by Kristen Otte
“Zelda, this way, come here,” Nate says. I wander to Nate’s voice and find him standing in front of a wide-open back door. I stand, confused. First, Nate doesn’t have a leash. Second, for the first week at the new home, the family took me out in the front yard. I thought it was odd because there is a door straight out to the backyard. I even tried to lead Nate and Ben to the back, but they never gave in to my request.
“Zelda, let’s go out,” Nate says again and walks out the door. I don’t hesitate this time. If he isn’t going to leash me, I am running for it. I sprint out the door into the yard.
I run straight as far as I can go. I stop inches before I hit a piece of wood sticking up out of the grass. I stop and look around. The wood surrounds the yard on all sides. The backyard is fenced, like Tucker and Whitney’s yard. But this yard is different. At Tucker and Whitney’s, I can’t see through the fence except for a few tiny cracks here and there. This fence has gaps everywhere that allow me to see into our neighbors’ yards.
I run from corner to corner, inspecting the fence, investigating for good smells, and checking out our neighbors’ yards. Along the back fence line are a few large trees. We have neighbors on two sides and in the back. The back fence is laced with great smells. From what I can deduce from my sniffer, the smells are squirrel, cat, and dog. I hope I am right!
“C’mon, Zelda, time to go inside,” I hear Nate yell from the door. I jog back to the house and in the door.
“Do you like the fenced backyard?” he asks. I stand on my hind legs and lick his fingers. “I thought you might,” Nate mumbles. He walks over to the counter and hands me a treat. Nate is right. I love the backyard and can’t wait to go outside again.
The next day, I have my second chance to explore the backyard. This time, Ben and Lucy come out with me. They throw a ball, and I play keep-away with them until I get bored. I start sniffing again, eager to figure out exactly what the squirrels are up to in this yard. I find a strong scent, and it leads me into some bushes and plants next to a tree along the back fence line. The scent is definitely squirrel, and it is heading up the tree. I look up for squirrel signs or markings, and suddenly my nose is overwhelmed by a powerful dog smell.
The smell starts me on a sneezing attack. When I recover from my fit, I am looking into the nose of an eight-pugs’ worth dog. He is brown like me with a streak of white on his belly; he is sticking his long nose through the fence slots.
A dog! Next door! I want to play with him!
I start scratching at the fence, trying to find a weak spot. If I can make a pug-sized hole or gap, we could play together every day! I run from one side of the fence to the other while he lies down in the grass. He watches me with a smirk.
“Zelda, leave it,” Nate says firmly.
I keep running back and forth, looking for a hole. Nate starts chasing me; I’m now trying to dodge him and find a way to meet the dog. Nate catches up to me and picks me up before I have a chance to meet the dog. I squirm, but he has a firm hold on me.
“Settle down, Zelda. And leave Louie alone. He’s too big to play with anyway,” Nate says.
He’s wrong. I can stand my ground with any dog, no matter how big.
He carries me into the house, and I know my next adventure—finding a way through the fence.
On my next visit to the backyard, Hannah lets me out and leaves me alone. All is quiet in the yard, so I investigate the fence again. I start in the middle by the tree and look for a gap big enough to squeeze through to the other yard. My head is so small that I can fit it through every slot, but my broad, bulldog-like shoulders are too wide.
I circle to the corner and see a gap wider than any of the other gaps between a few plants. I get closer and stick my head through and begin to shimmy the rest of my body. I suck in my belly and take a few more steps before I realize I am in. I made it through the fence! I look around and find myself behind a building in the middle of weeds, grass, and plants. As I sneeze, I look through the fence and realize I’ve made a mistake. This isn’t the yard I want to explore. This yard is next to the dog’s yard.
“Zelda,” Hannah calls. I sneak back through the fence to our yard and run to her. I can’t let Hannah know how I got out or she will never let me out here again. For some reason, my family thinks if they let me loose, I won’t come back. It’s a silly idea, and simply not true. I know how good I have it at home, but pugs need freedom and adventure.
Later on that evening, Nate opens the back door, and I can smell my friend right away. I look and see him hanging out in his yard with a green ball in his mouth. About halfway to the fence line, I stop and turn around. If I run to the fence again, Nate is going to make me come inside. It takes all my pug focus to stop and wander back toward the house, casually sniffing as I go. I see Nate watching me from the door, so I plop down in the grass. Nate walks away. I give him a couple seconds to return, but he doesn’t.
I probably don’t have much time, so I bolt to the corner, get skinny, and squeeze through the fence. Once in the other yard, I look around and get my bearings. I am next to a shed. I see no way to the other yard from this corner, so I walk to the front of the shed. The fence on this side is completely closed up like Tucker and Whitney’s house. This isn’t going to work. I sit for a moment, pug stumped.
“Hey cutie,” I hear from afar. I see a woman with white hair approaching me from the house.
Uh oh.
I sprint around the shed to the corner and run through one of the slots. I get my shoulders through, but the slot is tight around my stomach.
Did I run through the wrong one?
I take a deep breath, try again, and somehow, my pug butt fits through the slot.
“Zelda, what are you doing?” Nate says to me. I look up and see Nate staring at me. “Let’s go inside.” I follow him, anticipating a scolding, but he doesn’t say a word. He must not have seen me slip through the fence.
The next day I am astounded when Hannah lets me out again. My dog friend isn’t out again, but I go to examine my secret escape place. Across the bottom of the fence is a new piece of wood covering the gap. Nate did see me sneak back into the yard. My escape is gone.
I wander around the yard, looking for an alternate spot to sneak out. I see a few more boards on the fence, and I realize my search is a lost cause. I am stuck in the backyard. I lie down in the middle of it in the sunshine. I look around and realize how much space I do have to run in the yard. I hear a rustle in the trees above me. I look up and see two squirrels chasing each other from branch to branch high above. I remember the fun I had with Squeaks, and I smile. I will have a good time in this yard.
4
The New Neighborhood
I love the new house. I like sleeping in Hannah and Nate’s bed during the day. The sunlight shines through the window, warming me as I lie on the bed. I love running up and down the stairs after Lucy and Ben. The fenced backyard is fantastic. I can stay outside for hours watching the squirrels and birds. But I do have one problem with the move—the neighborhood.
At the old house, the daily walks took us past a school and through a park. I was able to play in the skate park and investigate the millions of canine smells in the park. Even the streets were great. They were lined with towering, squirrel-filled trees, and the houses were packed with barking dogs.
The new neighborhood is much different. The houses are spaced far apart. I have no park to explore, and the trees are small and scarce. I haven’t even seen a squirrel yet! I don’t like the neighborhood one bit.
Even though I don’t like it, I take my walks every day. I can’t turn down the chance to explore and get my legs moving. After a few weeks of boring walks, I am determined to find something fun about the neighborhood.
Today, I decide to lead Ben and Nate on a different path. Usually we walk on the same two streets in a circle. Instead of making the loop, I lead Ben and Nate straight. I see more of the same—quiet houses with a small tree or two in the yard. As we walk, I begi
n to hear a faint whirring sound. At the next intersection, I turn left in the direction of the sound.
The whirring sound becomes louder and louder with every step. Soon, the whirring becomes a roar. The houses disappear into a sea of pavement and sidewalk. The road buzzes with a stream of cars and trucks. I slow our pace as we near the busy street. I stop and try to turn Ben and Nate around, but they won’t let me. We turn left and follow the sidewalk along the busy street.
In the place of houses are very large buildings and sidewalk. The only grass in sight is a small strip separating the sidewalk from the street. With the cars whizzing by, I stay on the sidewalk and keep up a good pace in the hope that we can get back in a neighborhood soon. My nose is overwhelmed with unfamiliar scents as we walk. I don’t recognize any of the odors; surely they can’t be from dogs or even cats. I walk faster. I need to get off this street.
We keep walking for what seems like an eternity in the concrete jungle. Finally, we turn left again. The traffic slows a bit, and I see familiar houses up ahead. I breathe a sigh of relief and slow my pace. We turn down our street and finish up the walk. Ben, Nate, and I head inside. Hannah is waiting for us.
“That was a long walk,” she says.
“It was,” Nate says. He takes off my harness. Ben walks into the kitchen.
“Where did you go?” Hannah asks.
“We walked a loop to Harwich, Center Street, and Eastbrook Avenue,” Nate says. Hannah’s eyes widened.
“Wow, you walked Zelda on Center Street. That seems like a bad idea,” she says.
“It was fine. And it probably won’t happen again. Z was eager to get off Center Street,” Nate says.
“Oh, good.”
That’s for sure. I’m not going that way again.
I find my owl and bring it to Ben. We play fetch, but my mind is preoccupied. I can’t get the neighborhood off my brain. I need to find something fun for my walks. I can’t help it. I’m a stubborn yet adventurous pug. Tomorrow we will explore a different street. There has to be something exciting here.
The next day I lead Hannah in the opposite direction from the busy street. When we turn right, I feel good. The road curves, the houses are even more spaced out, and the number of trees increases. I scurry from tree to tree, sniffing for signs of adventure. Without a trace of squirrel, we keep walking.
On the next intersection, I try to lead Hannah left again.
“Zelda, I’m not sure we should go that way,” she says. “We will be walking for a long time.” I ignore her pleadings and keep lunging left.
“Okay. Okay. We will go this way for a little bit, but then we need to turn around,” she says. The houses are almost nonexistent at this point. And in the distance I see something dark covering the ground. As we approach, I realize it’s water.
A pond!
I sprint for the pond, but Hannah yanks me back. The excitement and the jerk from Hannah trigger my short breathing. I start goose honking. When I regain control of myself, I calmly walk toward the pond, pretending that nothing happened.
An odor in the air grows as we near the pond. It’s a new smell that isn’t very pleasant. I walk off the sidewalk toward the pond to investigate. I quickly notice the culprit—droppings from animals, and they are everywhere. The smell tells me the droppings originate from an animal that isn’t a dog or a cat.
We keep walking toward the water. I look for signs of life in and around the pond. Across the pond is a new creature that reminds me of a big duck. It has a long, black neck and a stripe of white by its mouth. The feathers are a gray color. I bark at it from across the pond, and its wings spread. I try to lead Hannah around the pond.
“C’mon Zelda, you don’t want to meet a goose,” she says, pulling me in the opposite direction.
But I do!
I lie down in the grass. I am not moving another inch. Hannah groans. She walks toward the goose on the other side of the pond. I jump up and lead the way.
When we are one pug sprint away from the goose, she leads me farther away from the pond. I guess she doesn’t want to get too close, but I don’t understand why. I am not going to hurt the goose. We walk by, and I hear a noise coming from it.
Hiiissssss.
Without thinking, I bark back.
“Zelda, no! Quiet!” Hannah shouts to me. I look toward the goose. It hasn’t moved. It is sitting along the edge of a pond in a bed of twigs and grass. The goose doesn’t want anything to do with us. That’s a bit of a bummer, but maybe I can find something else to play with by the pond. Hannah leads me around the pond to circle back to the sidewalk. We walk slowly as I investigate every interesting smell.
We are almost back at the sidewalk when Hannah gasps.
“Uh oh,” she mutters. “Let’s go, Z.” She pulls me forward.
Hiiissssss.
I look behind me. A goose is a few steps away and flapping its wings at us. The other goose is unmoving next to the pond. I am confused.
What is wrong? What did we do?
Before I can figure it out, the goose charges toward us. Hannah and I run to the sidewalk. She is running as fast as I am; I don’t think she has ever kept up with me. I feel a rush of wings fly over us. Hannah stops. We both turn and look. The angry goose is out of sight. The other is sitting by the pond.
“That was a close one,” Hannah whispers. “C’mon, Zelda, let’s go home.” I don’t object this time. We trot at a steady pace to the sidewalk and back on the road home. When we arrive, the rest of the family is in the living room.
“How was your walk?” Nate asks.
“Terrifying,” Hannah says, taking off my harness. I find a spot in Lucy’s lap. She massages my body as I listen.
“What did Zelda do?” Nate says.
“It wasn’t Zelda this time. We were at the pond on Greenview when we were chased by a goose.” Nate and Ben both started laughing.
“No way,” Ben says.
“Yes, way,” Hannah says, defending herself. “One goose was sitting in her nest, most likely on her eggs, and I guess we got too close. Before we knew it, another goose flew at us, hissing and flapping its wings.”
“So what did you do?” Nate asks.
“We ran!” Hannah says, laughing. “I guess it does sound a bit ridiculous.”
“I don’t believe it,” Ben says.
“Oh, believe it. I couldn’t make that story up,” she replies.
“Well, I’m glad everyone is okay,” Nate says. He walks over to Hannah and gives her a kiss.
“Ewww,” Ben says. Hannah and Nate smile.
I join in the fun and lick Lucy’s face. She smiles and laughs. Both of my attempts at adventures in the new neighborhood have been disasters. Maybe I need to suck it up and adapt to the new normal route. It’s not the park or the streets lined with squirrel-filled trees, but it is good enough. I get to walk twice a day with my family. Most pugs dream of a life with two daily walks. I think I will be okay.
5
Zelda and the Pillow Thief
I love bedtime. Every night, I curl up under the covers with Lucy, and she pets me until we fall asleep. I wake up the next morning refreshed and ready for another day of adventure.
Since we moved in to the new home, I am having trouble sleeping. After I crawl under the blankets with Lucy I try to fall asleep, but I can’t. It’s too hot, and the air is stuffy. I feel like I am going to pant the night away. So, I move out from under the blankets and sleep next to her. I end up waking up every few hours; she tosses and turns all night.
I tried sleeping in the living room on the couch or in my dog bed, but I don’t like sleeping alone, and it’s a bit chilly in the living room at night. I tried Hannah and Nate’s bed, but they kicked me out. Ben is worse than Lucy at tossing and turning, so I didn’t even last in his bed for one whole night.
I am back at square one, trying to get some rest with Lucy. I need to get my pug beauty sleep so I have enough energy to chase squirrels, run through leaf piles, and do well at schoo
l.
Tonight, I find a great spot next to Lucy under the covers at her feet. I don’t feel hot like normal, so I close my eyes. I jerk awake from a kick to the back from Lucy. Aggravated, I crawl and lie next to her stomach, out of harm’s way. But she feels like a hot, sunny walk, so I keep crawling until my head is out of the blankets and resting next to Lucy’s head on the pillow. My head sinks into it; I breathe in the fresh air and relax.
I wake up a few hours later, overheated again. Lucy has rolled away from me, so I scoot onto the pillow and spread out. My whole body sinks into it. It feels incredible; the pillow is by far the best bed in the house. I fall asleep instantly and sleep through the night. I don’t even wake up when Lucy leaves. How have I not slept here before?
The following night I have no hesitation. I jump on the bed and go straight for the pillow. But Lucy’s head is in the middle of the pillow.
Pillow thief! I have to get it back.
I lie next to her with my head on the pillow, hoping she will move away from me and relinquish the pillow. I am lying there waiting when a big yawn comes over me. The next thing I remember is light peeking through the curtain the next morning. I open my eyes, and Lucy is right next to my head on the pillow, eyes closed and fast asleep. My plan failed.
The next night, I jump into Lucy’s bed before her, and I sprawl out on the pillow. I fall asleep instantly. I awake to a conversation.
“Look, Mom, Zelda stole my pillow,” Lucy says.
“She sure did,” Hannah replies with a smile. “But you can move her out of the way. She’s only a pug.”
Only a pug?
But at that moment, Hannah grabs me and moves me off the pillow. I squirm and fight it, but it’s too late. Lucy has claimed her spot. I’m stuck sleeping next to her again. I crawl my way to my spot, head to head with Lucy on my pillow, when I devise the perfect plan to get my pillow back.
I stay awake and wait for Lucy’s eyes to close and her breathing to become regular. In a few minutes, she is asleep. I crawl up the pillow, step across her head, and lie down with my body sprawled across the pillow and her head.
