by Lois Duncan
“What did you do with your skateboard?” he demanded of Jerry. “How did you get rid of it so fast?”
“It’s over there under those bushes,” Jerry said with a grin.
“I might have known that you’d already picked out a hiding place,” Bruce said.
“I always know what I’m doing, shrimp,” Jerry told him. “I wouldn’t want to be you when those guys call your dad. I bet they’re going to sue you. But even if they don’t, Red Rover’s history. I’m going to get him back, and my cousin’s going to help me.”
“You don’t have a cousin,” Bruce said. “If you did, I’d have heard of him.”
“He’s not from around here,” Jerry said. “Connor lives in Chicago, but he and I are buddies. We e-mail all the time, and he knows all about you. He’s coming to spend the summer as soon as school lets out, and you’d better watch out when he gets here. Nobody messes with Connor. My enemies are his enemies.”
“Oh, I’m so scared!” Bruce said sarcastically. “Big, bad Connor! Come on, Red, you and I are out of here.”
He strode off with his back held straight and his shoulders squared in a way that he hoped might add an inch to his height. He gripped Red’s leash as tightly as possible, making sure that the dog was positioned directly in front of him so there was no way that Jerry could get at him. The whir of the wheels of Jerry’s skateboard on the sidewalk behind them was a threatening noise that followed them all the way home.
Bruce didn’t put Red in the backyard as he usually did after a run. Instead, he took him in through the front door and up the stairs to his own bedroom. Once they were safely inside, he shut the door, sat down on his bed, and patted the mattress beside him. Red gazed up at him in astonishment. He knew that he was not allowed on the furniture.
Bruce patted the mattress again.
“Hop up, boy,” he said.
He had already broken one house rule by taking Red into his bedroom, so he figured he had nothing to lose by breaking another. He wanted his dog on the bed where he could lie down next to him and pet him and talk to him and make him feel safe. Actually, Bruce needed that comfort as much as Red did. He had just been through the most frightening experience of his life, and he knew this was just the beginning. When his father got home from work, life would not be pleasant.
Unable to believe his good fortune, Red heaved himself up onto the mattress. Bruce collapsed against the pillows, stroking the dog’s silky head and watching the shadow of the elm tree outside the bedroom window extend itself slowly across the opposite wall as the sun sank lower in the west. At one point, he heard his father’s car pull into the driveway. Soon after that, he heard the phone ring. He was bracing himself to be summoned when the phone rang a second time.
“Here it comes,” Bruce said softly to Red. He gave the dog one final pat and motioned him to the floor. He got off the bed himself and opened the door, and the two of them went quietly out into the hall.
Andi was poised at the top of the stairwell, eavesdropping.
“I wonder what Dad’s so mad about,” she whispered. She glanced at Bruce and Red and did a double take. “Did you have Red in your room? Mom will have a fit if she finds out.”
“There’s only one person who can tell her,” Bruce said shortly. “Besides, she’ll have a fit in a few seconds anyway. Wait till Dad’s off the phone.”
“I’m not going to tell,” Andi assured him. “That’s a stupid rule anyway. I sneak Bebe and Friday into my room all the time. I keep them shut in the closet until Mom’s done kissing me good night, and then I let them out to sleep with me. Mom thinks they spend the night in the laundry room.”
“You’re lucky she doesn’t do laundry in the evening,” Bruce said. “What was Dad saying on the phone just now?”
But that question turned out to be unnecessary, as his father was suddenly shouting, “Bruce, come down here!”
“Take Red down the stairs to the kitchen and put him out in the yard,” Bruce whispered urgently to Andi.
“What’s going on?” Andi asked him.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Bruce told her. “And you don’t need to worry about running into Mom in the kitchen. There’s no way she’s still in there cooking; she’s in the living room with Dad.”
“Bruce!” Mr. Walker shouted impatiently.
“I’m coming,” Bruce called back, but he paused long enough to make certain that Andi had a solid grip on Red’s collar and was leading him down the hall to the stairs to the kitchen.
He knew that he was in for it the moment he entered the living room. His father looked both furious and worried, and his mother was seated on the sofa, obviously very upset.
“Is it true that you let Red Rover run out into traffic?” Mr. Walker demanded.
“It’s not like I let him,” Bruce said. “He got scared and bolted.”
“And apparently caused a two-car accident. I’ve had calls from both drivers within the past five minutes. They claim there was damage to their vehicles and it was caused by Red Rover.”
“I guess that’s right,” Bruce admitted. “They had to stop fast. But the reason Red ran out there —”
“You don’t need to explain,” Mr. Walker said. “I understand totally. Irish setters are excitable and can easily pull free of their handlers. That’s one of the reasons we were hesitant about letting you have a large dog. We were afraid that you couldn’t control him, and apparently you can’t.”
“Bruce, honey, it’s you that we’re worried about,” said Mrs. Walker. Her face was pale and there was a tremor in her voice. “From what those drivers said, you could have been killed!”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Bruce assured her. “And Red is, too. If it weren’t for Jerry —”
“This has nothing to do with Jerry Gordon,” his father said. “It has to do with a dog who has become unruly.”
Mrs. Walker nodded in agreement. “Red has a sweet nature, but a dog that size doesn’t fit with our lifestyle. Every boy who wants a dog should have one. But is there any reason that the dog can’t be a small one? Perhaps Andi would let you have Friday.”
“I don’t want Friday!” Bruce exclaimed in horror.
“A dog is a dog,” his mother said reasonably. “Friday’s a dear little creature. You hardly even know she’s around.”
“I don’t want Friday!” Bruce repeated. “I want Red Rover!”
“I wouldn’t let Bruce have Friday if he wanted her!” Andi cried, bursting in through the doorway to the kitchen. To Bruce’s relief, she had apparently accomplished her mission and put Red Rover in the yard. “You promised that Friday and Bebe could both be my dogs!”
“Children, stop this right now!” Mr. Walker commanded. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting your mother? Andi, there’s no reason to get hysterical. Your mother just made a suggestion, and I personally think —”
The phone rang again, and he quickly snatched up the receiver. This time Bruce could hear every word of his father’s side of the conversation, and it was all too clear what was being said on the other end of the line.
“That was Gerald Gordon,” Mr. Walker said unnecessarily as he replaced the receiver on the hook. “Apparently his son was at the scene and saw what happened.”
“I told you he was there,” Bruce said. “He’s the reason Red ran.”
“Don’t interrupt,” his father said. “Mr. Gordon is concerned about the legal aspects of this situation. You haven’t paid for Red Rover, so legally he is still the property of the Gordons. Apparently this time the drivers aren’t going to press charges, but Mr. Gordon is worried, and with good reason, that he’ll be held responsible if that dog gets away again and causes further problems.”
“Did Mr. Gordon say he wants Red back?” Bruce asked fearfully.
“He didn’t exactly demand it, but he did suggest it,” his father told him. “He mentioned that Jerry is taller and stronger than you are and more physically capable of controlling a dog this size. But he’s mostly co
ncerned about his own liability. He wants you to either purchase Red Rover or return him. He says that Jerry has matured a lot in recent months. He’s much more responsible than he used to be and is begging for a chance to prove himself.”
“It’s hard to earn money when you’re only thirteen,” Bruce said. “In another month I’ll be able to get yard work, but now it’s all I can do to keep Red in dog food.”
“Dad, why don’t you loan Bruce the money?” Andi suggested.
“That wasn’t our agreement,” Mr. Walker said firmly. “I allowed Bruce to keep Red Rover against my better judgment with the understanding that he would earn the money to purchase him. I envisioned this as a valuable learning experience. My handing him the money would defeat that purpose.”
“I will earn the money!” Bruce said. “I give you my word, Dad. And I promise Red will never run off like that again.”
“You’re right about that,” said Mr. Walker. “We have a fenced-in yard, and he can stay in it, just like your sister’s dogs.”
“You mean, I can’t take him out for a run?” Bruce exclaimed.
“Not as long as he legally belongs to Mr. Gordon.”
“But Red will go crazy cooped up all day!” Bruce protested.
“Don’t push your luck,” his father told him. “If I weren’t so softhearted, I’d insist that you take that dog back to the Gordons right now, but I’m going to allow him to stay if he’s confined to the yard. And as soon as school’s out for the summer, which I believe is quite soon now, I expect you to find a way to pay off your debt. Now, both you kids, wash your hands and help your mother get dinner on. From the wonderful smell in this house, I believe we’re having pot roast.”
Bruce pulled Andi aside as she was headed for the bathroom.
“Okay, I’m in,” he told her. “Let’s publish a newspaper.”
CHAPTER THREE
There were two unpleasant surprises waiting for Bruce when he attended the first editorial meeting on Saturday morning. One was that Andi was calling the paper The Bow-Wow News. The other was that, without bothering to consult him, she had asked her best friend, Debbie, to work as a reporter.
“That’s a ridiculous name for a newspaper,” Bruce objected. He couldn’t very well complain about Debbie, since she was there at the meeting, taking notes on a pad of yellow paper. He had nothing against Debbie personally, but he knew how girls were; if the group had disagreements, Debbie would always side with Andi.
She immediately proved that by stating, “I think The Bow-Wow News is a marvelous name.”
“And Debbie’s already at work on the gossip column,” Andi said. “She’s written a piece about Tiffany Tinkle’s dog, Ginger. Remember, the one who had all those Bulldale puppies?”
“I remember, all right,” Bruce said. “They were so funny looking that it took us weeks to find homes for them. Okay, Debbie, let’s hear it. What’s Ginger up to?”
Debbie cleared her throat and began to read from her notepad.
“Ginger Tinkle has again found romance after her breakup with Bully Bernstein, her childhood sweetheart. She’s engaged to marry an Airedale named Prince Charming. Ginger’s mistress, Tiffany, says Prince Charming has a pedigree and their children are going to be beautiful. Tiffany says Bully Bernstein was too immature for Ginger.”
“Why does she think Bully’s immature?” Andi asked her.
“It’s the way he’s been raised,” said Debbie. “Tiffany says the Bernsteins spoil him. They treat him like a child, even now that he’s a father.”
“You mean they talk baby talk to him?” Andi asked uncomfortably. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I sometimes call Bebe and Friday my ‘itsy-bitsy doggies.’ That has nothing to do with their maturity, it just makes them feel loved.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Debbie said. “Bully sits in a high chair.”
“He does what?” Bruce exclaimed, startled out of his boredom. “Why would anybody put a dog in a high chair?”
“To get him up to the table level,” Debbie explained. “He eats at the table with the Bernsteins.”
“I think we’ve got our first feature story!” Andi cried excitedly.
When they phoned the Bernsteins to set up an interview, the elderly couple was delighted. They were doubly thrilled when they learned that Bruce was going to take Bully’s picture.
“What did you say your paper was called?” Mrs. Bernstein asked.
“The Canine Gazette,” Bruce told her.
“It is not!” shrieked Andi, who was standing at his elbow. “It’s The Bow-Wow News!” She snatched the receiver from his hand. “Did you hear that, Mrs. Bernstein? It’s The Bow-Wow News! We took a vote, and Bruce lost.”
“They’re both nice names,” Mrs. Bernstein said. “I just need to know what to tell people. I’m sure all our friends will want copies. Why don’t you and your photographer come over about five this evening? That way you can photograph Bully having dinner.”
The Bernsteins’ home was a pretty, white-shingled house with neatly painted blue trim. The only thing odd about it was the wooden fence that stood between it and the Tinkles’ house next door. It was the highest fence that Bruce and Andi had ever seen.
“Maybe the families don’t like each other,” Bruce commented.
“Or it might have to do with Ginger’s breakup with Bully,” Andi speculated. “If Ginger has another boyfriend, it may make Bully sad if he sees them together.”
The knocker on the Bernsteins’ front door was shaped like a bulldog, and the doorbell was set in a picture of a bulldog’s face. To ring the bell, you had to push the dog’s pink nose. Bruce pressed the nose and half expected to hear it bark. However, to his disappointment, it chimed like any other doorbell.
Mr. Bernstein answered the door. He was a small, stout man with a square-jawed face and a double chin and looked quite a bit like the door knocker. Beyond him, on the sofa, a large brown bulldog was sprawled on his side in front of a wide-screen TV, watching Lady and the Tramp.
“This is Bully,” Mr. Bernstein said, making introductions. “Bully, these are reporters from a local newspaper. They want to write an article and take your picture.”
Bully didn’t even roll his eyes in their direction.
“He’s caught up in the story,” Mr. Bernstein explained. “This is his favorite DVD. We always let him watch it while he’s waiting for dinner. We don’t approve of his watching TV in the evening. It’s too stimulating right before bedtime, so we much prefer to read to him.”
“That’s so wise of you!” Andi said. “Bully will love our newspaper. All of the stories are for dogs.”
Mrs. Bernstein had heard their voices and came bustling in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She was short and round and smiley, exactly like her husband. The two of them and Bully made a perfect little family.
“What made you choose Bully for your very first issue?” Mrs. Bernstein asked them.
“Our reporter heard about him from your next-door neighbor,” Andi said and immediately regretted the statement as she watched the woman’s smile fade.
“That Ginger Tinkle, next door, is a floozy,” Mrs. Bernstein said. “She developed a crush on Bully the first time she saw him. We used to have a wire fence between our houses, and she’d sit and flirt with Bully and make little whining sounds. Of course, Bully was intrigued, as any dog would be, so he made little whining sounds back at her just to be friendly. Then, one dreadful day, when Bully was out in the yard, not even making whining sounds, Ginger came over the fence. She just jumped right over it!”
“But the fence is so high!” Andi exclaimed.
“It wasn’t back then. It was high enough to keep Bully from wandering, but Ginger’s an Airedale. Have you ever seen Airedales jump? It’s like they have springs in their feet. Ginger sailed over that fence as if it weren’t there!”
“So you tore the fence down and rebuilt it?” Bruce asked with interest.
“It’s the Tinkles w
ho built that monstrosity,” Mr. Bernstein told him. “A giraffe couldn’t see over that fence if it was standing on its toes. There’s no way of knowing what goes on in their backyard now.”
“So Bully never even got to see his children,” Mrs. Bernstein continued, picking up the story where she had left off. “The whole situation was terribly upsetting for him. Can you imagine the shock of having that great big creature suddenly land right next to him like a meteor falling out of the sky!”
“That must have been scary,” Andi agreed. “And it’s sad about the puppies. Bruce took some cute pictures if Bully wants to see them.”
“You have pictures of Bully’s children!” Mr. Bernstein exclaimed eagerly. “How did you come to take those?”
“We were helping Tiffany find homes for them,” Andi told him. “Mr. Tinkle had threatened to drown them because they weren’t purebreds.”
“Oh, please, let’s talk about pleasanter subjects,” said Mrs. Bernstein. “The meat loaf should be done by now, and Bully’s movie is almost over. He can watch the rest after dinner. Bruce, what a cute little camera! Does it take good pictures?”
“It takes digital pictures,” Bruce said. “They’re excellent quality. You can make them into prints or look at them on the computer.”
“Bruce is a great photographer,” Andi assured them. “I know you’ll be pleased with Bully’s portrait.”
“I hate to disturb you, Bully, but it’s time to get washed up for dinner,” Mrs. Bernstein said gently, giving the dog an affectionate pat on his haunches.
She switched off the DVD, and Bully sighed and rolled off the sofa.
“Meat loaf!” Mrs. Bernstein told him, and he seemed to brighten up a bit.
Mrs. Bernstein led the way into the dining room. The table was laid with three place settings. Bruce and Andi watched in fascination as Mrs. Bernstein got a washcloth and soap and carefully washed both of Bully’s front paws. Then Mr. Bernstein lifted him into his high chair. The tray of the chair had been removed so it could be pushed up even with the table.
