“Maybe her parents don’t know about kids like Anthony,” he mumbled. “Or maybe there’re kids like him at fancy schools, too.”
The next day was Thursday, and Arnie came to dinner. While he and my humans ate in the kitchen, I made myself comfortable in the plaid chair. From there I’d be well positioned to make a raid on the kitchen floor just as soon as they got up from the table. There might be something left. Sometimes a dog gets lucky.
Dinner was spaghetti, one of Jake and Mutanski’s favorites.
“It’s great, Mom,” Jake said.
“Great,” said Mutanski with her mouth full.
After that they were too busy slurping noodles to talk.
Mom announced she was going to work early the next day, New Year’s Eve. “People need our help sprucing up for their parties,” she said.
“But what about our New Year’s Eve?” Arnie asked. “I was thinking maybe your dad could watch the bambinos while you and I take a quick trip to Atlantic City.”
“Arnie,” Mom said, “sometimes I honestly wonder what planet you live on. Dad’s a Mummer, remember? He’s busy from now through New Year’s night. It’s not just preparations and parade, it’s the twenty-four-hour parties on 2 Street, too.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” said Arnie. “Traffic will be a mess with the streets blocked off.”
Mom sighed. “It’s the noise that gets me. Dad swears they’re going to keep it down this year, but I’ll believe that when I hear it.”
The winter weather meant I had to spend every day inside. By Friday I was going slightly crazy, but Jake seemed entirely happy with endless video games and snacks.
Around lunchtime Mutanski told him, “There’s snow coming tonight, you know. You oughta take your beast out for a good walk now.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” Jake said from his perch on the sofa. There was a bowl of taco chips beside him. Every time he got up, I snagged a couple. So far he hadn’t noticed.
“I’m just saying—” Mutanski began.
“Yeah, well don’t say,” Jake said. “He’s my dog. I’m responsible for him.”
“Okaaay,” said Mutanski.
And so I waited. And waited.
It was almost dark and the taco chips were gone when Jake stretched, looked out the window, saw the streetlights were on and realized we still hadn’t gone for a walk.
“Shoot, Strudel. I’m sorry!” he said.
I was sitting by the door before he even got up from the sofa.
Outside, the cold was the kind that seeps into your bones, and snow had begun to fall. The pavement beneath my paws was icy. Some people had salted their walks, and the salt grains stuck between my toes and burned.
I didn’t care. I was so happy happy happy to be outside at last!
When a few moments later I spotted Luca, I was happier still. He was with Anthony, but I was so glad to see another dog that I could ignore that part.
I wagged like crazy and charged forward to get a good thorough sniff.
Hello! Hello! Hello!
Meanwhile the big puppy had his tongue lolling out and his head down; he was as desperate to play as I was.
I should’ve been prepared for Jake to pull me back, but I wasn’t and—owie! My neck! Then Anthony yanked Luca, too, and as hard as we tried we could not get close enough to nose each another.
So near and yet so far. It was agony!
“Hey, I got a bone to pick with you, punk,” Anthony said to Jake. “I told you about that new job, and it’s like ever since I did, you’ve been making yourself scarce. Am I right?”
“No,” said Jake. “That is, yes. I don’t want to do that job for you. I won’t do it. He’s my grandpa. It’s not right you should ask me.”
Sometimes Jake whined when he talked to Anthony, but not this time. Even though I could smell the fear on his skin, his voice was firm.
“So you don’t wanna steal from your grandpa, is that it?” Anthony said. “That makes you a good boy, Jakey. But lemme tell ya somethin’. A few dollars out of the cash box is nothin’ to a bakery that does so much business. Your grandpa’ll never miss it, and Richie and I will put it to good use.”
“I found out about the cigarettes,” Jake said. “I found out you’re even selling to kids my age, like Lisa.”
“Yeah? So? Can’t Lisa make her own decisions?” Anthony said.
“I don’t like it,” said Jake.
“You liked the money, didn’t you?”
Jake didn’t answer.
“You took it, and now you owe us.”
“I did what you asked, and you paid me, and now we’re done,” Jake said. There was a tremor in his voice. I wondered if Anthony could hear it, too.
“What if it was to get out that you’re the one who threw that rock through Betty’s window?” Anthony asked.
“You said I wouldn’t get in trouble,” Jake reminded him.
“I could’ve been wrong about that,” said Anthony. “Or here’s another possibility. What if I was to decide to sic this guy on you? You and your mutt? I don’t like to think what Luca’d do to that pipsqueak—especially if he tried to run for it. My dog’s got a taste for cowards’ blood.”
This was nonsense, but still I set my front paws, shifted my weight back and looked the big puppy in the eye. Goaded by his human, Luca might try something. If he did, I wanted to be ready.
Never underestimate the little dog.
“So Jakey,” Anthony went on, “now that I’ve clarified the situation, what do you say? Look, I’ll even give you a couple of days to bring me the cash. It’s the holidays, after all. I can be generous.”
Luca strained at the leash and yipped. Anthony probably thought he was after blood, but I knew he was after playtime.
“I say no,” Jake said, and square-jawed or not, he sounded just like Sheriff Silver.
I was very proud . . . for about one second, because that’s when Anthony let go of Luca’s leash and the big dog lunged.
Thirty-Three
A lifetime being a little dog has taught me something about big ones. Most of them never expect to be challenged. Most of them have low tolerance for pain and bloodshed, at least when the blood is their own.
Well, that’s not the way we dachshunds roll. We mix it up and ask for more. There’re plenty of things worse than a few tooth marks in your hide, and one is failing to do your job. My job was to protect my human.
When Luca came at me, his heart wasn’t in it.
But I charged with everything I had—yanking the leash from Jake’s hand, baring my teeth, growling, snapping and generally reminding the big puppy that I was the alpha dog here.
The moment Luca saw the whites of my canines, he leaned left, spun on his paws and took off in the opposite direction . . . with me on his tail, yipping up a storm.
“Don’t bite me!” Luca shouted over his shoulder.
“You scared my human,” I called back. “What’s he ever done to you?”
For two blocks I chased the overgrown puppy in the swirling snow, my leash trailing behind me. I had spent the whole day napping indoors; running felt wonderful.
By this time I had lived in the neighborhood for months. I thought I knew its every sound and smell, but soon I came to a street I didn’t recognize. It should’ve been the one called 2 Street, the one with the store that smells like doughnuts and chicken.
Now the luscious odor of grease remained, but everything else was different. Two Street had been transformed!
I felt panic rising, and the frightening reality shift that Maisie called a “flashback.” Colored lights swirled around me, and crowds, and so many cars and trucks that I could hardly make my way.
And the humans! They smelled of alcohol and tobacco smoke. They didn’t look normal at all. Some were wearing shiny, bright costumes. Some had painted faces. Everywhere music blared, competing tunes that together made an ugly muddle of noise that hurt my head.
All at once I longed for my own humans. I longed for ho
me. I longed for Jake.
Where was he? Was he safe?
Was I safe?
I dodged the wheels of cars and the legs of humans. Twice someone got hold of my leash to stop me—“Here, doggie, doggie! Come back, doggie, doggie!”—but I yanked free and kept going.
It was lucky that Luca was a tall dog. I kept his tail in sight.
Under a car I scooted, then across a sidewalk and down a narrow street, away from the light and the noise. Still running, Luca was only a few yards ahead. At last I could breathe again.
“Hey, Luca!” I called. “Could we give it a rest? My legs aren’t as long as yours!”
Obediently the big dog slowed to a trot and stopped. When he turned to face me he dipped his snout, acknowledging my alpha-dog status. He was panting. “I thought you’d never stop chasing me.”
“What do you mean, you big goofball?” I laid my ears back and body bumped him to say no hard feelings. “I stopped chasing you a long time ago! I was trying to keep up. Where are we, anyway?”
“Search me,” said Luca.
“Wait, you’re lost, too? But you’ve lived here longer than me.”
“I don’t get walked much,” Luca said. “My human complains every time we go out.”
“Gee, that’s tough,” I said.
“I’m cold,” he said. “Can we go home now?”
“Sure.” I gave a good shake to get the snowflakes off my back. “We can re-sniff our steps. Only, what was that over on 2 Street? I don’t mind telling you, the noise, the colors—the whole thing made me nervous.”
Luca sat back and scratched at a fleabite. Unlike me, he didn’t seem bothered. I guess some dogs’ senses aren’t as sharp as a dachshund’s. “Crazy human stuff,” he said. “Who cares? Did you notice the treat potential? Let’s go see what’s to eat, want to?”
Even amidst the confusion of smells, it didn’t take us long to sniff our way back to 2 Street.
Luca quivered with puppy excitement. “Pepperoni!” he yelped. “And how about that—nacho cheese! Yummy, yummy, yummy! Are those biscotti? Don’t you love biscotti?”
“I thought you wanted to go home, Luca. I thought you were cold.”
“I am, I am, I am—but a dog has to eat! I think maybe I’m still growing.”
Just to keep Luca company, I sniffed out half a hoagie from the gutter and took a good-sized bite. I was enjoying the taste of spoiled mayonnaise when I heard the first crack, then the second and then a colossal boom. The sounds seemed to wash over me like wind—making my bones vibrate and my brain throb.
In an overwhelming wave, the terror of the calamity came back. Panic rose in my chest, and I could not keep it down. It was happening again—apocalypse!
I had to escape. I had to!
Head down, tail down, nose straight ahead, I ran without looking back.
Thirty-Four
From behind me, I heard Luca calling, “Strudel—come this way!”
I kept on running.
The rough ice on the pavement tore my paws, and the salt made them sting. The wet snow froze my nose. Brakes squealed and car horns blared. People shouted, “Dog! What’re ya doin’? Get outta the street!” Someone tried to step on my trailing leash, but I was too fast. I don’t know for how long I ran. I only stopped because my chest was heaving and my legs burned like fire. I could not take another step.
Only then did I realize that the awful sounds had faded into silence.
Was the apocalypse over? What had happened on 2 Street? Was Luca all right? What about my humans?
Maisie’s words came back to me: Summon your hound-dog nature, Strudel.
Okay, Maisie, I thought. My ancestors had fought badgers. They never gave up. And I wouldn’t give up either.
But where was I? And what should I do next?
A few sniffs told me I had come to a strange neighborhood, one I had never walked in before. It looked like Jake’s but lacked the charm of smelly and abundant litter. Brick row houses lined both sides of the street, their front doors three steps up from the sidewalk.
In the midst of my ordeal, new memories from the night of the calamity came back. I had run like this then, too. And I had been on a sidewalk in a neighborhood I didn’t know, with smells I didn’t know. I remembered the rain and the wind. I remembered that the pads of my paws were soaked and sore and bleeding. I remembered being tired—so tired—as if I’d run for miles.
Then, all of a sudden, I had sensed something familiar, a powerful canine smell. I had stumbled toward it and found a spot that was out of the rain. Grateful, I had collapsed, exhausted.
Abruptly I realized that I was remembering how I had come to the shelter! I had run away from the calamity, and sensed the shelter when I was near it. I had lain down in the doorway, which was out of the rain. Shira had taken me in.
Maybe I could find a doorway now. I needed to rest and to think. How was I going to get home?
A dog lived in the house whose doorway I chose, a Maltese from the smell of her. Climbing the three steps to the stoop was like climbing a mountain, but at the top there was a doormat for me to lie down on. It was bristly but the part nearest the door was dry. It was shielded from the wind by flowerpots. I dozed until . . . oh miracle! Jake’s voice woke me.
“Strudel! Here, Strudel! Are you out there, buddy? Where are you?”
Exhaustion forgotten, I jumped up and tripped down the steps so fast my paws barely made contact. On the sidewalk I looked right and left before spotting my human halfway down the block. In a moment, Jake’s familiar hands were pulling me to his chest.
I licked his face in relief and gratitude.
“Quit it, Strudel!” Jake said, but I knew he didn’t mean that. His voice was hoarse from calling me and husky with happy tears, too. “I can’t believe I found you. First you chased Luca away—you should’ve seen Anthony’s face! But why did you run so far?
“Okay, time to go home, only there’s one slight problem. Where is home, anyway? I think the river’s that way . . . or maybe . . .” He turned around, then turned around again.
The warmth of Jake’s body revived me, and when I realized he was lost, my hound-dog determination kicked in. I had a job to do.
I wiggled, and Jake put me down. “Good thing you’ve still got your leash,” he said, “and this time I’m not letting go.”
Back on the sidewalk, I raised my nose and sniffed the air. From far away came the sharp scent of burning left by the 2 Street destruction. It was the last place I wanted to go, but it was also the direction from which I had come, the direction of home.
Jake resisted my tugging at first, but then he shrugged and gave in.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. “At least the snow has stopped.”
Here is something I learned that night: Fear makes everything difficult.
Now that my fear had passed, backtracking turned out to be easy. Approaching my own neighborhood at last, I had never been so glad to smell anything. This was my territory, my home,
Amazingly, when we got back to 2 Street the human confusion called a party was still going on. I had expected the street to look like the scenes in Jake’s video game, the buildings and vehicles reduced to smoking ruins, but it didn’t at all. Except for people in shiny costumes dancing and carrying on, everything looked just fine.
Something had happened that I did not understand. Maybe someday it would be explained. For now, the overload of sights, smells and sounds on 2 Street acted like a beacon for my canine senses. Jake, being only human, hadn’t heard a thing till we were less than a block away.
“We’re almost back now, Strudel,” Jake said when we turned the corner. “Oh gosh, Mom is gonna kill me.”
Thirty-Five
Jake couldn’t have been more wrong about Mom. Instead of killing him, she burst into tears and hugged us both like she’d never ever let go. Even Mutanski cried. For once she wasn’t wearing any lipstick at all. She looked pretty, like somebody whose name was Laura.
“Call your grandpa, honey,” Mom said to her. “He’s been worried sick.”
“Mom, I love you, too, but you gotta let me go.” Jake squirmed to get out of her arms. “Strudel’s paws are bloody, see that? I’m gonna clean him up and wrap him in a blanket or something.”
Mom said okay, she would make cocoa. “And wrap yourself in a blanket, too,” she added.
Jake’s doctoring was as gentle as Shira’s had been. He rubbed me down good, then sprayed all four paws with bad-smelling stuff—Owie! Owie! Owie! Owie! He even wiped my tail. Set free at last, I trotted all around the home place doing a quick inspection for signs of apocalypse. I am happy to report I found none.
I was downstairs with Mom and Mutanski in the kitchen, hoping for falling marshmallows, when I heard human sounds outside the front door. In a heartbeat, I was sounding the alarm.
Danger! Danger! Danger!
“Only me, Strudel, boy,” Grandpa said as he opened the door and came in. “I’m glad your voice is working good, at least. Hello?” he called. “Did someone say something about cocoa?”
“In here, Dad,” Mom called.
Grandpa stomped the ice off his boots and hung his coat on a hook by the door. Then he picked me up and carried me into the kitchen. He had never picked me up before, so I licked his cheek to let him know it was okay. His skin tasted funny, and when Mom got a look at Grandpa she laughed.
“There’s still streaks of paint on your face, Dad,” she said.
Grandpa set me down and rubbed his cheek. “I was out with the Frogs till I got your call that Jake was missing,” he said. “I changed my clothes and washed in a hurry—too big a hurry, I guess. Then I went out looking for my grandson with a couple of buddies of mine. We must’ve gone the wrong way, though.”
Jake came in wearing his pajamas. Grandpa started to punch his shoulder, then turned the punch into a hug. I didn’t like being left out, so I used my last reserves of strength to dash around their ankles and yip. This made everybody laugh.
Soon the family was sitting around the table with their cocoa. For once Mom let me sit in Jake’s lap, and kept quiet when he slipped me a marshmallow.
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