All Pets Allowed

by Adele Griffin

  “I’m already sold out of the butter and yogurt,” says Gran.

  Eww! Yogurt is the one dairy item I never like. The taste reminds me of sweaty ice cream. Just thinking about it makes me squirm.

  “Maybe I should help you out here instead, Gran,” says Caroline, checking her watch.

  Just then, a sharp whistle cuts the air. “Branches! It’s time!” Mai waves.

  The Fluff and Puff is set up on the shady patio with picnic tables, right outside the middle school cafeteria. We got this spot because we needed running water and a power outlet.

  Daisy, Frieda, and Mai have put out the tub. They’re using one of the picnic tables for the towels, brushes and combs, and cute accessories.

  But why is Travis here?

  “My cousin Mai told me I can help,” says Travis. “I love water!”

  “You two are cousins?” I splutter.

  Mai nods. She looks a little bit embarrassed. I wouldn’t brag about it, either, if Travis were my cousin. “We’ve got an extra apron for him,” says Mai. “They were donated by Schneckenburgers’.” She is already wearing one. It’s pretty adorable, with a big blue paw print on the pocket.

  “Travis SuperSquid-ed Nicholas’s and my birthday cake,” I say.

  “He didn’t bring his squid today,” says Mai. “We’ve all got our strengths, I guess—and Travis’s strength is, um, water. Today you’ll use your powers for good, right, Travis?”

  “Yep,” says Travis.

  “My strength is avoiding Travis,” mutters Nicholas. “Or it was, anyway.”

  Caroline casts a longing look back over her shoulder at Branch’s Twig, but Mai’s already got the apron tied around her.

  When Caroline picks up the metal cash box, Mai and Daisy trade a knowing glance.

  “Caroline,” says Mai. “Don’t you want to take off your nails?”

  “Oh,” says Caroline. She bites her lip.

  “How else are you going to help wash the pets?” asks Daisy.

  “After all,” says Mai, “we’ve got a lot of work to do. We need to make sure the shampoos don’t go into overtime, we need to keep the water fresh—and someone always has got to be working the cash box. Everyone shares the work, okay?”

  “For sure.” Caroline nods, but her cheeks are flushed. “And I can take the pictures, too. I’m ready for anything.” She is already peeling off her stick-on nails. When she glances over at me nervously, all I see is the sister who has been working with Pickle and Chew and the hens all week. If I’m naturally easy around animals, Caroline is just as naturally uneasy, but she has really tried her best.

  “You got this,” I tell her in a quiet voice.

  “Hey, everybody!” Coach Valentine waves as he runs up. He’s our assigned grown-up to help out with the spa. For a while, the attention is off Caroline as we all learn how to hook up and run the hose. We fill the metal tub with warm, sudsy water before our first pet arrives.

  Nicholas is presenting Given to the world. Out of her carrier, in her tiny harness, she is sitting like a queen on top of a picnic table. Her head is up and her tail flicks, as if to say, Come look at me, everyone!

  Dibs won’t leave the carrier. “Come on, Dibs! It’s all friends out here,” I coax. From inside, I hear the nervous thump, thump, thump of his asparagus tail. He’s not coming out. He’s going to save all his bedazzling for the family. “Okay, then. Stay,” I tell him. I keep the crate door open slightly, even though when I check, he’s balled up like a pill bug.

  “Now you can watch all the other dogs get a good scrub-down,” I tell him. “But you can sit out the bath part. That would be a lot for a shy Dibs like you.”

  Dibs pants his agreement.

  “Oro’s got the first Calendoodle slot,” announces Frieda as she bounds up with Oro, who is wagging his whole hind end in greeting. But it’s Given who is the star of the show. A crowd starts gathering around her table like she’s a museum display.

  “It’s the poster cat!”

  “The same cat from science!”

  “From art class!”

  “From music!”

  “From the lunchroom!”

  Given purrs and struts and poses and preens from all the attention.

  As much as I don’t want to admit it, water is Travis’s strength today. He loves to fill the tub, and he doesn’t mind getting into the suds and soap as he scrubs down Oro with me. We deliver a sopping-wet Oro to Frieda and Daisy, and Mai and Nicholas turn out to be a great team at the towel-down and hair-dryer station.

  Then Travis and I refresh the tub. We won’t do a full tub dump because we want to conserve water. Got to use those conservation smarts, especially when our goal is green energy! Travis is not bad when it comes to heavy lifting, and he seems as happy as a pack of puppies to be putting himself to good use.

  Mai leaps to the cash box to make change for Mr. Franca while he’s asking Caroline to take a couple of photos of Oro getting his neckerchief tied.

  Otis Peebles is our next dog, followed by Mango Lemons—two small-sized and easy pets. We divide into two teams to scrub them down, then blow-dry them into fluffy, puffy beauty. Otis also gets a neckerchief, and Mango gets a yellow bow for each ear as Caroline takes photos of everything.

  “Must be nice,” says Daisy, “being mostly the photographer. That’s the fancy work, I guess.” She and Mai exchange another look. I know Caroline feels embarrassed, but she probably doesn’t want me making excuses for her or saying things like “I can do the work for two!”—which is what I want to say.

  Then Mr. Franca comes running back over with Oro, and he’s waving a couple of bills. “Hey there, Mai—I think you might have given me the wrong change,” he says.

  “Dang, I’m sorry! Hang on a minute,” says Mai as she takes money from Mr. Peebles. At this moment, Oro decides it would be fun to use his teeth to pull Mango’s bow.

  “Let’s just figure this out real quick,” says Mr. Franca, “so I can get Oro away from the other dogs.”

  “Caroline!” shouts Mai. “You wanted to do the money part—help me out?”

  “Wait a sec,” says Ms. Lemons. “Take just one more photo, Caroline. But first, I need to redo Mango’s bow.”

  “No problem,” Caroline says to Ms. Lemons. “I’ll be right there!” she calls to Mai, just as Mrs. Schneckenburger strolls over with her dog, Bijoux.

  “I brought my own shampoo!” she says, holding up a tiny pink bottle. “And careful—Bijoux hates water. Also, I don’t have cash. Do you have a mobile credit card machine? And may I pay now?”

  “Actually, I’ve got to get my change first,” says Mr. Franca.

  “Then I’m next,” says Ms. Lemons. “Also, I’ve brought my bag of loose change. I’m planning to spend it all at the Pumpkin Patch!”

  “I can pay right this second, though, if you have a mobile machine,” says Mrs. Schneckenburger.

  “Yes, but I was here first,” says Mr. Franca. “Oh, and Caroline—I want you to take a photo with me and Daisy.”

  “We do have a mobile machine,” Mai says to Mrs. Schneckenburger. “But I don’t know, exactly, um, how to work it. Caroline?” She sounds flustered. “Caroline, hurry!”

  “Coming,” says Caroline, quickly snapping some pictures of the Francas with Oro, then some more pictures of Mango, before swooping in to take charge of the money. Mai looks grateful to be released from duty as Caroline expertly corrects Mr. Franca’s change, handles Mrs. Schneckenburger’s card, and starts counting out the stacks of Ms. Lemon’s dimes and quarters.

  “Thanks, Caroline,” murmurs Mai. “Every time I closed my eyes and tried to do the pluses and take-aways, the numbers kept jumbling up! It got me panicking. I think you’d better take over the money full-time!”

  “No problem,” says Caroline, and now it’s our turn to trade a knowing look.

  “Yoo-hoo!” It’s Principal Vera with a whole other problem to solve. “Anyone know how to wash a sh
eepdog with a leg in a splint?”

  Chapter 17

  Suds and Selfies

  “Rosie!” I exclaim. We are all a bit startled to see her.

  Rosie is, by far, the mud-crustiest dog who has shown up here today.

  “That’s not a dog for the tub,” declares Daisy.

  “All hands on deck,” says Mai. “We’ll do a hose-down.”

  “Let’s wrap her leg in a towel,” I add. “We need to keep it dry.”

  As we get Rosie sudsed, Caroline takes some photos and then shows them to Principal Vera, who bursts out laughing. “You’ve captured her! That’s hilarious!”

  We all clamber to see. The bubbles on Rosie’s head look sort of like a puffy beret—and in one picture, the way her mouth is open she could be smiling.

  “What wonderful images,” says Principal Vera, leaning in as Caroline scrolls through some of the photos she’s taken today. “Will you email them to me? The photographer is one of the most important jobs at the Pumpkin Patch! It’s how we get our message out!”

  “Sure,” says Caroline. Her face is sunshiny with relief, and I know she can’t believe her luck. Caroline turned out to be the star of the Fluff and Puff, and she didn’t have to wash or dry one single pet!

  But, whew, Rosie is a project! And once she’s done, we hardly have a break before Bowser “the Schnauzer” Brown, then Sherlock McBride, who is a Dalmatian mix, then Radish Crestadoro, a Weimaraner, and then a pair of hounds named Chewy and Chomp Ali come our way. Everyone wants to say hi to Given—people just love it when they recognize her from the Boggs Hollow website. There’s so much going on here at the Fluff and Puff that nobody notices—until suddenly I do, and the hair stands up on my arms and the back of my neck.

  Dibs’s carrier flap is all the way open. I’ve been paying so much attention to fluffing and puffing, and Given’s bedazzling, that I can’t even remember the last time I checked in on Dibs. Was it five minutes ago? Ten? My heart is hammering.

  I run to check. Dibs is not in his carrier.

  “Dibs!” I shout. I look around. I spin in a circle.

  But he’s nowhere.

  Chapter 18

  Vanished

  “Dibs!” I call across the field. “Dibsie! DIBS!” I’m a thousand layers of feelings, all at once—frightened, guilty, worried, confused, panicked. I’d left the carrier open only because Dibs has never, ever shown any interest in leaving it unless coaxed.

  What a terrible idea that was!

  “He couldn’t have gone far,” says Caroline in her calmest older-sister voice, the voice that can talk Nicholas down from his thunderstorm fears, or break apart a math word problem into easy pieces so that I can solve the equation.

  Given, on the picnic table, stares at us and gives a tiny meow.

  “Given, where’s Dibs?” I ask. I can’t shake the feeling that the cat knows something she’s not telling.

  Given just sits. Tail flicking. Eyes narrowed.

  I pick up the chew toy from inside the dog carrier and hold it under Given’s nose. “Can you find a scent? Animal instinct! Where did Dibs go?”

  “I think . . . maybe.” Travis clears his throat. “So, I saw Dibs’s nose sticking out of the carrier, and he was panting, and I . . .”

  “What?” I pounce over to him and look him in the eye. “What did you do?” I stamp my foot. “Tell me, Travis!”

  “I poured a little bit of water on his head,” Travis tells me. “Because he looked so hot. He was just lying there, panting! But then he jumped up.”

  “So you saw him run away?”

  “No! I mean—I don’t know.”

  “WATER IS NOT THE ANSWER FOR EVERYTHING, TRAVIS!”

  “There’s no time to point fingers,” says Caroline. “Mai, Daisy, and Travis, you stay here and handle the customers. Becket, Nicholas, and I will start the search. Let’s try to find Dibs without getting Mom and Dad involved.”

  “On it.” Nicholas scoops Given into his arms. “We’ll go look around by the ticket booth.”

  “I’m going to check out the food stalls,” I say. “Most dogs follow their noses straight to the snacks.”

  “I’ll come with you,” says Caroline.

  But Dibs is not at any of the snack stations. When we stop by Branch’s Twig, and Gran learns Dibs is gone, she closes to help out.

  “Dibs won’t go far,” Gran says, trying to reassure me.

  “We don’t know where Dibs might go!” I say.

  We do a lap, avoiding Mom and Dad, before Caroline and I decide to split up.

  “Gran and I’ll go over to the games field,” she says.

  “I’ll take the parking lot.”

  I run around searching until I’m one big ache of worry. I try to think how Dibs thinks. What would I do if I were a dog who got lost at a school? Where would I go? What would feel safe? The school building? I dash to the doors, which are open for the Pumpkin Patch so that people can use the restrooms.

  “Has anyone seen a dog with a white star marking?” I ask the small group of people who are waiting outside the restroom doors.

  “Nope,” says a kid who is sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, chewing on a caramel apple. “And I’ve been here for a long time.”

  If you walk into Boggs Hollow Elementary any Monday through Friday, you will see Mrs. Stebbins at the front desk and Mr. Zacchi, our hall monitor, making sure kids keep moving left or right to get to their classrooms. Not today. Today, it’s so quiet! As I edge in deeper, past the restrooms and Mrs. Stebbins’s desk, and I fork left by habit, because that’s where Mr. Dragan’s classroom is, I can hear the squeak of my own sneakers and the echo of my breath.

  It feels like I’m trespassing at my own school!

  I whistle. “Dibs! Dibsie! Come on, boy!”

  Nothing.

  The art room and the cafeteria, so crowded with kids on a school day, are deserted. So is the library, which is usually thick with whispers and laughing.

  I whistle again, louder. “Dibs, are you in here?”

  Then I tiptoe into the cafeteria kitchen, where I have never been. All week, there’s so much noise from inside here, especially when the doors swing open.

  This silence just doesn’t feel right—and neither does the fact that I can’t smell tomato soup and fish sticks. But Dibs loves the kitchen at home, so maybe. I’m still standing, staring at the rows of cooking pots for clues, when I think I hear someone calling for help.

  “Hello? Who’s there?” I run back out into the hall. “Anyone?”

  Now I don’t hear anything. Did I imagine it?

  Since nobody is watching me, I figure I might as well sneak a quick minute inside the teacher’s lounge across the hall.

  I crack open the door. “Dibs?”

  There’s a coffee urn, some soft old furniture, a bowl that looks like it should have a fish in it but doesn’t, and—yum!—a box of iced cookies. I’m halfway to taking a cookie when I think I hear . . . music?

  Chapter 19

  Hide and Peek

  I leave the lounge. My ears were right.

  Floom, floom, floom! Someone is playing the harp, and whoever it is wants somebody to hear it. And who would be playing music in the music room except for a ghost?

  Spooky! But also exciting! I can’t remember any of the rules for getting away from a ghost. Are they the same as if you run into a bear?

  If you see a bear, you’re supposed to speak calmly and back away slowly.

  But let’s face it, if I really saw a bear—or a ghost—I wouldn’t be doing either of those things. I’d be running, hard!

  “Dibs?” I call.

  Floom! answers the harp.

  Then it plays something I recognize—one of Nicholas’s cello warm-up tunes.

  I break into a run again.

  A narrow set of stairs off the gym leads to a basement hallway. I’ve never been down here. There’s no reason at all to be on this leve
l, except maybe if you wanted to play Truth or Dare—or find a dog.

  The harp has stopped playing. “Nicholas?” I call. “Dibs?”

  I squint through the gloom. I feel so far from the Pumpkin Patch. In a way, I also feel far from the school, even though technically I’m still inside it. The basement is different from the upper floor. It’s like a honeycomb of many tiny rooms. The windows are high-up rectangles, where you get a view of people’s feet.

  One room stores balls and hula hoops and soccer goals.

  Another has all the AV equipment.

  Floom, floom, floom! Harp music floats from the end of the hall.

  I gulp a breath as I wheel around the corner. “Helloooo?”

  In a dark alcove, jam-packed with stored instruments, music stands, and filing cabinets, there’s Nicholas, sitting behind a huge harp, strumming away.

  And at his feet—is Dibs! I drop to my knees to kiss my precious pet’s lopsided star marking, and then I throw my arms around him, burying my face in scruffy soft Dibsness. My relief is pouring out in my hug.

  “What happened?” I whisper. “Also, why am I whispering?”

  “Given must have had her eye on Dibs for the whole day,” Nicholas tells me. “We unclipped her leash for some more pictures, and then she jumped off the table. I followed her all the way into the school, through the back entrance. She led me right to Dibs, who was wandering around the gym.” Nicholas is still whispering. “Dibs was so glad to see Given he chased her down the steps, and we all ended up here. I had two pets, no leashes—and then Given jumped up on the filing cabinet and”—Nicholas points—“into that crawl space.” He sighs. “So now we’ve got a cat trapped inside the walls of Boggs Hollow.”