Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
About the Authors
GROSSET & DUNLAP
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Doodles by Theo Baker and Sarah Stern
Text copyright © 2008 by Henry Winkler and Lin Oliver Productions, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 2008 by Grosset & Dunlap. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. S.A.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
eISBN : 978-1-440-68819-5
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To the parents and teachers who
really UNDERSTAND the child who
learns differently. You are POWERFUL.
And to Stacey always.—H.W.
For Annie and Dexter,
may your tails forever wag.—L.O.
CHAPTER 1
“Good morning, boys and girls,” my teacher, Ms. Adolf, said as we settled into our seats for the school assembly. “I’d like to introduce you to my dear partner and beloved companion, Randolf Bartholomew Irving Adolf.”
I grabbed my best friend, Frankie Townsend, by the arm.
“I can’t believe what I just heard,” I whispered to him.
“What did you hear that I didn’t hear?” he asked.
“Ms. Adolf just told us her whole story. As in the divorce. The painful breakup followed by the months of loneliness, and at last, remarriage to her beloved longtime companion, Randolf.”
“You’ve gone cuckoo, Hank,” my other best friend, Ashley Wong, whispered. “You’ve been watching too many soap operas.”
48 “I think you need an ear cleaning,” Frankie added.
“I think I understand why the first Mr. Adolf dumped her,” I went on, ignoring them. “She probably graded him on how he ate dinner.”
Luckily, before I could think more about the disgusting details of Ms. Adolf’s social life, she leaned into the microphone and continued.
“Please give a PS 87 welcome to my award-winning thoroughbred boxer, Randolf, better known in my household as Pookie Doodle,” she said.
“What a relief!” I whispered to Frankie. “Her beloved is a dog.”
Between you and me, I have a really good imagination, but even I was having a hard time picturing Ms. Adolf in love. Just the thought of her in her grey shoes and grey dress, holding hands and walking through Central Park on a grey day, pausing for a little kiss by the side of the . . .
Stop it, Hank. Stop it right now! You’re going to make yourself throw up!!!!
Randolf—oh excuse me . . . I mean Pookie Doodle—was led onto the multipurpose room stage by our principal, Leland Love. Oh, excuse me again. It was actually Randolf who was leading Principal Love. And let me just say, “leading” would be a gentle word for what that dog was doing. Randolf, who was the size of a small tugboat, was dragging Principal Love toward the edge of the stage at a very rapid pace.
Ms. Adolf bolted out from behind the podium, grabbing Randolf’s leash and the back of Principal Love’s jacket at the same time. It’s a good thing she acted fast, because old Principal Love was about one second away from doing a major face-plant on the hardwood floor below. He gave Randolf a fake smile, the kind people in the park give to dogs that growl at them.
“His canine legs are quite well developed for a dog of the canine species,” he observed.
Principal Love was trying to appear cheerful, but I could tell he was afraid of Randolf because the mole on his cheek, which is shaped like the Statue of Liberty without the torch, turned a fearful shade of burgundy. If you looked really close, you could see that mole shaking, and I’m not kidding.
“Come to mama,” Ms. Adolf said to Pookie Doodle. “You’re such a handsome boy. Such a good boy. Such a mama’s boy.”
Pookie Doodle seemed to like this kind of gooey talk, because drool started to pour from his face like the Nile River.
It was really funny to see grouchy old Ms. Adolf talking in that sweetie-baby-cutie-pie tone of voice. In the twenty-three years Ms. Adolf has been teaching at PS 87, not one student has ever heard her utter the words “good boy.” Or good anything, for that matter.
Ms. Adolf, holding Randolf’s leash with a grip of steel, took him back to the podium and tapped on the microphone.
“Pupils, I would like your undivided attention,” she said. “Now.”
When Ms. Adolf says “now,” it means five minutes ago. So we all tried our best to stop laughing.
“I suppose you’re wondering why Pookie Doodle has graced us with his attendance at our assembly today,” Ms. Adolf said.
“I know,” Luke Whitman called out, shooting his arm into the air. “Because we’re having an ugly dog contest.”
Well, that did it. Everyone cracked up, even the teachers. Mr. Sicilian, the fourth-grade teacher, was laughing. Mr. Rock, our music teacher, was laughing. Principal Love’s mole was even laughing. (You can tell because it looked like it was doing the hula.) Only one person in the whole auditorium wasn’t laughing.
You guessed it.
The grey queen herself, ladies and gentlemen—may I present the non-laughing Ms. Fanny Adolf.
“Pookie Doodle and I do not find that remark funny, Luke,” she said. “It is especially offensive in light of the fact that the Pookers here has donated his valuable time, when he should be practicing his agility training at obedience school. He wan
ted to come to PS 87 to help make an important announcement.”
“That dog talks?” asked Nick McKelty, the bully idiot of all time. “My dog talks, too . . . in three languages. English, Spanish, and he can bark in Italian.”
Yup, there it was. The McKelty Factor at work. With that guy, it’s always truth times a hundred. I’ve seen that ratty little Chihuahua of his, and I can tell you this. He can barely bark, let alone bark in Italian.
“Pookie Doodle and I are here to announce that one week from today, PS 87 will be holding its annual Pet Day,” Ms. Adolf went on. “You are all welcome to enter your pet in the competition to become the school mascot for the year.”
“But I don’t have a pet,” Ava Turrisi, a first-grader with really tight pigtails, said.
“Then clearly, you won’t be entering the competition,” Ms. Adolf answered. I felt really bad for little Ava.
“My cat coughed up a fur ball in the shape of Florida,” called out Rob Reinis, a tall second-grader with a big head.
“And your point, Mr. Reinis, is exactly what?” Ms. Adolf said, staring him down with her beady grey eyes.
“I just wanted you to know,” the poor kid answered.
“Are there any relevant questions?” Ms. Adolf said, ignoring him.
“I have one,” Katie Sperling said, raising her beautiful hand, which is attached to her beautiful self. “Does it have to be a real pet, or can I enter my stuffed autograph dog? It’s baby blue with a rhinestone collar.”
Ashley leaned over and whispered in my ear.
“I helped her make that collar,” Ashley said. “I let her have some of my best tricolor rhinestones.”
“The animals in the competition will be judged on beauty, obedience, and intelligence,” Ms. Adolf said. “And I’m afraid your stuffed toy does not possess the latter.”
“But he has Justin Timberlake’s autograph across his tail,” Katie Sperling said.
“Well, I’m sure your little pre-teenage crushes look wonderful on your bedspread, but that’s where they should remain,” Ms. Adolf said.
“I bet you a million dollars Ms. Adolf has never even heard of Justin Timberlake,” I whispered to Frankie.
I swear, Ms. Adolf has two sets of eyes. One set watches everyone else in the school, and one set just watches me. She never misses me doing anything wrong, and me whispering during a school assembly was no exception.
“Mr. Zipzer, it looks like you enjoy talking out of turn,” she said . . . into the microphone, no less! “Pupils, shall we all pause while Mr. Zipzer has a private conversation?”
That’s my life, friends. In a nutshell. Everybody in the school is laughing and yelling things out, and I whisper one itty-bitty sentence to Frankie, and she’s on me like mustard on a hot dog. The yellow kind, not the brown.
“I was just telling my friend Frankie that I plan to enter my dog, Cheerio,” I said, hoping that if she knew I was talking about the mascot competition she wouldn’t continue to embarrass me.
“I think you’ll change your mind when you hear that there is one additional requirement,” Ms. Adolf said.
“Nothing will discourage me and Cheerio, Ms. Adolf, from marching to victory.”
“Good, because you will be required to submit a two-page essay on the history and characteristics of your particular pet.”
Whoops. I didn’t see that coming.
That made no sense. I mean, why would a pet contest involve an essay? Pets don’t write. Or read. And besides, just the word “essay” gives me a rash behind my knees.
But before I could present my argument to her, something unexpected happened. At least, it was unexpected to me.
It sounded like the blast of a trumpet.
“What was that?” I whispered to Frankie. “Did someone bring an instrument into the auditorium?”
Then it happened again. This time it sounded like the entire brass section of an orchestra went crazy.
I looked around to see where the noise was coming from, and then it hit me . . . right in the nose. A smell that made my eyes tear up and the hair inside my nose do jumping jacks. Honestly, I would really like to tell you what it smelled like, but there is nothing on this earth I can think to compare it to. Maybe three-month-old broccoli. No, that smells like fresh perfume compared to this. Garbage that’s been wrapped in Nick McKelty’s gym socks that haven’t been washed for a year and a half. No, that smell is too good for this.
“Hey, Ms. Adolf, your dog just farted,” Luke Whitman yelled.
Everybody cracked up.
“There is nothing funny about gastrointestinal distress in animals,” Ms. Adolf declared. “The expelling of gas is a natural process. It is the body’s way of releasing toxins.”
Thank goodness for Principal Love, because he released us into the hall, where there was actual breathable air. We all cleared the room as fast as we could, leaving Ms. Adolf, Pookie Doodle, and a cloud of doggy gas to finish the assembly by themselves.
CHAPTER 2
After our noses recovered from the assembly, Frankie, Ashley, and I went to the cafeteria for lunch. The three of us sat down at our usual table, joining Robert Upchurch, who was already there holding places for us, and started eating the pretty delicious cafeteria mac and cheese. Immediately, we launched into one of my favorite topics these days . . . names for my new baby brother or sister. Did I mention that my mom is pregnant? Well, she is. You can tell because her stomach is starting to look like she swallowed a basketball.
Even though the baby is still several months away, I’d been thinking a lot about names for it. My mom is just weird enough to name the baby something goofy like Rainbow or Sunflower. And my dad could pull something weird out of one of his crossword puzzles, like Claudius, an eight-letter name of a Roman emperor. I can hear it now . . . Hey, Claudius, your diaper needs changing.
I couldn’t have that.
“How about Woodrow for a boy,” Ashley suggested.
“Too stiff,” I said.
“Flopsy for a girl,” Frankie said.
“Too unstiff,” I protested.
“My butt hurts,” said Robert Upchurch.
We all just turned and stared at him.
“Robert,” I said. “Your butt is not the topic.”
“I’m just saying,” Robert said, sliding back and forth on the cafeteria bench next to me, trying to find a comfortable position. “You wouldn’t want me not to say.”
“Oh yes, we would,” we all said together.
Robert’s butt problem came as no surprise to any of us since Robert is the boniest boy in the fourth grade. He just might be the boniest kid in America.
“Dude, your butt would hurt if you were sitting on sixty-five pillows,” Frankie said. “You got no personal padding.”
“For your information,” Robert said, adjusting his clip-on tie around his pencil-thin neck, “my body mass index is perfectly proportionate with my height and weight and foot size.”
“All the same, Robert, it wouldn’t hurt you to eat my leftover macaroni and cheese,” Ashley said, shoving her tray at him.
“No, Robert!” I said, pulling the tray back to our side of the table. “Don’t you dare touch that. You know what cheese does to your nose.”
Not to gross you out or anything, but in addition to Robert’s butt problem, he also has a mucous problem. Cheese makes his honker drip for weeks. Robert goes through six boxes of Kleenex a day. If there were an Academy Award for nose-blowing, Robert would win three. One for blowing. One for snorting. And one for dripping.
“Uh-oh,” Frankie whispered. “Adolf alert.”
Coming over to our table was Ms. Adolf herself. She was even carrying a grey clipboard to match her all-grey outfit. I guess she must have recovered from Pookie Doodle’s stomach eruption, because she wasn’t wearing a gas mask.
“I’m here to register anyone who would like to enter the Pet Mascot Competition,” she said to us. “You must provide name of pet, age of pet, species of pet, and history o
f breed-slash-species in essay form. Spelling counts.”
There were those words again. “Essay” and “spelling.” Both of them make me break out in a rash. I started scratching my elbow in anticipation of the rash that I knew was coming on. But I couldn’t let a little itching keep me from entering the contest.
“I’m so glad you came by, Ms. Adolf,” I said, “because one, I’d like to sign up my dog, Cheerio, a very talented dachshund, if I do say so myself. And two, I’d like to be excused from doing the essay.”
She looked at me like I had suddenly started to speak Ancient Egyptian. Her body shook so much I thought her feet were going to shake themselves out of her grey shoes without even untying them.
“Mr. Zipzer,” she said, trying to gain control of herself. “How could you even think such a thing, let alone ask me that question again?”
“Actually, it wasn’t that hard, Ms. Adolf. I had the thought and it just came flying out of my mouth.”
Ashley was in the middle of a sip of milk, and when she heard my explanation, the milk took a sudden detour and shot out her nose. That happens to her when she drinks through a straw and laughs at the same time.
“Mr. Zipzer, the essay is an essential part of communication, used in our educational system for over two hundred years. I hardly think we’re going to stop with you.”
“Well, if you were going to stop with someone, I would have been your guy. Hey, you can’t blame me for trying.”
“Oh yes, I can. And let me warn you, Henry, I expect nothing less than perfection. From you and from your elongated dog, whom I seem to remember as rather rambunctious.”
“I would agree with you, Ms. Adolf, if I only knew what that word meant.”
With that remark, Ashley shot another milk missile from her nostril.
“Miss Wong,” Ms. Adolf said, “this is the problem with too much laughter. I suggest you stop laughing and use your napkin immediately.”
While Ashley wiped her face, I took the clipboard from Ms. Adolf and entered my name and Cheerio’s name. The third column asked what kind of pet you were entering, and at first, I started to write dachshund, but I stopped short when I realized I had no idea how to spell it. I mean, I was stumped after the d. So I just finished it up with a quick og and with that, Cheerio was an official contestant.
A Tale of Two Tails Page 1
