“I might,” said Tyler. “I found this in Pippa’s dog door.” He pulled the scrap of navy blue material out of his pocket.
His mother took it and grinned. “Thanks, partner—that’s exactly what we need! It’ll have the dognapper’s scent on it—Gus can easily track it.”
She held the scrap out for the big dog to sniff. “Seek!” she commanded, and disappeared into the crowd with Gus.
“Stay here!” she called over her shoulder to Tyler. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, call Mrs. Lacey!”
But Max was already tugging Tyler forward. In the next row of vehicles was a gray van with dirty license plates and windows up against its roof. Every few seconds, the tips of two floppy, creamy ears floated into the window and down again.
As they reached the van, they could hear excited yipping.
“Pippa!” Tyler shouted. He grabbed the back door handle and pulled—but the van was locked tight. Even the windows were sealed shut. The air inside would soon be dangerously hot. They had to get her out before that happened!
“Keys!” thought Tyler, remembering that flash of silver. He raced back to the exit with Max and jumped down into the ditch.
The keys weren’t there—they had to be in the pipe under the road. Tyler threw himself onto his stomach to peer into it. He couldn’t see anything except black; he couldn’t reach anything except mud and slime.
He wiggled back, and Max wriggled in.
Ten minutes later, a slimy black nose appeared at the other end of the pipe. A long, muddy body slinked out. Clamped tight in a strong, muddy jaw was a key ring with one dangling silver key.
They raced back to the van. Pippa yipped once, but she’d stopped leaping.
The key worked. The door swung open.
Twelve black poodles rushed to greet them.
* * *
Tyler had been so sure he’d seen Pippa that he’d broken into a stranger’s van. Where was the cream-colored poodle now?
But while Tyler was still figuring out what to do, Max had hopped into the van. Now he was bursting with joy: licking, sniffing, and dancing with one of the black poodles, exactly the way he did with Pippa.
The tips of this poodle’s ears were pale and creamy.
“Pippa?” said Tyler, and the black poodle with creamy ears jumped to his shoulders, with her arms around his neck.
Tyler patted her, and his hand came away black.
“So that’s why the dognapper went to the hairdresser’s!” Tyler said. “But he didn’t take Pippa in with him; he just bought the dye!”
The van was getting hotter and hotter. The dogs were panting, and there was no water. He had to get them out of there.
A long rope was coiled under the front seat. Tyler tied it to the handle of Max’s leash and then looped a leash length through the ring on Pippa’s collar and knotted it too. One by one, he took the poodles out of the van, tying the rope to each collar so that all twelve poodles were strung out in a long line behind Max. There was just enough rope left for him to hold.
He looked around the parking lot. His mom was nowhere in sight. It had been more than ten minutes since he’d seen her—time to call Mrs. Lacey.
Except that his phone was on Mrs. Lacey’s kitchen table. And he couldn’t even stay where he was, because thirteen thirsty dogs were pulling him to a water trough at the start of the parade.
The band was already blaring its way down the street, followed by two rows of police officers and firefighters, a row of kids twirling batons, and horses with white-shirted, red-cowboy-hatted riders.
Clowns and jugglers tumbled along, weaving in and out of the groups of marchers. One of the clowns ran right to the start of the parade, grabbing the bandleader’s baton and conducting wildly.
The crowd laughed and cheered—and then gasped as an enormous German shepherd leapt into the air and knocked the clown to the ground. It held him there until Officer Olson ran up to clap handcuffs onto the clown’s wrists. Two other police officers stepped out of the line to help her, and the crowd cheered again, thinking it was all part of the parade.
Tyler’s mom looked up and saw Tyler being towed by Max and twelve poodles. The poodles ran even faster when they saw the handcuffed clown, passing everyone till they were nearly at the front, right behind the band.
So Tyler, Max, and the twelve black poodles followed the band and led the marching police officers and firefighters, the baton-twirling kids, and all the rest of the parade. It was a long route, right through the town, past houses and apartment buildings, past the town hall, hospital, and schools, past corner stores and shopping malls.
The band marched to the bandstand in the middle of the park to play one final song. Tyler looked around the crowd. He couldn’t see his mother, he was hot and thirsty, and he had thirteen dogs at the end of a rope.
Suddenly he heard the wail of police sirens. Four police cars pulled up, and his mom and Gus ran to the bandstand.
Mrs. Lacey and eleven other people got out of the cars and followed them.
The poodles began to yip and dance on their rope, tugging Tyler toward the bandstand.
A policeman came over to help him. He winked at Tyler as Mrs. Lacey and the eleven other people climbed up onto the bandstand. Officer Olson started to speak.
“As you know, there has been a spate of dognappings in this town,” she said. “We believe we have the dogs here, even though these poodles are black, and the stolen dogs were all different colors.
“Tyler,” she continued, “could you please untie the first dog?”
Tyler untied the poodle closest to his end of the rope. In two bounds, the little black poodle flew up the steps to Cassandra Caniche, as if she were the only person on the bandstand.
One by one, Tyler let the other poodles off. One by one, they raced straight to someone on the bandstand, until Mrs. Lacey and the black poodle tied next to Max were the only ones left alone.
Tyler untied the last loop.
The little dog flew into Mrs. Lacey’s arms, wrapping her front paws around her owner’s neck and covering her face with licky kisses.
“I think you can see,” Tyler’s mom said finally, over the noise of licking and yipping, patting and sobbing, “that even if humans might not have been able to work it out, the dogs knew who they belonged with!”
Another policeman came up and handed her a message. Tyler’s mom scanned it quickly.
“The dognapper has confessed. After last year’s fair, when Cassandra Caniche won prizes for the Best-Groomed Poodle, the Best-Spun Poodle Wool, and the overall Best Item for a poodle wool coat, the dognapper asked her to marry him. When she said no, he threatened that she’d never again have the glory of winning so many prizes. So, two weeks ago, he teased Cassandra’s dog with fresh, juicy steak until it followed him out into his van. He then stole all the other poodles in the same way. He dyed them black so no one would recognize them—and so he could win the Best-Matched Poodles prize tomorrow! Fortunately we arrested him first. When he heard what he thought was a police dog, he ran away, knocked down a clown, and stole his costume. But he’d left behind a scrap of his shirt when he stole the last poodle— and so the real police dog knew who he was.”
“Hooray for Gus!” shouted someone who’d seen the police dog tackle the clown.
Gus lifted his head proudly, and Tyler’s mom patted him. “Gus caught him,” she agreed, “but the true hero is the dog who tracked him down and rescued the poodles.”
Everyone was surprised, because everyone knew there was only one police dog in the town.
“Max!” called Tyler’s mom.
The little dachshund had tracked a vehicle and run for more than an hour, dug two tunnels and searched a drain, found his friend, and led a parade of lost poodles through the streets of the town. He was sound asleep.
But he woke up when Officer Olson called, and he followed Tyler up the steps on his strong stumpy legs.
The policeman who’d brought the message stepped forward a
nd held up a small gold tag.
“In recognition of Max the Dax’s out- standing service today, I’m awarding him the title of honorary police dog.”
He threaded the tag onto Max’s collar.
The crowd cheered; Cassandra Caniche and all the other people who’d been reunited with their poodles hugged Tyler while their dogs licked Max. Mrs. Lacey kissed them both. Tyler’s mom and the other police officer shook Tyler’s hand and Max’s paw.
Gus leaned down and licked Max’s head. And Max licked him back.
Because of Shoe
by Pam Muñoz Ryan
illustrated by Olga and Aleksey Ivanov
Shoe
I cannot talk. And that’s not like me.
I am at the beach with my family: my mom and Theo; our little poodle, Lucky; and my German shepherd, Shoe, who is leaping over small waves like a jackrabbit. Shoe is soaked to the bone. Suddenly she stops and turns to look back at me, tilting her head to the side. I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking it’s strange that I’m not talking, because usually I never stop. But after what happened today, my heart is puffed up with emotion, like a balloon about to burst, and I’m afraid if I say anything, I’ll start to cry. See, earlier, at the courthouse, everything changed. And it was all because of Shoe.
* * *
“Can you tell the court your name?” asked the judge. His black robe, long face, and dark bushy eyebrows made him look like a vulture.
“Lilianna Parker,” I said from the witness stand. “But everyone calls me Lily.”
The courtroom was filled with adults and other children who had come to court with their own petitions and waited to sit before the judge.
“And, Lily, how old are you?”
“Eleven years old.”
The judge put on his glasses and peered at me.
“I know,” I said. “I look younger. I’m the shortest in my class. That’s my mom over there.” I pointed across the room to where Mom sat at a wooden table. “She’s a nurse at Memorial Hospital, and she’s barely over five feet. My pediatrician says that when I grow up, I will only be a tiny bit taller. But I’m really hoping he’s wrong. Anyway, my freckles and thin hair don’t help either. Plus, I’m trying to grow out my bangs because I think that no bangs will make me look more like a fifth-grader, which I am, instead of a third-grader, which I am not.”
The judge smiled. His cheeks puffed up like peaches, his eyes twinkled, and he didn’t look like a vulture anymore. He looked like someone’s grandpa. “Well, Lily, let’s move on. We’re not going to be too formal here today. Can you tell us about the circumstances that brought you to my courtroom?”
I looked at Mom. She nodded encouragement. Mom had already coached me, but not about lying, since I wouldn’t do that anyway. Instead she had given me the talk about keeping my answers brief, which is really hard for me. I always tell way too much information. Mom said, “Make the long story short.” And I promised I would try, I really would. But my mind had a mind of its own.
“Lily?” said the judge.
I nodded, twisting a long strand of brown hair around one finger and trying to find a beginning. “It all started about a year ago, with Shoe.”
The judge looked puzzled. “A shoe?”
I sat a little straighter. “No, not a shoe. Our dog, Shoe. We adopted her from the Coastal Humane Society. See, I had been wanting a dog for a long time, and finally Mom thought it would be a good idea. She said we should get one for protection since we were two girls living alone, on account of my father disappearing off the face of the planet before I was born. Besides that, I was spending more time at home by myself because I didn’t go to after-school care anymore. But believe me, I wasn’t a latchkey kid because our next door neighbor, Mrs. Gonzalez, was always checking on me. But Mom said that she’d feel more comfortable if there was a dog in the house. We really couldn’t afford a dog from the pet shop, and even if we could pay eight hundred dollars, Mom wouldn’t do it. She thinks everyone should adopt from animal shelters because of the current dog population, which is extremely high. She also has this thing about overbreeding.”
I glanced at Mom. She was gently tapping the side of her cheek with one finger.
That was a signal that meant Too Much Information.
I took a deep breath, which is what I was supposed to do if she signaled me. “So we went to the Humane Society, and the minute I saw Shoe, I knew that she was the dog for me. I put my face near hers, and I just asked her, ‘Do you belong to me?’ And I know you’re not going to believe this, but she answered. I mean, not in English, but you know, in the way she looked at me. Mom said that from day one, Shoe and I had this secret communication thing. So we adopted her. At first, we could not decide what to name her, but then—”
The judge held up his hand. “Lily, I need to interrupt for a moment. Does the dog’s name have anything to do with why we’re here today?”
I nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes. It has everything to do with it!”
Some of the people in the courtroom chuckled.
Mom rolled her eyes.
“Then you may continue,” said the judge, leaning back in his chair.
“Okay. So we adopted her, and as soon as we brought her home, she started this thing with shoes. She would sneak into a closet, and I mean that entire skulking thing that dogs do when they don’t want to be noticed. She would pick up a shoe in her mouth and then run out of the room. Then we’d have to chase her to get it back. But a few hours later, she would do the same thing. It’s not that she chewed on the shoes or wrecked them or anything. And when I asked her, ‘Why are you doing that?’ she pulled the shoes closer to her chest, crossed her paws over them, and laid her head down and licked them. See, she thought they were puppies.”
The judge leaned forward. “Puppies?”
A smattering of giggles traveled through the courtroom.
“Yes! It was the weirdest thing. She carried the shoes to her favorite places, like, behind the couch or the back of a closet. Then when she had a pile of them, she’d protect them and nose them and even talk to them. Not human talk, of course, but dog talk. You know, whining and little barks. So, Mom and I had to put all of our shoes up on the closet shelves. But then Shoe sniffed the floor, and whined, and looked at me and Mom with the saddest eyes and said, ‘I’m begging you, please give me some shoes.’ We couldn’t resist. I gave her my soccer shoes that were too small, and Mom gave her a pair of high heels she never wore because she said they hurt her feet and when did she go dancing anymore anyway?”
Mom cleared her throat.
That was another signal. If I heard Mom clear her throat, I was supposed to pause and think about what I needed to say, not what I wanted to say.
“So Mom and I started calling her Shoe Mama, because of her shoe puppies. But eventually we just called her Shoe. After a few months, she grew out of the whole pretending-shoes-were-puppies thing. It was like she just woke up one day and said, ‘Oh, silly me. These are shoes, not my babies.’ And just like that, she wasn’t interested in shoes anymore. Until the incident.”
“The incident?” asked the judge. His forehead wrinkled with concern.
I nodded. “But that came later. See, when we adopted her, the people at the Humane Society said they didn’t know exactly how old Shoe was. They thought she was about a year old and wouldn’t grow much larger. But they were so wrong. She grew a lot more. The vet said she was one of the biggest German shepherds he’d ever seen in his whole entire life. Everyone said she was too much dog for us. But we couldn’t take her back because by then, she already loved us and we loved her. And besides, how could I give back a dog who reads my mind?”
“She reads your mind?” asked the judge.
I nodded. “Yes! I can just look at her and think that she needs a walk, and she will go sit next to her leash. Or one time I couldn’t find my backpack and I was looking all over the house for it, but I wasn’t saying, ‘Where’s my backpack?’ I was just thinking it
. And Shoe started whining and pawing at the door. When I opened it, my backpack was right there on the back steps. See what I mean?”
The judge nodded. “I think so. Let’s get to the incident.”
“Okay. So Shoe started being really protective of Mom and me. If anyone came near us, she went ballistic with her barking.” I leaned closer to the judge and whispered, “For a while, Grandma wouldn’t even come to our house because she was so scared of Shoe.”
The judge raised his eyebrows and nodded knowingly.
Mom cleared her throat and tapped her cheek.
I took a deep breath and thought about what I needed to say. “Okay. So the Humane Society offered obedience training on Saturdays at Ocean Bay Park. We took Shoe to the first class, and there was this humongous line of people with their dogs, and it was hardly moving because once you got to the front of it, you had to fill out all these forms. The guy in front of us was thin and over six feet tall, which is really tall for short people like us. He had curly black hair and black glasses and was wearing workout clothes, but he wasn’t sweaty or smelly or anything like that. He had on running shoes with those short socks, and a T-shirt from some marathon, the type you can only get if you actually run one. What was funny was that he was holding this weensy white poodle. This great big tall guy and this itty bitty dog. Mom and I were standing a little bit away from him because of personal space. And because people sometimes get nervous when Shoe is too close to them. But Shoe kept tugging on her leash, straining and whining and trying to move as close to him as possible. Finally, the man turned around and said to Mom, ‘If you act like the pack leader, your dog will calm down.’ Mom started laughing, and it was kind of funny. Because after all, we were in line for obedience school.”
The judge nodded. He took off his glasses, pulled out a handkerchief, and began cleaning the lenses. “What happened next?”
Because of Shoe and Other Dog Stories Page 2
