My Dog is Better than Your Dog Page 2

  I waited by the front door, trying to stay calm.

  It didn’t work.

  “WHERE’S DAD?” I screamed at Misty, who was blasting music while combing her hair for the sixty-second time that day.

  “HOW SHOULD I KNOW?” she screamed back, turning up the music.

  “I HATE YOU!” I screamed louder.

  “I HATE YOU MORE!” she screamed loudest.

  It was kind of a routine we had.

  Finally, Dad pulled into the driveway, honking his horn.

  “Get in! We’re late.”

  We’re late?!? WE?!?!

  “Where were you?” I asked, but I could tell he was totally distracted. “Dad! Stop staring at your phone!”

  “I’m waiting for an important call,” he said, which I guess was his version of an apology.

  FACT: Dads are horrible at apologizing.

  “About the job?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  On the way to the shelter neither of us talked for a few minutes. I could tell he was nervous.

  “So can I get any dog I want?” I asked.

  “Sure,” said my dad. “As long as it’s between fourteen and nineteen months old, and weighs between twenty-five and thirty-five pounds.”

  “That’s not exactly any dog, Dad,” I grumbled, as the GPS lady told us to take a left.

  “Mom talked to somebody at work who’s a big-time animal lover,” Dad said. “She says we should get a dog who’s past the crazy puppy phase but still young enough to be fun and playful. And size-wise, I don’t want one of those tiny, fluffy dogs that movie stars put in their pocketbooks, but I also don’t want one of those monster dogs that takes up the entire couch.”

  Those ground rules sounded a little strict to me. What if I wanted to get a dog that was thirty-seven pounds?

  “But, Dad—”

  “No buts.”

  He turned the radio on and started drumming on the steering wheel. Conversation officially over.

  When I walked in to the Northport Animal Rescue Foundation (otherwise known as Northport Arf!), dogs and cats of all shapes and sizes tried to get my attention. It was like a kickball game and I was the captain, and they were all yelling, “PICK ME! PICK ME!” But it wasn’t a kickball game. It was real life, and they all wanted me to take them home so they could feel safe and warm and loved.

  “Look!” I yelled. “They’re so cute! I want all of them!”

  Even my dad, who was staring at his phone waiting for it to ring, seemed to be affected by all the cuteness. He actually smiled a few times. But he shook his head. “Nice try, Jimmy. You know the deal. One dog.” He pointed at a beagle that was jumping in circles. “And nothing too crazy. We don’t want our house ripped to shreds.”

  FACT: If you consider yourself not that popular of a person, go to an animal shelter. You will feel really popular, really fast.

  I noticed a cocker spaniel that was wagging its tail and barking. “How about that one?”

  My dad shook his head again. “I’m not sure I can listen to that barking all night. And the neighbors would hate us.”

  I soon discovered that my dad had a reason to turn down pretty much every dog I pointed at or played with.

  “Too big.”

  “Too small.”

  “Too hairy.” “Too smelly.” “Too loud.” “Too sleepy.” “Too young.” “Too playful.”

  My dad was “too annoying.”

  I knew it. This whole thing was a setup. He’d said we would get a dog only so I would stop whining about my blotch and he could go to his stupid interview. (The blotch was still there, by the way, in case you were wondering.)

  I was about to give up, when we rounded the last corner of the last room in the whole place and saw this dark tiny cage in the corner. All I could see were two bright lights shining straight at me. As I walked closer, I realized they weren’t lights at all. They were eyes.

  I ran over to the cage and looked in. There was a scruffy little dog, just lying there. He looked like a combination of a thousand different breeds—he had spots, he had stripes, his eyes were two different colors, his ears were two different shapes, and he had a big black streak of fur right down his back, almost like a cape. He was wagging his tail sleepily, and he had the cutest, saddest face I’d ever seen.

  In other words, he was awesome.

  I ran over to one of the guys who worked there. “Hi! Is this dog available? Is he nice?”

  The guy nodded. “Oh, she’s a bit of a loner. Likes to sleep all day, but she’s wide-awake at night. The doc thinks her eyes are supersensitive to light for some reason. A total sweetheart though.”

  Oh! So he was a she. Hmmm. I’d always imagined having a boy dog. Oh well.

  “How old is she?”

  “About a year and a half.”

  “How much does she weigh?”

  The guy scratched his head. “What is this, the third degree? I’d say about thirty pounds.”

  Yes! Perfect.

  “Dad! I found her! I found her!”

  Dad was still messing around with his phone. “Oh yeah?”

  “Come quick!”

  He sighed and walked over to the cage to take a look. After about a minute, he asked the worker guy, “Can you please take her out so we can say hi?”

  The guy opened the cage and brought the dog over. As I started petting her, she looked right into my eyes. I could swear she was smiling! She seemed sleepy, but she was soooooo cute! She didn’t look like any dog I’d ever seen before.

  “What kind of dog is she?” I asked.

  “A whole lot of everything,” said the guy.

  “What’s her name?”

  The guy laughed. “Whatever you want it to be.”

  “Let me take a look,” my dad said. The guy handed him the-dog-with-no-name. My dad stood there for a few seconds, just kind of staring at her. He didn’t look very enthusiastic. In fact, he looked like he was reconsidering the whole thing. I started to think this whole dog thing would never happen.

  All of a sudden, the dog stretched, pulled her head back, and sneezed right in my dad’s face.

  That’s right. You heard me.

  FACT: If you’re in the middle of adopting a dog, try to make sure it doesn’t sneeze in your dad’s face.

  “BLECH!” my dad said. He scowled as he handed the dog to me, while the worker guy tried not to laugh.

  “Dad?” I said, but I knew it was over. There was no way we were getting this dog.

  Then my dad’s phone rang.

  He looked at the phone. Then he looked at me.

  “You better get it,” I said.

  As my dad walked off down the hall, I waited there with the dog still in my hands. She was pretty heavy, so I sat down on the floor. “Why did you have to sneeze right then?” I asked her, but she wouldn’t answer.

  Finally, after three or four long minutes, my dad came back. His eyes were sparkling.

  “Looks like I got a good shot,” he said, giving me a big hug. “They want me to come back in tomorrow afternoon to meet some other people. They say I’m the leading candidate.”

  “That’s great, Dad!”

  He bent down and stared into the dog’s eyes. “Hey, maybe you’re a good-luck charm after all.”

  Then my dad looked at the guy who worked there.

  “We’ll take her.”

  My heart did a somersault. I couldn’t believe it! I was getting a dog! Finally!

  I gave the dog a big bear hug—or I guess, a dog hug—and when she licked me back, I was pretty sure she winked at me.

  That was the moment I first started wondering if she had secret powers.

  How Abby became Abby:

  My dad had to do a bunch of paperwork for the shelter before we could take our new dog home.

  At the same time, he was talking on the phone to my mom, and e-mailing the people who were setting up his next interview.

  “They want a name,” he said to me.

  “Jimmy B
ishop,” I told him.

  Dad rolled his eyes. “For the dog.”

  “Oh.”

  FACT: Sometimes kids get dumber in front of their parents.

  I looked at the dog. The dog looked back at me. She had the cutest face I’d ever seen, but also the saddest. I wanted to name her something that would make her a little less sad.

  “Happy,” I said to my dad. “Let’s name her Happy.”

  “Got it,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he was saying that to me or to my mom on the phone. Then he wrote something down and handed the paperwork to the lady who ran the shelter.

  “Congratulations,” she said. “Getting a dog is a wonderful thing, both for your family and your pet.” She looked down at the paperwork. “Abby is a very lucky girl.”

  Huh?

  I stared at my dad. “Abby?”

  He stared back. “What? That’s what you said.”

  I looked at the dog, who had been named Happy for about seven seconds. But you know what? I didn’t care what her name was. As long as she was mine.

  “Hi, Abby,” I said. “I’m Jimmy.”

  When we got back to the house, there was a strange car in the driveway.

  “Who’s that, Dad?”

  Dad turned off the engine. “Must be the new sitter.”

  “New sitter? What happened to Becky?” I loved Becky. She was nice and friendly and always let me have seconds for dessert.

  “She had to go back to college,” my dad said. “I know you wish she was your full-time babysitter, but it turns out she has other career goals.”

  “That stinks. Why tonight?”

  Dad sighed. “While we were getting Abby, Mom called to remind me that she has a client in town, and I’m supposed to join them for dinner.”

  “But we just got a new dog!”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” said my dad. “Great timing, huh? I’m pretty sure your mother’s not too happy with me right about now.”

  “Whatever.” I couldn’t care less if Mom was mad at Dad. It was her fault that she was always busy. Meanwhile, I had a new dog and a new babysitter, all on the same night. I suddenly got a nervous feeling in my stomach.

  While my dad checked his phone for the ninety-ninth time that day, I put the leash on Abby to go inside. I had to wake her up—she’d slept the whole way home, which was kind of amazing, since I figured she’d be super excited about her new adventure.

  I guess she was kind of excited though—because the minute we got in the house, she peed on the floor.

  “Well, well, well,” said a voice I’d never heard before. “What have we here? Let’s get that cleaned up!”

  I looked up and saw a lady walking in from the kitchen with a mop, smiling down at my brand-new dog. The lady was very tall, and she walked with a cane. Everything about her seemed kind of old except for her hair—she had long red hair.

  The lady looked at me. “Hello there,” she said.

  “Are you the new babysitter?”

  She smiled, revealing a mouthful of jagged, yellow teeth.

  PROFILE

  Name: Mrs. Cragg

  Age: Not sure I can count that high

  Occupation: Babysitter

  Interests: Not brushing her teeth, apparently

  “I am indeed, young man. And you must be Jimmy.”

  She seemed friendly enough, but I noticed she was looking at my blotch. Suddenly, I felt nervous.

  “I—I—”

  Before I could spit it out, my dad came through the front door. “Ah, Mrs. Cragg,” he said. “So nice to meet you. My wife mentioned you’d be here.”

  Mrs. Cragg? What kind of a name is that?

  “I am indeed Mrs. Cragg,” she answered, running her hand through her hair. “And you must be Mr. Bishop! A real pleasure to meet you.”

  As they shook hands, Mrs. Cragg looked down at Abby. “I didn’t realize a dog was part of the equation,” she said. Abby looked up at the lady and yawned.

  “Oh, yes,” said my dad. “One of those spontaneous decisions, I’m afraid. Hopefully that’s not a problem?”

  “Not at all,” said the old lady, but I could tell by her eyes she was lying.

  My dad turned to me. “Jimmy, with Becky going back to college, and me hopefully going back to work, we thought it might be a good time to get some more permanent help. Someone who can take care of you after school, and drive you and your sister to activities, that kind of thing. And since Mom and I need to go out to dinner tonight, we thought we’d get a head start on things.” He nodded at Mrs. Cragg. “Mom ended up calling Barnaby Bratford’s Bestest Babysitters and asked Mr. Bratford for his most highly regarded employee, and he sent over Mrs. Cragg. If everything works out tonight, she’ll come back tomorrow afternoon while I’m in the city. Sound good?”

  Dad held his hand out for a high five, but I was too busy staring at Mrs. Cragg. She gave me and my dad a warm smile—but when she looked at the dog, the smile disappeared.

  I looked at Abby. She wasn’t yawning anymore. Now she was totally alert, staring back up at Mrs. Cragg.

  A standoff.

  Uh-oh, I thought to myself.

  This can’t be good.

  When Misty got home from cheerleading practice, I was in my room, putting up a new Hank Barlow poster. She came upstairs, took one look at Abby, and started laughing.

  “What kind of a ridiculous-looking dog is that?!?”

  Have I mentioned that Misty is a terrible, horrible person?

  “The best kind,” I snapped. “The kind that needed to be rescued.”

  Misty bent down to get a closer look. “Well, I guess she’s so ugly, she’s cute.” She petted Abby for a few seconds, then stared down at her hand. “Ew! Dog fur!” she screamed, and ran to the bathroom.

  FACT: Even though a brother and sister might have the same parents, it’s still possible for them to be the two most opposite people who have ever lived.

  After scrubbing Abby’s fur off her like it was chicken pox or something, Misty came back into my room and flopped down on my bed. “What’s the deal with the new babysitter?” she said. “Mrs. Cragg? What kind of a name is that?”

  I nodded. “Beats me. Dad said that Becky went back to college.”

  “Bummer,” said Misty. “For you, I mean.” Since Misty was fourteen, she didn’t consider herself part of the whole babysitter situation—although she liked having one, because it meant she could go out whenever she wanted and not have to watch me.

  “Gee, thanks,” I said. “I’m already pretty sure that Abby and Mrs. Cragg don’t like each other.”

  Misty rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I just hope Dad doesn’t get that job.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say!” I said. But I secretly agreed with her. Having Dad home was awesome.

  Misty’s phone buzzed. She read a text, laughed, and immediately texted back.

  “What was that?” I asked her.

  “Just friend stuff,” she said. She said that to me all the time. Just friend stuff. Translation: Stop being such a nosy little brother.

  Misty got up. “Okay, enough chitty chat.” She headed toward her room, where she would spend the next three hours texting her friends, listening to music, and combing her hair. But two minutes later, she popped her head back in.

  “Oh, and by the way, your blotch is bigger.”

  ACK! My blotch!

  It was my turn to freak out and run to the bathroom. I stared in the mirror. She was right—it was bigger. A lot bigger! My blotch had expanded like an inch on all sides! I remembered my dad had said it looked like Rhode Island, and when I looked up Rhode Island, I found out it was the smallest state in the country. Oh no! What if it kept growing until it went through all fifty states? What if it became California or Texas or Alaska by the time school started?

  I decided I might have to skip school this year.

  When my mom finally got home a little after seven, I ran downstairs to show her my blotch and Abby. But Mrs. Cragg was already waiting
at the door, smiling brightly.

  “Hello, I’m Mrs. Cragg,” she said, all her jagged yellow teeth showing.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” said my mom, as they shook hands. Then she saw me, waiting in the hall. “There he is,” Mom said, as she scooped me up in her arms (my parents were big on the scooping). “Let me see this tiny little mark everyone’s so worried about.” She examined my face. “Oh, that’s nothing!”

  “It’s not a mark, it’s a blotch,” I said. “And it’s not nothing, Mom. It’s horrible, and it’s getting bigger. If you were home more, instead of working all the time and going out to dinner with clients, you’d know that.”

  “Don’t you start with me,” she said, kissing the tip of my nose. “We’ll get some medicine to take care of it. And at least you got a dog as part of the deal! Where is the little lady anyway?”

  I grabbed my mom’s hand and took her to the closet, where Abby was snoozing on top of some shoes. As my mom bent down to pet her, Abby woke up, licked my mom’s hand, and went back to sleep.

  “She is adorable!” Mom said. “And so well-behaved.”

  “I know!” I said. “But she sleeps a lot. I hope she wants to play soon.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she will.” My mom stood up, took off her shoes, and sighed happily. “Taking off these heels is one of the highlights of my day. Too bad I have to put them back on in twenty minutes. Is Misty home? And where’s Dad? He’s coming to this dinner with me, whether he likes it or not.”

  I tried not to look too grumpy. “I think he’s taking a shower or something.”

  “Don’t you worry, we’ll bring dessert back just for you,” Mom said, knowing I was grumpy anyway.

  FACT: Moms are good at reading their kids’ minds.

  “Chocolate coconut cake?” I asked.

  My mom smiled. “With double frosting.”

  ANOTHER FACT: Double frosting may be the two best words in the English language.

  “Okay,” I said. I was just about to add Could you get a little extra piece for Abby? when Dad came downstairs, carrying my mom’s favorite necklace. “This ought to impress your client,” he said. “It’s almost as beautiful as you are.”