Teacher's Pet

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Puppy Raising

  DO YOU HAVE PUPPY-RAISER POTENTIAL?

  Hello!

  I have always loved German shepherds. My best friend had one when I was a little girl, and as soon as I was on my own, I adopted one from the shelter. We named him Canute, and he was the best dog ever.

  Canute was a great pet, but I don’t think he had the right personality to be a guide dog. Those are very special dogs who are raised in loving homes and trained by the experts.

  When I was researching this book, I visited The Seeing Eye training facility in Morristown, New Jersey. I was allowed to walk with a guide dog with my eyes closed and watch the dogs work with their new companions. The experience gave me new respect for the challenges faced by visually impaired people, and the dogs who help them live full and independent lives.

  Be sure to visit The Seeing Eye Web site (http://www.seeingeye.org) to learn more.

  Laurie Halse Anderson

  THE VET VOLUNTEER BOOKS

  Fight for Life

  Homeless

  Trickster

  Manatee Blues

  Say Good-bye

  Storm Rescue

  Teacher’s Pet

  Trapped

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to Judith Tamas, D.V.M., Kim Michels, D.V.M., and Melissa

  Campbell and the staff of The Seeing Eye in Morristown, New Jersey.

  Thanks also to James Hughes and Ronnie, of Long Island, and the

  terrific people at Overbrook School for the Blind in Philadelphia.

  To Julie, with thanks for everything

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Young Readers Group, 34S Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue,

  Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

  First published in the United States of America by Pleasant Company Publications, 2000

  Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2009

  Copyright © Laurie Halse Anderson 2000, 2009

  All rights reserved

  eISBN : 978-1-101-15554-7

  eISBN : 978-1-101-15554-7

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any

  responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Chapter One

  Anybody want a water ice?“ I call through the screen door of Dr. Mac’s Place.

  “Water ice!” several voices shout from inside. Chairs scrape the floor, file drawers slam shut, and a stampede heads my way. Water ice—shaved ice drenched with flavored syrup and pieces of fruit—is a summer favorite around Philadelphia. Totally yummy.

  David Hutchinson bolts out the door first, followed closely by Brenna Lake, Sunita Patel, and ...

  “Where’s Zoe?” I ask. My cousin loves water ice. I bought the mango just for her.

  “She’s shopping with your grandmother,” Sunita says as I hand her the cup of watermelon ice and a plastic spoon. “Thanks, Maggie!”

  David grabs the chocolate water ice out of my bike basket. Brenna takes the grape, and I take the strawberry-kiwi. I lean my bike carefully against a tree, then join the others sitting on the steps of the clinic.

  “I can’t believe she’s shopping again,” I say. Zoe’s goal is to have a different outfit for every day of the year. Me, I’m happy in shorts and a T-shirt. And basketball sneaks, of course.

  Brenna puts an enormous spoonful of ice in her mouth. “Cool pies,” she mumbles.

  “Huh?”

  She swallows. “School supplies,” she repeats. “Dr. Mac took Zoe shopping for paper, pens, and notebooks. They were going to take you, but you got back too late.”

  “I wasn’t gone that long, was I?”

  Sunita checks her watch. “Almost two hours. Where did you go?”

  “All over the place,” I say as I unbuckle my bike helmet and toss it on the grass. “I rode around the park, I shot some hoops, then I wandered down Main Street. I wanted to look at everything one last time. Because of...”

  I can’t say it. The words stick in my mouth.

  “School,” David finishes for me. “Because of school starting tomorrow.”

  “Middle school,” I correct him.

  “You aren’t psyched to go back?” Brenna asks with a puzzled look on her face.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I reply. “I just got used to sixth grade! Now we have to start all over again. I wish it could be summer forever.”

  Something scratches at the clinic door. David opens it, and my chubby basset hound, Sherlock Holmes, ambles out. He walks over to me, puts his heavy head in my lap, and sighs.

  I laugh and pet his sleek fur. “You know how I feel, don’t you, buddy? Too bad I can’t take you to school with me.”

  “Cheer up, Maggie. It’ll be great,” Brenna says confidently. “We’ll meet lots of new friends.”

  “Friends aren’t a problem,” I explain. “Teachers are. Last year I just had to deal with Ms. Griffith. Now I’ll have a different teacher for every subject. What if they all give me homework on the same night? I don’t want to go.”

  To be honest, it’s more than just teachers. I know I can’t read as fast as other kids. Math is hard, too. What if I’m not good enough, not smart enough? What if I fail? It’s only going to get harder from here on out.

  Sherlock Holmes yawns loudly and stretches across my lap, his belly up. What a dog! He can always tell when I’m bummed.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I tell him as I scratch his tummy.

  “He’s telling you to chill,” Brenna says. “Middle school is just like elementary school, only bigger.”

  Sunita twirls her spoon in her cup. “Maggie’s not the only one who is nervous.”

  “You, too?” David exclaims as he turns to her. “Why? You’re smarter than most of the teachers!”

  “Well,” Sunita says slowly, “I’m worried about my locker.”

  “Your locker?” Brenna asks.

  Sunita nods. “What if I can’t open it? What if I can’t remember the combination to the lock? If you’re late for class, you get a detention. And the halls are really crowded.”

  Brenna licks her spoon with a purple tongue. “Don’t worry. Your locker will work perfectly. And the halls are never crowded. My brother promised me.”


  “And you believed him?” I ask. Brenna’s older brother likes to play practical jokes on her.

  She pauses. “Good point. He was acting a little weird when he told me that—all friendly and nice. But I’m not going to worry about it. Today is the last day of summer—of the best summer ever. I’m going to enjoy it.”

  She’s right. This summer rocked. We worked at Dr. Mac’s Place, taking care of animals big and small, rescuing pets from a hurricane, and walking all kinds of dogs. But best of all, we really got to know one another.

  Brenna is the most like me in the group—sort of bossy and very opinionated. She’s crazy about wild animals. When we were in Florida, she jumped into a canal to save a baby manatee. I hope she’s in some of my classes this semester. She would be a great project partner.

  Sunita gets the vote for “most likely to be reading a book.” She’s my main girl for homework help. Along with books, she loves cats. It’s like she can understand what they’re thinking. (I once saw her calm down a Siamese cat freaked out by a hurricane!) I love having her around the clinic.

  I’ve known David forever. He lives across the street. I used to think he was a real goofball, but underneath that ridiculous haircut is a good guy. David proves that boys love animals just as much as girls do. He is especially nuts about horses. Thanks to him, we all had riding lessons this summer. We also shoveled a lot of manure.

  Even Zoe had a good time this summer. That’s good, because she’s going to be here for a while. Her mom, my aunt Rose, is trying to get a part in a television show in Hollywood. She’s too busy to take care of Zoe right now. Zoe talks a lot about being the daughter of a famous actress, but I think she likes being a normal kid better. She’s finally trained her mutt, Sneakers, and she’s the best phone answerer we’ve ever had at the clinic.

  David wanders over to my bike and takes the mango water ice out of the basket. “It’s starting to get slushy,” he says.

  “You can eat it if you want,” I say. “Knowing Gran, they probably stopped to get some of their own. Gran loves the cappuccino cream flavor.”

  David doesn’t need any more encouragement. He tilts his head back and gulps down half of the ice at once. Then he staggers a step and clutches his head.

  “Brain freeze!” he groans.

  We bust out laughing. “Press your tongue against the roof of your mouth,” I say. “It sounds weird, but it works.”

  “Won’t help,” Brenna teases.

  “His brain has been frozen for years,” Sunita adds.

  David scowls at them, but he can’t say anything. He’s too busy thawing his brain.

  Sherlock raises his head off my lap and lets out a deep “Woof!”

  Gran is home.

  As she’s parking the van, Zoe sticks her head out the window. “We got the coolest stuff!” she shouts. “Purple notebooks, gel pens, book covers, index cards, calculators, staplers, and tape. We bought out the whole store! ”

  Yippee.

  There’s only a little ice left in my cup. I tilt my head back and tap the bottom of the cup.

  “I can’t wait for tomorrow!” Zoe says dramatically as she runs over to join us.

  Splat! The strawberry-kiwi water-ice clump slides down the side of the cup and smacks me in the face.

  I can.

  Chapter Two

  As Zoe heads to the kitchen to unpack her goody bag, a sputtering red Jeep parks next to Gran’s van. The doors open, and the Donovan family pours out: Shelby and Inky, twin black Labrador retrievers, along with Christopher and Nicholas, energetic three-year-old human twins. Poor Mrs. Donovan, who always looks tired, closes the doors and grabs the dogs’ leashes.

  Shelby and Inky helped bring our group of volunteers together. The puppies were rushed to Dr. Mac’s Place last spring. They had been bred in a horrible puppy mill and were close to death. They’re completely healthy now, big, friendly, and extremely playful—just like Christopher and Nicholas.

  Mrs. Donovan greets us, then herds her brood into the clinic. I follow behind Gran, with Sherlock close at my heels.

  “Do they have an appointment?” I ask her under my breath.

  Gran shakes her head. “No. I hope everything is all right.”

  “SHERLOCK! ”

  Christopher, Nicholas, Inky, and Shelby all pounce on my dog as soon as he puts a paw into the waiting room. Sherlock stands like a saint as Christopher pats his ears, Nicholas tosses him a ball, Inky smells his butt, and Shelby barks loudly, calling him to play. To the Donovans, Dr. Mac’s Place is not a veterinary clinic. It’s where they come to play with Sherlock Holmes.

  “What’s the trouble today, Mrs. Donovan?” Gran shouts over the din.

  Mrs. Donovan tries to keep an eye on her kids (all four of them) while she talks.

  “I’ve got two of them, Dr. Mac,” she starts. “Inky keeps biting his leg. The back one, on the right.”

  Sure enough, Inky pauses in mid-sniff to twist around quickly and nibble at his fur. Sometimes dogs use their teeth to scratch their itches. This spot looks like it’s really bothering him. He’s gnawing so hard that his dog tags are jingling. Maybe he has fleas.

  “And this morning, Shelby did this,” Mrs. Donovan continues, holding out her left hand for Gran to inspect.

  It is a perfectly normal left hand—no bites, scratches, or marks. It has a few freckles on it, but not as many as I have. Does her hand hurt? Does she think Gran will fix it? Maybe Mrs. Donovan has finally snapped from all the stress.

  “Notice the missing wedding ring?” she says, her voice rising. “Shelby ate it. I’m a patient woman, Dr. Mac. I didn’t complain when he ate my socks, or my bathing suit, or even part of the laundry room wall. But my wedding ring! How am I ever going to get it back?”

  Gran’s mouth twitches as she fights a smile. “It’s OK. We’ll get the ring. Dr. Gabe can X-ray Shelby while I check Inky’s skin problem.”

  Mrs. Donovan clutches her purse. “Why do you have to X-ray?”

  “I’d like to be safe. I want to make sure that the ring is there and that it isn’t causing any kind of internal damage,” Gran says. “As long as it isn’t blocking anything, it should pop out Shelby’s back end in a day or so. You’ll just have to, ah, dig around a little whenever he has a bowel movement.”

  Mrs. Donovan’s eyes widen. “You mean, look in his poops?” she says hoarsely.

  Uh-oh. “Poop” is a magic word to three-year- olds, just like “underwear.” The boys howl with laughter.

  “Look in his poops?” Christopher shrieks.

  “Look in his poops!” Nicholas replies.

  Shelby and Inky bark excitedly, then jump on Sherlock, who looks at me, pleading for a rescue.

  Mrs. Donovan swallows hard. “The X-ray sounds like a good idea. And perhaps Shelby could stay here. Until, you know... ”

  “Oh, I know,” Gran assures her. “Until the ring ‘appears.”’

  After some juggling, we all head to our assigned places. Dr. Gabe takes Shelby back to X-ray him, with Brenna and Sunita tagging along to make sure the dog doesn’t eat any medical equipment. David has to leave to go school shopping with his mother. Mrs. Donovan agrees to stay in the waiting room with the boys while Gran and I check out Inky’s leg. I let Sherlock escape into the kitchen, where Zoe can show him her new stapler. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.

  Gran and I lead Inky into the Dolittle exam room, named for one of Gran’s favorite fictional veterinarians. When she closes the door behind us, we both let out a sign of relief.

  “Nothing like a visit from the Donovans to make me appreciate how calm my life is,” Gran says. “Now, let’s take a look at our itchy patient.”

  I help Gran hoist Inky up onto the table. Uff! He’s got to weigh at least forty pounds. The first time I saw him, he weighed two.

  “He sure has grown,” I say.

  “He’s what, six months old now?” Gran asks as she pets the overgrown pup and lets him smell her hands.

  I flip open his medica
l chart. “Seven months.”

  “Time flies. You are an awfully big boy for seven months,” Gran tells Inky. He flaps his tail from side to side, knocking the folder with his medical records to the floor.

  Gran examines his eyes, ears, and mouth. Then she pets his head, neck, and chest, skillfully moving her hands over his fur. Animals can’t tell us what’s wrong with them, so vets are trained to carefully examine their bodies for clues.

  At last, Gran steps back. “You’re growing like a teenager, Inky. No wonder you and your brother eat everything in sight. Let’s take a look at that leg.”

  I hold Inky’s head while Gran gently examines the area of wet fur where he’s been licking and chewing. Inky flinches a bit. It must be sore.

  “Bingo,” Gran says. “A hot spot. Want to see?”

  I crane my neck for a glimpse. Gran separates the fur so that I can see the hot spot. Ouch. It is twice as big as a quarter and a nasty red color. No wonder Inky’s been itching it. Hot spots are little skin infections caused by bacteria. Once a dog starts working on them, they can get huge overnight.

  Gran shaves the fur around the hot spot and cleans it with a special solution that will help dry the skin. She gives Inky a cortisone injection to soothe the itching.

  “There.” Gran studies her work. “I bet that feels better already. I’ll send him home with some antibiotics to fight infection, and he’ll be good to go!”

  Inky lifts his right front paw.

  “Look,” I say. “He wants to shake and say thank you.”

  Gran takes his paw and shakes. “You’re welcome, young man.” She bends over and peers at his paw.

  I know what’s coming next. I open a drawer and take out a special pair of nail clippers that I hand to Gran.

  Gran’s eyebrows flash up in surprise. “How did you know that I wanted these?”

  “I’ve only seen you do this a thousand times,” I say.