s laugh. It’s cold and mean.

  “So what did you do to get thrown in here?” Buster asks me.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him. “I was just eating. And then all these two-legs went crazy. So I ran away. But someone grabbed me and brought me here.”

  “Two-legs are crazy,” Buster agrees. “But it’s the four-legs that drive me nuts.”

  “You mean dogs?” I ask him.

  “No. I mean the mini two-legs,” Buster says. “Two-legs that crawl on all fours.”

  “He means two-legs’ puppies,” the gray-and-white dog explains.

  “Yeah,” Buster agrees. “The mini two-leg at my old house kept crawling around next to me and pulling my tail. Finally I growled at her. I mean, who wouldn’t? But the next thing I knew, I was here. She pulled my tail and I wound up in the pound. There’s two-leg logic for you. Two-legs are the enemy.”

  “No, they’re not,” Watson insists. “We just haven’t found the right ones yet. I know there’s a family of two-legs waiting for me.”

  “You’re full of fairy tales,” Buster tells Watson. “You’re never going to find that family you’re looking for.”

  Watson looks like he’s going to cry.

  “That’s not true,” I tell Watson, trying to make him feel better. “I have a two-leg. He feeds me and plays with me and even lets me sleep in his bed. He’s not bad. He’s great!”

  “Oh yeah?” Buster grumbles. “If he’s so great, why did he put you in here?”

  “He didn’t!” I say. “It was the bone.”

  The bulldogs and Watson all stare at me.

  “You got a bone?” Buster demands. “Hand it over!”

  I put down my head and don’t say another word. I don’t want anyone to know where I hid my bone. I want to keep it safe, so I can go back and get it.

  That is, if I ever get out of the pound.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Bulldog Boys can’t be right. I can’t be stuck in this pound in London. I have a two-leg who loves me back home. I have to get back to him.

  Bam! I throw myself against the metal bars, trying to break free. The bars are strong. But I’m not giving up. I take a running start and then bam! I bang myself against the bars again. Bam!

  “That puppy’s crazy,” Barnaby grumbles. “Look at him bouncing around.”

  “He’s definitely full of beans,” Bruiser agrees.

  “I’m not full of beans,” I bark back. “I haven’t had any beans since that time I ate Josh’s hot dog and beans off the table. That didn’t go so well. My rear end was tooting all night long. Toot. Toot. Toot.”

  The bulldogs laugh at me. But I don’t care. I have to get out of here. I throw myself up against the bars again. Bam!

  “Stop banging on those bars,” Bruiser snarls at me. “It’s time for my afternoon nap.”

  “You don’t want Bruiser to miss his nap.” Barnaby growls and bares his teeth. “He gets really nasty.”

  I can’t imagine how much nastier Bruiser could get. And I don’t want to find out.

  “The only thing Bruiser doesn’t get mad about waking up for is food,” Buster tells me.

  “The Bulldog Boys will do anything for food,” Barnaby says. “So I wouldn’t be expecting any kibble today, kid. It’s all for us.”

  I’m not going to argue with Barnaby. He’s so big. And his teeth look very sharp. So I go over and sit with Watson. He’s not so big. And he doesn’t seem so mean.

  “H-h-hi…,” I stammer nervously. “I’m Sparky.”

  “Hi,” Watson answers. He gives me a little smile. I can tell he’s trying to make me feel better. “The Bulldog Boys don’t know what they’re saying,” Watson assures me. “You’ll get out of this place okay. You’re a puppy. Two-legs love to adopt puppies. I’ve seen it happen before. It’s grown-up dogs like me that have it rough finding a new home.”

  “But I don’t want a new home,” I tell him. “I want my old home. With Josh.”

  “I don’t know about that, kid,” Watson tells me. “Once a two-leg drops a dog off at the pound, he usually doesn’t want him back.”

  I shake my head so hard it feels as if my eyes are going to fall out. “Josh didn’t bring me here. It was that bone.”

  Watson gives me a funny look. “That’s what you said before, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Yes, the bone brought me to London,” I explain. “But a two-leg brought me to this pla
ce.”

  “A bone brought you to London,” Watson repeats.

  I don’t think he believes me.

  “I was diggety, dig, digging in my yard when I found this shiny, smelly bone,” I explain. “I took a bite and…kaboom! The next thing I knew, I was in London.”

  Watson scratches his head with his back paw. “A magic bone,” he says slowly. “I’ve heard of chicken bones and turkey bones and steak bones. But never a magic bone. Are you sure that’s what happened?”

  I nod.

  Watson scratches his ear. “Well,” he says slowly. “It seems to me that if that bone is what brought you here, it’s probably the only thing that will take you back.”

  My tail thinks that makes sense, too. It starts wagging wildly. “Yes!” I yelp excitedly. “All I need to do is go get my bone and take a bite.”

  That makes my tail droop. “But my bone is out there,” I tell Watson. “And I’m stuck in here. I gotta get out of this place. Right now.”

  “I’ve seen dogs escape,” Watson tells me. “I’ve even tried it once or twice. Only trouble is, they always find you. And then you wind up right back here.”

  “I won’t—if I can get my bone and go home before they find me,” I say.

  “Where is your bone?” Watson asks.

  “It’s buried under the tree near the big sign with the duck on it,” I tell him.

  “Where’s that?” Watson wonders.

  “Well, it’s…um…” Uh-oh. This is bad. “I’m not sure,” I admit finally. “But I know it’s near that big house where the queen cat lives.”

  “The queen cat?” Watson looks very confused.

  “The corgi said that the queen lives in the house,” I tell him.

  “You mean the queen of England?” Watson laughs. “I think you’re talking about Buckingham Palace. I know where that is.”

  “Then you can help me find my bone! I’m going home!”

  Woo-hoo! My tail wags happily. I reach back and try to grab it. But my tail plays keep-away. Tricky tail. It has me spinning in circles.

  The three bulldogs open their sleepy eyes and grumble.

  “Shhh…,” Watson warns. Then he frowns. “I’d like to help you, kid. But the two-legs around here get mad when you run away. They punish you when you get back. They give you a flea bath!”

  I’m confused. “They bathe you in fleas?” I ask Watson.

  “No,” Watson says. “They bathe you to get rid of fleas. Even if I help you get home, they’ll still find me. And I’ll wind up right back here. In the bath.”

  Thinkety, think, think. My brain is getting an idea. “Not if you come home with me,” I say to Watson excitedly.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks me.

  “We can both bite the bone,” I say. “And we can both go home. To Josh.”

  Now it’s Watson’s turn to get excited. “That’s a great idea!” he says.

  Bruiser opens one eye and growls. “Sit down and shut up, you two.”

  I know I should listen to Bruiser. After all, he’s the meanest dog I’ve ever seen. But I can’t. I’m too excited to sit and be quiet. Because Watson and I are going to do something Bruiser, Buster, and Barnaby never will.

  We’re getting out of here. We’re going home.

  CHAPTER 7

  Wait. Wait. Wait.

  Watson and I have been waiting a really long time for our escape.

  At last, I hear two-leg footsteps coming down the hall.

  “Here comes the kibble,” Barnaby says. The Bulldog Boys all leap to attention.

  A two-leg with a big bowl in his hands comes up to the cage. He unlocks the gate, and the door swings open.

  “Run for it!” Watson howls.

  “Right behind you,” I bark back.

  And with that we race toward the door. Watson is small. He slips right between the two-leg’s legs and runs down the hall. I try to run around the two-leg. My paws are moving as fast as they can. My heart is thumpety, thump, thumping.

  Oh no! My fur is in my eyes. I can’t see where I’m going…

  Bam! I slam right into the two-leg. He shouts and falls right on his rear end! The bowl flies out of his hands. Kibble flies up in the air.

  “It’s raining kibble!” I hear Bruiser bark.

  “Dinnertime!” Barnaby howls.

  “Food!” Buster adds as he jumps on top of the two-leg, who is still on the floor.

  The Bulldog Boys are crawling all over the two-leg, trying to get the food. They don’t even see that Watson and I have made a run for it.

  “Hurry up, Sparky!” Watson barks as he runs down a long hallway.

  I hear another two-leg shouting. He’s racing up behind me. I run faster. There’s no way I’m going to let him catch me and put me back in that cage.

  “Run!” Watson barks.

  My paws are zoom, zoom, zooming down that hallway. Fast. Faster. Fastest…

  CRASH! My paws forget to stop when we get to the door. But for once I’m glad. Because when I crash into the door, it swings open.

  “Good job!” Watson cheers as he and I dash out into the streets of London.

  “Wahoo!” I yelp excitedly. My tail starts to dance around and around. “We’re free.”

  “For now,” Watson warns. “But the dogcatcher is going to come looking for us. And that means we have to hurry.”

  We run off as fast as our four paws can take us.

  Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. I smell food! Meat. Fish. Strawberries. Bread.

  Grumble. Rumble. My tummy wants some. Now!

  “Can we eat?” I bark to Watson.

  Watson stops in his tracks. “Covent Garden does have some wonderful scraps. Sure. Let’s have lunch.”

  Covent Garden? This doesn’t look like the garden back at my house. There’s no dirt to dig in—only stone sidewalks. And there isn’t any grass. Or flower beds. All I see are buildings and small stands set up outside. But those stands smell delicious. They’re filled with food!

  Plop! A two-leg walks by and drops a big piece of cheese on the floor. Wiggle, waggle, wow! I like this garden! Mmmm. I love cheese.

  Toot! Toot! Toot!

  What’s that noise? Is it coming from me?

  I sniff under my tail. Nope. It doesn’t smell like beans.

  Toot! Toot! Toot!

  Someone is definitely toot ing.

  Toot! Toot! Toot!

  I see a group of two-legs blowing into shiny metal toys. The toot, toot, toot ing is coming from them. I wonder if they are full of beans.

  There’s only one way to find out! Sniff, sniff, sniff. I run up to one of the two-legs and sniff his butt. Just a friendly dog hello. “Hi there!” I bark.

  The two-leg jumps up in the air. “AAAAAHHHH!” he screams.

  “AAAAAHHHH!” I bark back.

  Never sniff a two-leg’s butt.

  I look around for Watson. He’s sneaking around catching fries, cheese, and cookies as the two-legs drop them.

  Then I spot another two-leg standing away from the crowd. He’s not blowing into anything. And he’s not making any toot, toot, toots. He’s throwing balls up in the air and catching them. He’s playing fetch all by himself! But he’s not smiling at all.

  Josh always smiles when he plays fetch with me. This two-leg needs a dog to play with!

  “I’ll play fetch with you!” I bark as I run over to the two-leg with the ball toys. “Throw it to me! Throw it to me!” I bark and jump up and down at his feet.

  But the two-leg doesn’t throw any of his balls to me. He just keeps tossing the three balls in the air and catching them all by himself.

  “Throw the ball! Throw the ball!” I yelp excitedly. I’m still jumping up and down. I can’t help it. Fetch always gets me all excited.

  The two-leg tosses the yellow ball in the air. I jump up and catch it in my mouth. Then I bark excitedly and spin around with the yellow ball between my teeth. “Wiggle, waggle, wheee! Look at me!”

  A whole bunch of two-legs com
e over to look at me. I think maybe some of them speak dog.

  At first, the two-leg with the balls seems angry. He growls at me with words I can’t understand. But then he spots all the two-legs who have gathered around us. They’re smiling and clapping their front paws.

  Now the two-leg is very happy to have me around. He throws another ball toward me. I catch it in midair and I dance around on my back paws.

  The two-legs clap even harder. Yay! The crowd likes my new two-leg friend. They all start smiling and dropping pieces of paper into his hat. That seems to make him very happy. I don’t know why. You can’t eat paper. But I’m glad I could help.

  The two-leg tosses more balls up in the air and catches them. One, two, three, four, five balls! They’re moving so fast! I leap up and catch a green one in my teeth. The two-legs in the crowd start cheering.

  I smile up at the two-leg. He smiles back down at me. We make a great team. I could play with him all day!

  “Dogcatcher!”

  Suddenly, I hear Watson barking at me from behind the crowd.

  “Run, Sparky, run!” Watson yelps.

  Uh-oh. No more fetch for me. “Thanks for the game!” I bark to the two-leg. “It was fun! But I gotta run!”

  Fast. Faster. Fastest! My paws are moving at top speed.

  Boom, boom. Boom, boom. I can hear the dogcatcher’s two legs catching up to Watson and me. He’s running fast!

  “Quick, Sparky, in there!” Watson shouts at me. He points with his snout.

  I look where Watson is pointing. It’s a tall, skinny red house. There’s a two-leg inside. He’s holding something against his ear. And he’s talking. Who is he talking to? He’s the only one in there.

  “Hurry, Sparky!” Watson runs in the skinny house and hides at the two-leg’s feet. I have to hide, too. I run inside and stick my head up behind his coat. Wow! It sure is dark under here. I can’t see a thing. I hope the dogcatcher can’t see me, either!