“Lake Black Gut?” I say. “Do all the lakes around here have gross names?”
“How about a game of Ghost in the Graveyard?” Lurena suggests, and gives my arm a quick tap.
Is this her idea for getting rid of Dmitri? It’s worth a try.
“I’m in,” I say.
“Isn’t that kind of a baby game?” Dmitri says.
“I’m in,” Murph says. “I like ghosts and babies.”
Good old Murph.
“I guess I’m in,” Pablo says. “Though I’m not sure what it is.”
“It’s simple,” Lurena says. “One person is the ghost and goes and hides. The rest of us count, ‘One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock,’ all the way to ‘twelve o’clock,’ then we yell, ‘Starlight, star bright, I hope I see a ghost tonight!’ Then we all go looking for the ghost. The ghost jumps out when someone comes close and tags them, which makes them the ghost, then you start over!”
Dmitri groans.
“The campfire can be base,” Lurena goes on. “Who’s brave enough to be the ghost first?”
Normally, Murph would jump at the chance, but this time he doesn’t, which leads me to believe he knows what’s up. Lurena was smart to make it sound brave to be the ghost.
“I’ll do it,” Dmitri says, then, looking at Pablo, he adds in a sinister tone, “And when I jump out at you, you’ll be too scared to run.”
“I’m scared already,” Pablo says in a flat tone. “Want to feel my goose bumps?”
“I don’t think so!” Dmitri says, sticking out his tongue.
He runs off into the woods.
“One o’clock … two o’clock …,” Lurena starts to count, very slowly, then she whispers to me, “Show him!”
“Yeah,” Murph whispers. “What’s the surprise?”
Lurena gets the cage with Queen Girly and the new guinea pig in it while continuing to count out, “… four o’clock … five o’clock …” She hands the cage to me; I take it; she waves at us to leave. “… six o’clock … seven o’clock …”
Murph, Pablo, and I speed-walk away. Fido follows, barking at me.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper to her. “He won’t hurt her.”
“Who won’t hurt who?” Murphy asks.
When we are deep in the trees, I start to open the cage. Fido starts barking louder.
“Quiet, Fido!” I order.
She stops.
“Pablo, why don’t you take her to my mom and ask her to pigsit during the game? Otherwise Fido will give us away with all her barking. When Lurena finishes counting, you two should start looking for Dmitri. Take your time finding him, though.”
“Okay,” he says, and scoops up Fido. She starts wriggling and snarling.
“Fido, quiet!” I say.
She stops snarling but starts to whimper. Pablo carries her away.
That worked out well. I’m alone with Murph at last.
“So?” he says. “What’s in the cage?”
I hold it up. It’s dark, but the almost-half moon shines enough light for him to see what’s inside.
“Hey, there are two of them!”
I quickly tell him about Petopia and buying the guinea pig.
“Does it act like a dog?” he asks eagerly.
“So far, it acts like a guinea pig. Except that it was sitting in a pool of water at the store. And it made a strange growling sound on the way home.”
“Fido growls,” Murph says.
“This was different. More like huffing. It hasn’t obeyed any orders or begged or panted or done anything doglike yet.”
“Yet,” Murph says hopefully.
He reaches in and takes the guinea pig out. It starts making its weird huffing.
“Lurena says it’s a boy.” I say. “Pablo calls him Snapper, because he was lying in the pool of water, like a turtle. You know, the snapping-alligator-turtle thing.”
Murph laughs. “It’s a good name.”
The guinea pig stops growling and starts squeaking and peeping.
Murph laughs again. “Listen to that! Maybe it’s a guinea bird! Maybe it can fly!”
“Maybe,” I say. Is it crazy that this doesn’t sound crazy to me?
“Why aren’t you guys looking for me?” Dmitri asks, appearing out of nowhere, mad as a monster.
The guinea pig squawks, then leaps from Murph’s arms. He hits the ground, and scrambles away into the dark.
24. Who knew Fido was a bloodhound?
Not me, that’s for sure.
While we all scratched our heads, trying to figure out how to find the new guinea pig, Fido put her nose to the ground and started sniffing.
“She’s got the scent!” Murph says. “Follow her!”
Lurena fetches some flashlights from camp, and we’re off.
“What was that anyway?” Dmitri asks. “One of Lurena’s rats?”
“Nope,” Lurena says. “Not one of mine.”
“You were holding it, Murph.” Dmitri asks, “Where did you get it from?”
No one answers. Then it hits me: we don’t have to say where we got it, just who it belongs to.
“It’s mine,” I say. “It’s my new guinea pig.”
“But you have Fido. What do you need another guinea pig for? It doesn’t …” His eyes grow wide. “Does it act like a dog?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
“It makes sounds like a bird,” Murph says.
“A bird?” Dmitri says. “Does it … fly?”
“No, but it chirps,” Murph says, and does a bird impression.
“Can we just all focus and find the rodent?” Lurena says. “There are lots of animals out here that might eat a guinea pig. Raccoons, for instance. And coyotes.”
“Are there coyotes out here?” Dmitri asks.
I think he might be scared.
“Are you scared, Dmitri?” Lurena asks, smiling at him.
Oh, no. Now I’m thinking like her, too.
“No!” he says. “I just don’t know why we’re out here looking for a stupid guinea pig with coyotes around. Obviously, we’ll never find it. I’m heading back.” He starts doing that.
Lurena laughs. “Coyotes won’t bother us. At least, not if we all stay together. They might attack a kid out in the woods by himself, though.”
Dmitri stops walking. “Why didn’t you tell me about that before, when I went off to hide for your dumb game?”
Fido keeps searching, sniffing the ground, stopping sometimes, like she’s lost the scent, then barking and moving on again.
“Do you think she can find him?” Pablo asks.
“Of course she can!” Murph replies in a big, confident voice. “She’s Fido the guinea dog!”
“Guinea bloodhound,” I say.
“Exactly!” Murph says, and slaps me on the back.
“This is stupid,” Dmitri says.
“You still here?” I ask.
“I’m going back,” he says.
“See you, coyote chow,” Lurena says.
I wish she’d stop that coyote stuff and let him leave.
“Ha-ha,” Dmitri says, without laughing. “Coming with, Murph?”
Murph and Lurena crack up in unison.
“Fine. I’ll go by myself. You’re not going to find a guinea pig out here in the dark, I’ll tell you that. You’ll come back with nothing.” And he walks off, the beam of his flashlight wobbling. He’s scared, all right.
“Are there really coyotes out here?” Pablo asks.
“I hope so,” Lurena says.
Fido leads us out of the trees to the lake. She sniffs the ground right up to the bank, then skids to a stop. She sniffs a moment at the air, which is dotted with fireflies—she doesn’t eat any, not while she’s working—then she barks out at the lake.
We all walk up to the bank and look down into the dark water.
“Think Snapper dove in?” Pablo asks. His voice trembles, like he’s worried. I think he’s gotten attached. Darn it.
�
�Guinea pigs don’t generally dive into water,” Lurena says.
“Except Fido,” Murph says.
“And Snapper,” Pablo says. “He was in water when we first saw him.”
“At Petopia,” Lurena says. “If that’s where you got him, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“What if he can’t swim?” Pablo asks.
“Maybe he’s a guinea turtle and can swim beautifully,” Murph says.
“But he doesn’t have a shell. What if something gets him? What if Dmitri’s right and there really is an alligator snapping turtle?”
“There isn’t,” I say, though I was wondering the same thing myself.
“Can’t you guys dive in after him, see if you can find him?” Pablo asks.
“It’s too dark,” Lurena says. “It’d be impossible. Even Fido didn’t dive in. We’ll have to wait till morning.”
We all stand quietly awhile, staring at the quiet lake. The rope swing is far to our left. We’ve covered some ground. The moonlight flickering on the water’s surface reminds me of the fireflies hovering around our heads.
If I weren’t so worried, I’d probably be enjoying this.
I crouch down and pet Fido. “Good girl,” I say. “Good girl.”
She pants. She likes strokes.
I remember when Fido ran away. I was tired of all the attention I was getting for having a guinea dog and tried to train the dog out of her. Then she disappeared. She was gone all night. I was so scared something would happen to her outside in the dark.
“You think he’s okay out there?” I ask Fido.
She yaps, and her little voice echoes across the lake.
“I’ll take that for a yes.”
25. Guinea turtle?
Guinea bird?
Or just a chirping amphibian guinea pig?
Whatever Snapper is, we’re looking for him, in Murph’s skiff. Murph, Lurena, and me. It’s pretty crowded, but one of us convinced the other two she was “essential to the expedition,” being an “authority on rodent behavior.” Murph invited her aboard with his usual the-more-the-merrier nonsense.
Pablo stayed ashore.
Fido, our guinea bloodhound, is with us, too, of course. She’s perched on the bow. Maybe she’s a guinea bird dog that hunts guinea birds.
I’m probably pushing this “guinea” thing too far.
What does guinea mean anyway? And why are guinea pigs called guinea pigs when they’re obviously rodents? Why not guinea rats?
There’s a person in this boat who can answer these questions, but I’m not going to ask her. I don’t want to waste precious time listening to her rattle off guinea facts.
Not that anyone needs to ask her to rattle off guinea facts.
“Guinea pigs do like water,” she says. “Most rodents can swim.”
“Yeah, just look at all of them,” I say, spreading my arms. “White Crappie Lake is practically a rodent swimming pool.”
“I didn’t say they love to swim. I said that they can swim, if they need to. But there are aquatic rodents, you know. Beavers, for example. Definitely rodent. Look at their teeth.”
“Where?” Murph says, twisting his head side to side exaggeratedly.
Lurena laughs. “You know what I mean, Murphy Molloy, you big goof.”
Fido suddenly scoots to the port side of the boat; she whimpers and wags her bottom.
“I think she smells something,” I say, and point off to the left. “That way.”
“Right oar, oarsman,” Murph says in an Irish or maybe Scottish accent. He rolls the r in right and oarsman. “Rrrow, rrrow, rrrow yerrr boat!”
“Okay,” I say. “We’re rowing already.”
“Gently down the strrrrrream! Merrrrrrrrily, merrrrr—”
“Enough!” I say, though I’m laughing. “We’re going in a circle.” I try to roll the r in circle, but can’t. I bet Pablo can.
“Oarrrrsman, left oarrr! Rrrow, rrrow! …”
“That fixed it,” I interrupt. “We’re good.”
Fido leads us toward some cattails.
“Oarrrs up!” Murph calls.
“I’m right here, you know,” I say. “You don’t have to yell.”
“Sorrrry,” he says.
The skiff cruises into the reeds. They graze against the sides of the boat, slowing it down.
Fido barks and barks.
“I think we’re close,” Lurena says.
“Cowamundi!” yells Dmitri. He’s in his kayak. He must have been hiding in the reeds. He’s paddling toward us from starboard. Not fast, since it’s hard to paddle through cattails, but fast enough that we can’t get out of the way.
“Are you crazy?” Lurena screams.
He laughs like the villain he is as his kayak crashes into the skiff. We all fall to the left.
“Midsea collision!” Murph yells. “Pull the alarrrm! Man the lifeboats!”
I scowl at him. Doesn’t he ever just get mad? Is everything fun and games to this guy?
“Where’s Fido?” Lurena gasps.
I spin around, looking for her. She isn’t on board.
“Dog overrrboard! Dog overrrboard!” Murph hollers.
Fido can swim, of course, so I’m not too worried. But can she swim in these reeds? And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about that mythical alligator snapping turtle, or some other carnivorous creature—one of Lurena’s aquatic rodents, maybe—prowling the cattails.
“There she is!” Murph says.
I follow where he’s pointing. She’s swimming away from, instead of toward, the boat.
“Fido!” I call. “Come here, girl! This way! Come!”
She glances back but keeps swimming away. She wants us to follow her.
“Oarsmen,” I say, “full speed ahead!”
26. Empty speed ahead.
Is that the opposite of full speed ahead? Oars are too long to work in cattails. Rowing is impossible. So Murph and I lean over the side and paddle with our hands.
“You guys all right?” a voice calls from the shore. It’s Pablo. He must have run all the way around.
“We’re fine!” Lurena calls back.
She would say that. She’s not up to her elbows in scummy muck. The water’s a lot muddier in the reeds.
“Dmitri rammed us with his kayak,” I say to Pablo. Where’d Dmitri go anyway? I don’t see him anywhere.
I do see Pablo, through the cattails. He’s pacing.
“Did you find Snapper?” he asks.
“Not yet,” Lurena answers. “But Fido’s on his trail.”
Much to our surprise, Pablo answers, “I’m coming in!”
Coming in?
I see him step toward the bank.
“Not a good idea,” I say. “The bottom here is thick mud. It’s slippery and deep.”
He stops. “Well, I can’t just stand here!”
“If we can get to you, will you get into the boat?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
“Pablo?”
“I guess so,” he says.
Murph looks at me and smiles. I know what he’s thinking: he’s proud of Pablo. Happy for him. I am, too.
“Let’s go get him,” I say to Murph.
“I don’t think we have room, Roof.”
“I’ll jump out when we pick him up,” Lurena says. “Pablo getting into a boat is worth losing your rodent expert.”
“Right,” I say. I’m surprised she volunteered, considering the fancy clothes she’s wearing.
“Fido’s swimming along the shore,” I say to Pablo. “Be ready in case we get close enough for you to climb in. If Fido changes direction, though, we’re going to follow her.”
“Okay,” he says. He sounds shaky. I’m sure he’s nervous about going out in the boat.
We keep trailing Fido as she leads us through the cattails. Murph and I start grabbing the reeds and pulling the boat through them. It works better than rowing.
We’re moving parallel to the bank, so we can’t get c
lose enough to pick up Pablo. He walks along the shore, following us, just in case we find a way to get to him. He’s going to a lot of trouble for the new guinea pig. He really has gotten attached.
The cattails start to thin out a little, making it easier for us to get through. Fido’s still ahead, paddling like crazy. She never seems to tire. We drift into a small clearing.
“There he is!” Murph says. “There’s Snapper!”
I guess that’s the name. No sense fighting it.
Snapper is floating on his back about twenty or so feet ahead of us. He has something in his paws. It’s flapping around …
“I think he has a …,” Lurena says, then lowers her voice. “A fish!”
“What does he have?” Pablo asks.
I guess that’s why Lurena whispered. Snapper has caught a fish, and Pablo loves fish. I wonder if the fish is a white crappie. Or maybe a snapper …?
“You know what he reminds me of?” Lurena whispers. “Swimming on his back with a fish on its chest?”
Before she can tell me, Snapper disappears under the water. He didn’t twist and dive in. It was as if he was surprised to be going under, as if he didn’t mean to do it. In fact, he made a little squawk before he slipped beneath the surface. It was almost as if something had pulled him under.
27. Heroic, sure, but not smart.
That’s what Pablo diving into the pond to save his guinea pig is. It’s also surprising, considering how he feels about water. Any one of us could have done it, and we’re all fine with water. But Pablo dives in anyway. It’s a clumsy dive, but it’s his first one ever, so … Throw in the possibility that there’s something under the water that snatches guinea pigs—a snapping turtle?—and you’ve got one heroic, foolish, surprising, clumsy, death-defying dive. I love it. If I were a judge, I’d hold up a scorecard with a big ten on it.
Of course, Murph and I do have to jump in to save him. I mean, the kid doesn’t know how to swim.
The bottom of the pond is so deep with oozy mud that I can’t stand up. I sink in up to my ankles. It’s kind of creepy, like I’m being dragged under by a cold alien slime.
“Tread water,” Murph says. “The bottom’s too muddy.”
I lean forward into the water and swim. My feet pull free from the slime and I start paddling. Murph and I swim over to Pablo. I grab hold of one flailing arm; Murph gets the other. Together, we keep Pablo’s head up out of the water. Fido swims in a circle around us, barking.
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