‘Dinner’s ready!’ yelled Dad, setting his favourite napkins with baby seals on them on the table.
‘What about Spot?’ asked Gunk.
‘There are cans of dog food in the cupboard,’ said Dad.
Gunk hauled a can out of the larder and opened it. The sweetly rotten smell of dog food filled the kitchen. Gunk tipped it out into Spot’s new doggy dish. Dad had bought it, so it had cute butterflies flapping all around it.
‘Here you are girl,’ said Gunk. ‘A delicious dinner.’
‘Smells like puke,’ said Fliss.
‘Not if you’re a dog,’ said Dad. ‘Dogs love dog food.’
‘They probably like puke too,’ said Fliss, starting to carve the turkey. ‘Hurry up Gunk. I have to get to work.’ Fliss worked as a bouncer in a nightclub. She was the only female bouncer in town, but no one gave cheek to Fliss.
Gunk crouched down by the doggy dish. ‘Come on, Spot,’ he coaxed, ‘dinner time.’
Spot stuck her big, bare nose out from under the table. She wagged her fat tail then crept slowly over to Gunk.
‘See? Don’t be scared. This is all for you!’ said Gunk.
Spot sniffed at the dog food. Then she sniffed again. Then she lifted up her nose and howled. ‘Spppppttttttt!’
‘No, really, it’s nice doggy dinner!’ protested Gunk.
Fliss grinned. ‘You eat it then, baby brother.’
‘No way,’ said Gunk. ‘It smells like…’
‘Puke,’ finished Fliss. ‘I reckon it isn’t fair giving a dog puke while we’re eating turkey. Here…’ She handed Gunk a couple of slices of turkey breast. ‘Get rid of the doggy doo dinner and give the poor dog some real meat.’
Gunk scraped the bowl out into the garbage and washed it, then broke up the turkey slices into tiny pieces. He held the bowl out to Spot.
‘There you are Spot. Yummy, yummy dindins.’
‘If anyone spoke to me like that, I’d bite them,’ remarked Fliss, helping herself to most of the pumpkin.
Mum wandered back into the kitchen. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m trying to get Spot to eat her dinner,’ explained Gunk. ‘Here Spot!’
Spot sniffed at the roast turkey. Then she lifted her head again. ‘Sspt!’ she cried sadly.
‘Why can’t she howl like a normal dog?’ inquired Mum without much interest. ‘Try a bit of gravy on it.’
Gunk dribbled the gravy onto the turkey. Spot took one sniff and crouched on her belly. Two fat tears rolled down her big round nose.
‘She doesn’t like turkey either,’ said Gunk helplessly.
‘All dogs like turkey!’ protested Dad.
‘You said all dogs liked dog food too,’ remarked Fliss. ‘Are there any more potatoes?’ She scraped the last of them onto her plate.
‘Come and have your dinner, son,’ said Dad. ‘After all, it is your birthday dinner.’
‘But I can’t let Spot starve!’ cried Gunk.
‘She’ll eat when she’s hungry,’ said Mum. ‘Oh, I wish I didn’t have to go to work tomorrow. I really think I’m on the verge of a breakthrough. It would be just tragic if the aliens arrived before my program was ready.’
Gunk gathered Spot up in his arms and sat down at the table with Spot on his lap. Dad helped him to turkey and pumpkin—Fliss had finished all the potatoes. Gunk poured the gravy carefully over the vegetable then reached for the salad.
‘Spt?’ said Spot suddenly. She poked her nose over the edge of the table. ‘Spt?’ She stuck out her long
thin tongue. Gloop! A big leaf of lettuce disappeared into Spot’s mouth. She chewed it thoughtfully.
Dad stared. ‘That dog just ate a lettuce leaf!’
‘Maybe it’s a vegetarian,’ said Mum vaguely.
‘There aren’t any vegetarian dogs!’ said Fliss. ‘Dogs are savage predators. They tear their prey limb from limb, like wolves. Or at least eat doggy dinners. That dog is a wimp.’
‘Spt,’ said Spot. Suddenly she clambered up onto the table and stuck her head in the salad bowl. ‘Spt, spt, spt,’ said Spot happily, gulping down a slice of cucumber.
‘Well,’ said Dad, pouring lemonade into his baby whale mug, ‘at least we’ve found out what Spot likes for dinner.’
CHAPTER 4
Spot goes to Bed
The bedroom was dark, except for the streak of light at the edge of the curtains from the streetlight outside. Gunk sat up in bed. Something had woken him.
It wasn’t the roar of Fliss’s motorbike as she came home from work. It wasn’t the noise of a burglar trying the backdoor either. It was…
‘Sppppppppttttttt!’
The noise came from the laundry. Gunk pushed back the bedclothes and trod softly out of his bedroom and down the corridor. He opened the laundry door and turned on the light.
Spot gazed up at him, blinking in the sudden light. Her big, bare nose was wet and two more tears rolled down her chin.
‘Spt,’ she said mournfully.
Gunk knelt down beside her. ‘What’s wrong girl?’ he muttered. ‘Are you lonely?’
‘Spt,’ agreed Spot.
‘That’s all right. I get lonely too sometimes.’
‘Spt?’ asked Spot, gazing up at him.
‘I think everyone gets lonely sometimes,’ said Gunk. ‘Hey, do you want to come into bed with me?’
‘Spt!’ said Spot happily, lashing him on the ankle with her giant tail.
Gunk picked Spot up and tucked her into his pyjama top to keep her warm. He tiptoed out of the laundry and shut the door, then crept through the kitchen and down the corridor towards his bedroom.
Suddenly Mum and Dad’s bedroom door opened. Dad peered out blearily. He was wearing his baby lambkin pyjamas tonight, with the fluffy chicken slippers. ‘What’s wrong?’ he inquired sleepily. ‘Is the house burning down?’
‘No, it’s just Spot,’ said Gunk. ‘She’s lonely. I thought,’ he hesitated. ‘…I thought maybe she could sleep with me.’
Dad scratched his head. ‘I suppose there’s a good reason why you shouldn’t share your bed with a dog,’ he said. ‘But I can’t think of it at two in the morning. She hasn’t got fleas, has she?’
‘No fleas,’ Gunk assured him.
‘No rabies, mad cow disease, leeches or ticks?’
‘Nope,’ said Gunk.
‘All right then, Spot can sleep with you. See you in the morning, Gunk.’
‘See you, Dad,’ said Gunk gratefully.
He tiptoed into his room and placed Spot on the end of his bed, then slid under the bedclothes himself.
‘Goodnight, Spot,’ he said.
‘Spt,’ mourned Spot.
‘What is it now?’ asked Gunk.
‘Spt,’ said Spot firmly. She paddled up the bed and snuggled down under the bedclothes with Gunk, her nose on his pillow and one furry paw on his arm. ‘Spt,’ she said happily, dribbling on the sheet.
Gunk closed his eyes. Five minutes later he opened them again.
Spot snored.
CHAPTER 5
Green Gloop
Next day was Sunday. Everyone slept in on Sundays, except for Dad. On Sundays Dad mooched quietly out to the kitchen and read the papers and…‘Great woolly whiskers!’ shrieked Dad.
Gunk opened his eyes and looked around. There was no Spot to be seen. Gunk stumbled out of bed and peered out into the hall. Dad was hopping on one fluffy-slippered foot and trying to keep the other chicken slipper off the carpet.
‘Oh,’ said Gunk.
‘It’s all green!’ yelled Dad.
‘I’m sure Spot didn’t mean to…’ began Gunk.
‘What sort of dog leaves sloppy green doggy doo?’ roared Dad.
‘It’s my fault,’ said Gunk. ‘I shoud have taken Spot out last night.’
Mum stuck her head around the bedroom door. ‘What’s all the fuss?’ she inquired.
‘It’s that dopey dog!’ yelled Dad. ‘It’s done its business right in the middle of the hallway. There
’s green gloop all over my fluffy chicken slippers!’
‘Well, wash it off,’ said Mum matter-of-factly. She yawned and looked at her watch. ‘As long as I’m up, I’ll make a cup of tea,’ she said, moving towards the kitchen. ‘All this fuss about a little doggy doo.’
‘Green doggy doo,’ muttered Dad, hobbling back to the bathroom he shared with Mum.
‘Well, there was no need to wake the whole household…Errk!’ screamed Mum.
Gunk raced to the kitchen.
Mum stared at the bench in horror. ‘She did it on the teapot!’ she cried. ‘That dog must have leapt up onto the bench in the night and doo-dooed on the teapot. Oh! It’s eaten the rest of the lettuce too.’
‘I suppose that’s why it’s green doo-doo,’ said Gunk.
‘I’ll never use this teapot again,’ shuddered Mum. ‘How can you use a teapot that a dog has used as a toilet?’
‘I’ll…’ began Gunk, when suddenly there was another roar down the hall.
‘On my weights bench!’ shouted Fliss. ‘Someone’s done green doo-doo on my weights bench!’ The house shook as Fliss thundered down the corridor.
‘I’ll just find Spot,’ said Gunk hurriedly, ‘and make sure she doesn’t want to go again.’
CHAPTER 6
Spot is Toilet-trained
Spot was in the living room, dribbling on the sofa.
‘What are you doing here, Spot?’ asked Gunk. ‘Oh.’
Spot grinned up at him, the last stem of a vase of roses in her mouth.
‘Look,’ said Gunk patiently. ‘Dogs don’t eat roses. Or lettuce. They eat meat! Get it? And they don’t do their doo-doo on people’s teapots. You’re supposed to go outside!’
‘Spt,’ said Spot.
‘Yeah, I know,’ sighed Gunk. ‘You can’t get outside because dogs can’t use doorhandles. It’s my fault, but they’re going to yell at you too so maybe we should get out of here for a while.’
‘Spt,’ agreed Spot.
Gunk threw on some clothes. Spot bounced at his feet as he ran out of the front door, down the steps and round to the backyard.
‘Okay,’ said Gunk. ‘Let’s start toilet-training. Go to the toilet, Spot!’
‘Spt?’ asked Spot, sitting on Gunk’s feet and looking up at him adoringly.
‘No, go to the toilet, you dumb dog! You know—pooh pooh, number two, do some doggy doo!’
‘Spt,’ decided Spot. She took a bite of next door’s sweet peas that were poking through the fence and chewed them thoughtfully.
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake!’ said Gunk. He squatted down beside Spot. ‘Like this, you silly mutt!’ He put a strained look on his face. ‘Uh, uh…’
‘What are you doing?’ asked a girl’s voice curiously.
It was Pete from next door. Gunk leapt to his feet. He could feel himself grow red all the way down to his ankles.
‘Oh, hi,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Hello? I live here, remember,’ said Pete.
‘I mean what are you doing outside so early?’
Pete shrugged. ‘I like early,’ she said. ‘There aren’t any twits around asking what you’re doing.’
‘What are you doing?’ asked Gunk.
‘None of your business,’ said Pete. ‘Anyway, I asked first.’
‘I’m…I’m trying to toilet-train Spot. She’s my new dog.’ Gunk held her up for Pete to have a look at.
Pete stared. ‘That’s the dumbest looking dog I’ve ever seen,’ she said.
‘Spt,’ said Spot.
‘She doesn’t even bark!’ cried Pete.
Suddenly Gunk was furious. ‘I don’t care!’ he yelled. ‘She’s a great dog, even if she doesn’t bark or look like a championship Rottweiler. And anyway, who are you to talk? Who ever heard of a girl named Pete?’
Pete grinned suddenly. ‘No one,’ she said. ‘My name’s really Petunia.’
‘It’s what?’ demanded Gunk, then he blushed again. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s a…a nice name. I mean girls get called Rosemary and Daphne and…’
‘Yeah. But not Petunia,’ said Pete. ‘So I decided to be Pete instead. How come you’re called Gunk?’
Gunk shrugged, his anger trickling out of him at Pete’s grin. ‘Fliss called me that when I was little. She took one look inside my nappy and said “Gunk!”. The name sort of stuck.’
‘Um, I don’t like to mention it,’ said Pete. ‘But your dog is eating Mum’s sweet peas.’
‘No, Spot!’ shouted Gunk. ‘I told you not to eat flowers.’
‘Spt?’ Spot blinked then hid under the camellia bush. She peered out nervously.
Gunk knelt down. ‘Look Spot, I’m sorry I yelled at you. But you can’t eat Pete’s mum’s sweet peas.’
‘Spt?’ asked Spot. She trundled out again and took a bite of grass. She looked up inquiringly.
Gunk sighed. ‘Okay, you can eat grass. Dogs do eat grass sometimes, don’t they?’ he asked Pete.
Pete looked at Spot critically. ‘Not that much grass,’ she said. ‘She’s munching the lawn like a lawn mower.’
‘Well, we won’t need to mow it then,’ said Gunk defensively.
‘Spt?’ Spot glanced at the rose bush and then up at Gunk.
‘No, you can’t eat roses either. Stick to grass,’ said Gunk.
‘Spt,’ agreed Spot obligingly. She bent her head to the grass again.
‘You know…’ began Pete.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Gunk, ‘I know—she’s a weird dog.’
‘Actually, I was going to say she’s a really bright dog,’ said Pete. ‘She just looks dumb. It’s that big, round nose and fat tail. But she understands just about everything you say. I reckon she’ll be easy to toilet-train.’
‘I hope so,’ said Gunk glumly. ‘Fliss sounded pretty…’
‘Miaow?’ Pete’s cat strolled through the forest of bright flowers on the other side of the fence then jumped up and peered down at Spot. ‘Miaow?’ she asked curiously.
‘Spt!’ howled Spot. She jumped into Gunk’s arms and hid her face in his shirt.
Gunk shut his eyes. He had the only dog in the world who was afraid of cats! Then he opened them. ‘It’s all right, Spot,’ he said, automatically stroking her, ‘the cat won’t hurt you.’ Gunk waited for Pete to say something damning about his wimp of a dog.
Pete looked at Spot. Then she looked at the cat. ‘I think Spot’s sensible,’ she said at last. ‘Any normal—I mean any other dog—would just chase Mrs Fluffytum. But your dog thinks to herself, “there’s a strange animal” and…’
‘Mrs Fluffytum!’ interrupted Gunk.
Pete flushed. ‘Mum named her,’ she said shortly. ‘What do you expect of someone who calls her daughter Petunia?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘Good luck toilet-training Spot.’
‘Where are you off to?’ asked Gunk. It was still too early to be going anywhere in his opinion.
‘Oh, just some stuff I have to do,’ said Pete. ‘See you around.’ She disappeared through the garden beds and into the garden shed.
Gunk shrugged. ‘Come on, Spot,’ he said. ‘Let’s go get some breakfast. And Spot—try not to do doo-doo on the carpet!’
CHAPTER 7
Spot Works it Out
Morning passed without any sloppy green accidents on the carpet or the weights bench or in Dad’s chicken slippers. Gunk took Spot out for a walk, carefully avoiding cats and saying ‘No’, kindly but firmly, whenever Spot dribbled at any marigolds or pansies growing next to garden fences.
Pete was right, Gunk decided, Spot was smart. She trotted along on her lead like she’d been walking to heel all her life and she didn’t eat anything she wasn’t supposed to either, apart from a jasmine bush she started to chomp when he was looking the other way. But, with a bit of luck, the bush’s owner would think he’d been mistaken and there’d never been a jasmine bush there at all.
She didn’t eat the lemon tree in a pot outside the Coffee Ca
fé.
She didn’t eat the young trees that the Parents and Citizens Committee had planted along the fence at school.
She didn’t eat the apple that a little kid was munching either. (She’d just dribbled on it a bit then come away.)
And she didn’t leave any sloppy, green doggy doo behind her either.
‘Look, please try, Spot!’ pleaded Gunk. ‘You have to learn to doo-doo outside, not on Fliss’s weights bench. It’s a really bad idea to get offside with Fliss!’
‘Spt?’ said Spot brightly.
‘I wish dogs spoke human,’ sighed Gunk. ‘Or I wish humans spoke dog. Come on, let’s get home. All this talking about it has made me want to go to the bathroom too.’
Gunk put Spot’s lead away in the cupboard then headed down to the bathroom he shared with Fliss. Spot followed him into the toilet. She still seemed a bit nervous after all the yelling this morning.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Gunk. It was a bit embarrassing sitting on the toilet with a dog watching him, but then she was just a dog. He was just washing his hands when…
‘Spot!’ he yelled. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Spt?’ asked Spot nervously. Her big, round nose pushed the button as she scrambled off the toilet. Shhwwwww! flushed the toilet.
‘Spot…look…’ Gunk stopped. So he had a dog who did its doo-doo in the toilet and then flushed it afterwards. So what? It was better than doing it in Mum’s teapot. Better than doggy doo on the lawn, come to that. In fact, it was really great that Spot had watched him and learnt to be the neatest, tidiest dog in the universe. It was just that he wasn’t sure everyone else would think so.
‘Spt,’ said Spot nervously.
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