Oh No, Newf!, Page 3

  But a dog this beautiful had to belong to somebody. Surely a jogger would come running along any moment to take him back, waving the leash he’d escaped from.

  “I think that thing is bigger than a Saint Bernard,” Avery said.

  “Are you bigger than a Saint Bernard?” I said to the dog. “And smarter? And handsomer? Are you the most amazing dog that ever lived?”

  “Oh, brother,” Avery said. “And I thought you were soppy about me.”

  The dog’s coat was black and white, kind of like a panda’s, with pretty black splotches on his white legs. As I looked him over, I noticed his paws were caked with mud and his fur was matted and tangled. I ran my hand down his side and realized he was really thin. I could feel his ribs even through his thick fur. It made me hurt inside, like when I eat too much candy (which happens way too often), but in my heart instead of in my stomach. How could anyone have a dog this beautiful and not take care of him? He licked my face again and pressed himself closer to me. He just wanted to be loved. I knew that feeling.

  “This poor dog,” I said to Avery. “Look how thin he is. Don’t your owners feed you, sweetheart?”

  Reluctantly, I felt around his neck, looking for a collar. If there was an address on it, I’d have to take him back to his owners … even though they clearly didn’t deserve him. At first I thought the collar was just buried in his shaggy fur. Then I realized he wasn’t wearing one at all. My heart jumped up and thumped against my chest. Maybe … maybe I could keep him!

  Then my heart tumbled down to earth again. There was no way my mom would let a dog this huge and shaggy into her perfect house. This dog was pretty much the exact opposite of everything my mom wanted our house to be.

  “There’s no collar,” I said to Avery. He came closer and reached out his hand. The dog sniffed him, licked his fingers, and then turned back to me.

  “Guess he likes you best,” Avery said. “Figures.”

  I put my hands on either side of the dog’s face and rumpled his fur. “I like you, too, you big furry thing.” He licked my nose and I laughed.

  “Gross,” Avery said, but I knew he didn’t mean it. He wouldn’t really mind at all if the dog licked his face.

  “What should we call him?” I said, rubbing the dog’s sides.

  “Call him?” Avery said. “Why would we call him anything?”

  The dog snuffled in my hands, and I remembered that I had dog treats in my bag. I know, it’s crazy to have dog treats and no dog, but I buy them with my own allowance and carry them around so that I can say hi to all the dogs I meet and then they’ll like me. For instance, they came in handy when I first met Trumpet. I pulled my bag closer and started digging through it. The Newfie tried to poke his nose inside, nudging my hands.

  “Oh, hello, bossy,” I said to him. “No, no you don’t.” I snatched the candy bar out of his teeth before he could tear it open. “This isn’t for you,” I said to him. “Chocolate bad! Bad for dogs. This is for you.” I zipped open the bag of treats and he got superexcited. His whole body wriggled and then he tried to climb all the way onto my lap, which was a hilariously bad idea, considering he was literally bigger than me.

  “Ack!” I yelped. “Wait! Back! Goofy dog! Quit it!” His enormous white paws landed on my shoulders and knocked me over onto my back. He bounced over me and tried to jump at the bag of treats, which I was holding out of his reach. I rolled away from him and got to my knees, but he bundled right into me and knocked me over again. He was such a ball of love and fur and joy and excitement that I didn’t even care when he accidentally stepped on my hair or that I was getting my clothes all dirty. It was like play-wrestling with the Abominable Snowman.

  I felt the bag of treats get whisked out of my hand and then the dog’s weight disappeared from on top of me. I sat up, expecting to see the dog wolfing down the treats and probably the bag as well, but instead I saw Avery standing up on the wall, holding the treats out of the dog’s reach. The dog went “WOOOOOF,” in this really deep, velvety voice. He tried to jump up and grab the bag. Avery held it a bit higher and peered at me.

  “I just saved you from a dog trampling,” he said. “Yeah, I know, I’m your hero, try not to faint.”

  “Oh, you know you’re my hero, Avery,” I said. I climbed up on the wall beside him and took a treat out of the bag. “All right, Yeti,” I said to the dog. “Sit.” I held the treat out over the dog’s nose.

  “What did you call it?” Avery asked. The dog paced back and forth below us, his eyes fixed on the treat in my hand.

  “Yeti,” I said. “Doesn’t he look like a yeti?”

  “No,” said Avery. “Since you made that word up.”

  “I did not!” I said. “Yeti, sit.” I moved the treat over the dog’s head. This had totally worked with Ella’s dog, Trumpet. That beagle sat almost right away. But the Newfoundland just backed up so he could keep looking at the treat. “A yeti is like Bigfoot, or the Abominable Snowman,” I said to Avery. “It’s a big furry creature that lives in the mountains. I think. Anyway, I thought it sounded like a good name. Come here, Yeti.”

  The dog obediently took a few steps toward me. This time when I moved the treat over his head, Yeti followed it with his eyes instead of stepping back. His head tipped back to watch it, and then his butt slowly sank to the ground, and he sat.

  “Good boy!” I said. “Good boy, Yeti!” I gave him the treat, which he scarfed down the way I eat M&M’s — as fast as possible. He swiped his tongue over his nose and jowls and tilted his head at me hopefully. His long, shaggy black ears hung down on either side of his head, with little muddy tendrils at the bottom. His eyes went from my face to the bag of treats and back again like, Hello? More treats? I think I’m being pretty clear here!

  “OK, crazy person,” Avery said. “You can’t name this dog. He’s not yours.”

  “Well, he’s not anybody’s right now,” I said. “Maybe he could be mine.”

  Avery gave me a look, and I knew he was thinking what I was — my mom would have a heart attack if I brought this dog home.

  “Maybe you could take him, then,” I suggested.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “My house is no place for dogs.”

  I knew what he meant. And his mom would be no more psyched about a dog than my mom, especially on a day when Avery got detention.

  “We can’t just leave him out here,” I said. “Poor hungry dog.” I made Yeti sit again and gave him another treat. He licked my hand so sadly afterward that I held out the bag and just let him eat them all. He plunged his nose into the bag and his tail started whizzing back and forth. Worf worf snorf, he went, lapping them up.

  “Well,” Avery said, “you’re going to have a hard time getting rid of him now, idiot.”

  “Isn’t there somewhere we could hide him, just for a little while?” I said. “Then we could at least feed him properly while we look for his owners. And maybe if I work on my mom — if I convince her …”

  “Yeah, right,” said Avery. “There’s no way your mom would say yes to this guy. And good luck hiding him. What are you going to do, stuff him in your backpack? Maybe you haven’t noticed this, but he’s gigantic.”

  I jumped off the wall again and stood next to Yeti, patting his head and sides. He leaned against me and made a contented noise, like huffle. Where could we hide a dog this big? Nowhere in my house, that’s for sure. We’d never get him from the door to my room without being spotted by my mom, who watches every move I make like a hawk, just in case I’m about to break something. And with Avery in such trouble, we couldn’t risk trying to sneak the dog into his house either.

  “Oh!” I said suddenly, making the dog start. “I know! I’ve got it! Avery, we’ll hide him in your shed! You know, the one behind your driveway — the one your parents never use. Nobody ever looks in there. We can bring him food and water and take care of him until we figure out what to do next.”

  Avery was shaking his head. “You’re nuts. Round the bend, Tyler. They’
ll catch us for sure.”

  “Bet you they won’t,” I said. “And if they do, I’ll take the blame, I promise. Come on, Avery. He needs our help. Look at these eyes.” Yeti helpfully gave Avery a big-eyed, woeful expression. “If Stitch were out on the street and someone found him,” I said, “wouldn’t you want them to —”

  “All right, all right,” Avery interrupted quickly. “Just shut up about it. We can stick him in the shed, but just for a couple of days. Come on, let’s go.” He grabbed his backpack, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, and stomped off. I realized it was starting to get dark. The sky was pink and purple above the trees and it was getting colder.

  “Don’t worry, Yeti,” I said, stroking the smooth black fur on his head. “You’ll stay somewhere warm tonight, and we’ll feed you, and it’ll all be OK.”

  Yeti looked up at me trustingly, and as I started to push my bike out of the field, he stayed close to my other side, padding happily through the grass.

  I had no idea what I was going to do next. I was going to be in big trouble if Mom found out about this. But Yeti needed me, so whatever trouble was coming my way, I could handle it.

  That’s what I hoped anyway.

  We crept up to our houses quietly. The streetlights on our block cast warm yellow circles on the sidewalk. Through the window, I could see my mom in our kitchen, watering her plants and cleaning the counters. Avery’s mom was sitting in their living room. I could tell she was watching TV because of the blue light glowing on her face.

  I lowered my bike onto my front lawn, and then Avery and I ran up his driveway with Yeti galloping along beside us. The Lafittes don’t have a garage. Their driveway runs between his house and mine, with the white fence and a patch of grass with yellow flowers separating it from our driveway.

  Behind the house, his driveway turns and ends at this old shed. The shed used to be green with bright white shutters around the one window and white shingles on the slanting roof, but now it’s all kind of faded and dingy.

  They used to keep things in there like the lawn mower and Mr. Lafitte’s tools and his woodworking set, but during one of their big fights Kelly sold them all on eBay because “he never even used them, the lazy jerk.” Mr. Lafitte was pretty mad about that, so then he turned around and sold her car, and then there was a day when all of Mr. Lafitte’s clothes ended up on the front lawn, and that was about when they got divorced for the second time.

  Anyway, now Kelly pays people to mow the lawn or fix things around the house. So there’s nothing in the shed but old sawdust and cobwebs on the rickety shelves. I sneezed as Avery pulled open the door.

  “Shhh,” he said fiercely.

  “Sorry,” I said. I led Yeti inside and he put his nose down, sniffing along the floor. I laughed when he sneezed, too. “Here you go, Yeti. Good boy. We’ll be back soon with water and food.”

  “Uh, you might be,” Avery said. “I’ll be sent to my room for the rest of the night.”

  “It’s OK, I’ll take care of him,” I said. “Thanks, Avery.”

  “Bleargh,” he said. “You’re such a sap, Tyler.”

  Poor Yeti tried to follow us out the door. I said, “No, sweetheart, stay,” and pulled the door closed. There was a latch to hold it in place, but it still hung open a crack. Of course, Yeti couldn’t fit through such a narrow space, but he stuck his huge black nose to the opening and went Urroorrooooorrrrooooo.

  “Oh,” I said, clutching my chest. “I’m so sad! I want to let him come inside and sleep on my bed! Poor sad dog.”

  “Not me,” Avery said. “He’s a muddy mess. And so are you, by the way.”

  I looked down and realized he was right. I was covered in smudges of dirt and long black dog hairs. Not to mention the hole in my jeans that I’d torn when I fell off my bike that morning.

  “Oh, man,” I said, brushing frantically at my shirt. “Mom is going to faint when she sees me like this.”

  Avery reached over and pulled some twigs out of my hair. “Well, it’s your problem,” he said gruffly. “See you around.”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks again,” I said, hurrying back down his driveway. When I looked back, I saw him scratching his head, and then he sighed and trudged up his back steps. I felt bad for him. I knew he was going to have a rough night getting yelled at by his mom.

  I grabbed my bike and pushed it into our garage through the side door. I didn’t turn on the light, in case Mom looked out the window and noticed it. There was light coming in from the streetlights outside and from Avery’s house, so I could see a little. But I had to be really quiet, because the door from the garage goes right into the kitchen, and I didn’t want my mom to hear me.

  As silently as I could, I scrounged through some of the boxes until I found two large ceramic bowls packed in a cardboard box in lots of brown scrunchy paper. They were totally hideous — gray and knobbly and misshapen with big red dots on the outside and a pale greenish color on the inside.

  The box wasn’t labeled. My guess was that they were presents or something that Mom didn’t want, so she’d put them in the garage until she figured out what to do with them. There’s a lot of random stuff in our garage. It’s mostly all neatly organized and labeled, but my parents hardly ever go in there unless they need something specific. They probably wouldn’t even notice the bowls were gone.

  Next, I searched through the plastic bins on the back shelves until I found one labeled BLANKETS. “Perfect,” I whispered, dragging out the top blanket. It was red and black and yellow in a pattern of fuzzy squares. Underneath it was one of the blankets I used to drag around when I was little. It was pink with a little black poodle in each corner.

  In case you’re wondering, all my dog toys and things didn’t come from my parents. They didn’t want to “encourage my obsession.” But my grandpa — Mom’s dad — loves giving me dog presents. He grew up with dogs, but he couldn’t have any as a grown-up, mainly because Grandma was allergic to them and also didn’t like them very much. After she died, he talked about getting one, but he travels a lot for his job, so he still hasn’t.

  And once everyone saw him giving me stuffed dogs and paw-print outfits and books like Clifford the Big Red Dog, and Harry the Dirty Dog, and Love That Dog by Sharon Creech, the rest of our relatives started doing the same thing, thinking it was some kind of theme. This made me totally happy, but every time I got a new one, my mom would shake her head and say, “Quit giving her ideas, Aunt May,” or “Thanks a lot, Dad,” or whatever.

  This blanket was from another aunt, Dad’s sister, Jennifer, and I’d dragged it around the house with me for at least a year before Mom made it “disappear” into the garage. I pulled out a third blanket and wrapped them all around one of the bowls. Then I filled the other bowl with water from the tap on the outside wall of our garage, the one Mom usually attaches the hose to when she waters the garden.

  It sounded so loud in the quiet dusk. I was sure someone would poke her head out any minute and ask what I was doing. It also splashed all over the place, so by the time the bowl was full, I was pretty wet.

  I picked up the blanket-wrapped bowl under one arm and carried the water bowl carefully over to the fence. I set it down as I went through the gate and somehow managed not to step in it or knock it over or anything. I was moving pretty slowly, although my heart was racing. I just wanted to get the water and blankets to Yeti before anyone caught me.

  He still had his nose pressed to the crack in the door, and he must have smelled me coming because I heard his tail start thumping against the door. He made a little excited noise when I unlatched the door and edged inside. Yeti kind of bounced his front paws up and down, like he was ready to play. I set the water bowl down and he buried his face in it, slurping and spraying water as he drank. While he did that, I spread out the blankets and tried to arrange them in a comfortable nest for him.

  Yeti came over as I finished and put one shaggy paw on the blankets, sniffing them.

  “Yeah, that’s for you,�
�� I said, scratching behind his ears. He noticed the other bowl and nosed it, licked the bottom of it, and then looked at me like, I think you forgot something.

  “I know,” I said. “I’ll bring you food just as soon as I can sneak out, OK? Stay here and wait for me.”

  Yeti flopped down on the blankets with a sigh. I patted his head, and he inched toward me, pulling himself forward with his front paws.

  “Poor good boy,” I said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Hrrrrrfle snuffle, went Yeti. His fur was so warm and soft. I just wanted to curl up and rest my head on his side and fall asleep right there with him.

  But I had to get home for dinner. I latched the door behind me again and ran back to the gate. As I went through, I heard shouting coming from Avery’s kitchen window.

  “What is wrong with you?” his mom yelled. “Why can’t you even try to stay out of trouble?”

  I didn’t want to hear any more. I closed the gate and went through the garage, opening the kitchen door with my key.

  “Oh, there you are, Heidi,” my mom said without turning around. She was bending over to peer inside the oven. Our kitchen is very white — white cabinets, white counters, white ceiling — with shiny steel appliances and a pretty gray-and-blue Greek design for the backsplash tiles. Plants fill the big window over the sink, like basil and rosemary and a small lemon tree, all stuff my mom uses for cooking. The room was warm and cozy and it smelled like roast chicken and golden potatoes. I stopped in the doorway to breathe in deeply. That was my mistake. I should have run upstairs right away.