Belle's Challenge Page 5

  Oh, fleas. Dog pound, here we come. Darcy, Margaret, and Bob would be furious. I spoke to Jazzy on the dog channel. “Now what?”

  “It’s okay. I stop in here every time I’m out.” She wagged her tail at the woman. “Josie’s worth a million bones.”

  I took a sniff of Josie, and the sweet smell that filled my nostrils made me raise my head to look at her.

  Light sparked in her eyes, and when she grinned, her teeth gleamed against olive skin. Jazzy was right. Josie was okay.

  Setting her lips straight, Josie walked into the front of the shop. “Hello, Charlie,” she said to the catch pole man. “What’ll you have? The usual?”

  “No time for ice cream, Josie. I’m looking for a couple stray dogs that came up this way.”

  “Haven’t seen any strays,” Josie answered. Something splashed. The smell of detergent tickled my nose, and I guessed Josie was cleaning the counter.

  “Dang,” said Charlie. “The mayor’s wife drove Emily to school today and saw three strays and called me. I’ve been chasing them ever since.”

  “Can’t help.” Josie’s deep voice hid a smile.

  My nose tickle turned to a burn. A sneeze exploded before I could stop it.

  “What was that?” the catch pole man exclaimed.

  Oh, dog piles.

  “We’ll head out the food burrow door if we have to,” Jazzy breathed.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” said Josie. “What did it sound like?”

  “An animal. In the back of your shop.”

  Josie walked back to the food burrow. A door slammed. She returned, stopping to close our hiding place door without a sound before going to the counter.

  I didn’t know whether to feel trapped or safe.

  “The delivery entrance was open, Charlie.” Her voice came through a crack at the bottom of our door. “The noise must have been outside.”

  Jazzy’s tail twitched. “See? I told you she was a dog biscuit.”

  Charlie sighed. “I thought just maybe I’d caught my fugitives. Mayor’s wife ain’t gonna be happy.”

  Josie made a sound like she’d bitten into spoiled meat. “She’s got a phobia of dogs. If she had her way, there wouldn’t be a dog in the whole state of New Mexico.”

  I shivered from my head to my tail. Mrs. Robinson was worse than Uncle Jim.

  Josie stopped wiping the counter. “Jean’s my sister-in-law, so I shouldn’t be mean, but she needs to pay attention to her kids before she worries about a couple of stray dogs.”

  I almost felt sorry for Emily again.

  Josie sighed. “Emily’s acting out like mad, and Katherine’s having trouble reading. It breaks my heart to see her struggle. They both need more of their parents’ time.”

  “Can’t you help, since you take care of the kids so much?” Charlie’s voice took on a touch of sympathy. “Have you tried talking to your brother?”

  Josie’s clothes rustled. “He isn’t the problem. Jean’s the one who won’t admit her kids aren’t trophy children.”

  She rattled something metal. I smelled peppermint, butterscotch, and walnut ice cream.

  “My brother just goes along with her, I think to keep peace.” Josie sniffed, rustling paper. “We grew up with a passel of mutts. Jean bullied him into working for such a strict leash law.”

  Buster sighed. “And we thought we were rid of people like Uncle Jim.”

  “I guess you can’t get away from stupid people after all.” Settling on the floor, I put my head on my paws. “We just have to thank dog heaven the Robinsons aren’t Darcy’s relatives.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Jazzy scratched her ear. “I’ve never lived any place else.”

  I glanced at her, surprised, then lifted my head. I knew something about the world she didn’t. To think coming to New Mexico would show me that.

  The peppermint ice cream odor swelled, breaking into my thoughts. Peppermint was my second favorite ice cream.

  Josie spoke. “Here, Charlie. Have some ice cream on the house. Eat it while you hunt your strays.”

  Charlie laughed. “Okay, you’re on, but if you see those dogs give me a holler.”

  “Sure.” Josie hid a snicker in a cough.

  Charlie’s feet scraped. As his steps faded onto the street, Josie opened what sounded like a refrigerator. The aroma of peppermint ice cream floated out. In the time it takes to eat a treat, she opened our door, three paper cups in her hands and stooped to pat Jazzy. “Hi girl, how are you?” Her laugh boomed. “So much for Jean Robinson. Now you eat up while I call your folks.” She walked back to the food burrow.

  Jazzy plunged her nose into her paper cup and swallowed her ice cream in two gulps. “I’m not ready to go home yet. I’m going see what I can swipe from a restaurant kitchen. Wanna come along?”

  “You mean you’ll go in and just help yourself to whatever you can find?” I stared at her.

  She cocked her head, jumped off the ground, and snapped her teeth. “Why not?”

  Buster and I exchanged a glance. I didn’t mind running loose with Jazzy, but to steal stuff?

  “No way, Jazzy.” I took a bite of my ice cream and let it turn to liquid on my tongue. “I think it’s time for Buster and me to go see if Darcy made the chorus.”

  “Scardy dog,” taunted Jazzy.

  “More like a smart dog,” I muttered, swallowing.

  “Okay. I’ll see you later.” Wagging her tail, she trotted out the door.

  Buster licked his bowl, then his chops. “We better go home, Belle,”

  I looked at him. “What about Darcy? I’d like to know if she made the chorus.”

  “We’ll find out later. Right now, if we’re lucky, Margaret will be out when Josie calls and we can sneak into the yard before she knows we ran away.”

  I couldn’t argue with that logic. If Margaret caught us out, our names would be garbage pail. “Okay,” I said. We headed out the back.

  Chapter 6

  Challenges

  As we sneaked into our backyard, my heart pounded. Would Margaret see us? We hid in the tall grass, ears cocked toward the food burrow door. Nothing moved behind it. I caught Margaret’s scent, but it was faint, and I knew she had not walked here since the early sun time.

  Buster’s nose wiggled. “I think we’re safe,” he said. “She’s not home.” Sliding out of the grass, I nudged the gate of our pen to see if Darcy had latched it last time she let us out. She hadn’t, and it swung open. We glided into our cage and stretched in the peach tree’s shade. Buster soon snored.

  I lay quietly, letting the shadows cool me as the sun climbed the sky like a blazing snail. It was fun to stretch and be still during the hottest part of the day, I realized.

  Then I must have dozed off, just like Buster. Next thing I knew, the sun broiled its way downward, and Margaret scowled at us through a closed gate. “Where have you two been?”

  So she knew we’d escaped. Rabid skunks. Jumping up, I shook. Lucky we can’t tell you.

  The front door banged. Steps tapped, and Darcy walked onto the patio. Her lightning smell burned out at the edges, and her flowers wilted. But she didn’t smell like sour stomach.

  I put my paws against the side of our pen. Had she made the chorus?

  “Good day, bad day?” Margaret asked, turning her back on us and facing Darcy.

  “Sort of.” Darcy shrugged. “I made the chorus. I’m going to lead the soprano section.”

  “Congratulations,” Margaret nodded with a small smile.

  “Good for you,” Buster and I barked. “We knew you would.”

  “Thanks.” Darcy returned her mother’s smile, then made a face. “Emily Robinson is leading the altos, and Mrs. Merriwether wants us to sing some duets.”

  Oh, dog biscuits. I exchanged a glance with Buster.

  �
��What’s wrong with that?” Margaret looked directly at her.

  “Emily didn’t like the idea. When class was over, she called me a couple of bad names, and asked me how much money you gave to Mrs. Merriwether to make me a section leader.”

  Margaret’s jaw dropped. “My goodness. Sounds like she’s afraid of you.”

  I remembered how sour Emily’s stomach smelled this morning. Margaret had that right. What in dog heaven was Emily afraid of? Darcy wouldn’t hurt her.

  Sarcasm tinged Darcy’s voice. “She thinks because she’s the mayor’s daughter she should have everything she wants, and nobody else should have anything unless she approves it. What a baby.” Dismissing Emily with a shrug, she slid her backpack off her shoulders and dropped it on the flagstones, “My classes are cool, I think. I have to come up with a year-long project for Mrs. Gorsky in social studies.” She kissed her mother. “How was your day?”

  Margaret frowned and pointed a finger at Buster and me. “Your dogs escaped. Did you shut the door good when you left for school this morning?”

  Darcy’s face turned pink, “I thought I did.”

  Pushing my head against the fence, I whimpered. “It isn’t Darcy’s fault, Margaret.”

  Margaret patted Darcy’s shoulder. “All right. Tomorrow, I’ll lock the door behind you. Susan’s mother got a citation because Jazzy apparently wandered into a supermarket and ran off with a pot roast. Your father would have a fit if that happened to Buster and Belle.”

  Buster and I lowered our tails. “I’ll never run with Jazzy again,” he said.

  “We were lucky,” I replied.

  “When did you talk to Mrs. Krebbs?” Darcy pushed hair out of her eyes.

  Margaret laughed. “This morning at the library. She works there. I went in to interview for the aide job.”

  Darcy put her fingers to her lips. “Did you get it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cool,” she whooped. “You’ll probably see Susan. She’s going to work with the Reading Education Assistance Dogs program at the library for her social studies project. Jazzy’ll help kids learn to read.”

  Jazzy helping kids learn to read? I touched my nose to Buster’s ear. “She’ll run away with the books.”

  Margaret folded her arms. “I’ll be working with the therapy dogs and their handlers.” Chuckling, she looked at us. “Reading therapy might be a good activity for Belle and Buster to get into.”

  I stared at Buster. “Holy bones. How could you and I teach children to read?”

  With a smile, Margaret opened our pen. “Would you like to learn about the reading therapy dog program, Darcy?”

  Darcy bent and scratched our heads. “Sure. I think Susan’s neat. We could both do the same kind of project for social studies. Besides, Belle’s impossible when she isn’t occupied. I bet she was behind today’s escape.”

  Wait a minute. Jazzy opened the door. But okay, I walked through it. Sighing, I lowered my ears.

  Margaret patted me. “I have the website of the organization that registers therapy dogs. It’s called Pet Partners. You can email them tonight.”

  Buster and I looked at each other. What had our game this morning gotten us into?

  * * *

  We found out a few dark times later as Margaret and Darcy sat on the sofa in the fireplace burrow and opened a brown package that had come in the mail.

  “It’s the Pet Partner’s training manual.” Opening the book, Darcy held the page so Margaret and she could both read it.

  After a bit, Darcy said, “Looks like Belle and Buster’ll have to know basic obedience and demonstrate they can stay calm in all kinds of situations.”

  I raised my ears. The obedience part would be easy as eating a dog biscuit, but what kinds of conditions did I need to stay calm in? If I had to go in a car, staying calm would be tough.

  Otherwise, I’d enjoy showing off how I could obey. Back in Illinois, I’d passed my Canine Good Citizen exam with a flying tail.

  Rubbing my neck, Darcy glanced at Buster, who lay beside me. “I don’t think Belle will have any trouble passing the tests. Who knows about Buster?”

  He opened one eye, thumped his tail once on the floor and dozed off again.

  A frown creased Darcy’s brow. “I’d better be able to depend on you, Belle, or I’ll flunk the social studies class.”

  Buster opened an eye again. “Please, Belle,” he murmured. “Take this project on. I don’t want it.”

  I pressed my whiskers into Darcy’s hand. “This will be a liver flavored treat. I like new challenges,” I said to Buster. If Darcy needed me to sit and listen to kids read, I’d adapt to the task, just like Margaret adapted to her job situation.

  * * *

  Or would I adjust? Many sun times later, Buster and I trotted down the sidewalk with Darcy making yet another practice run on ‘sit,’ ‘stay,’ and ‘heel.’ If I had a bone for each loop we’d completed through the neighborhood, the mound would reach the moon.

  The aroma of sweets drifted from under a bush near Susan’s den. A vanilla cream cookie lay in that evergreen and I didn’t dare grab it, because I had to prove I could leave food alone for the stupid therapy dog test. I already knew not to eat stuff lying around. Why couldn’t I learn something new? The smell of sugar ticked my nose, and I swallowed drool.

  The door of Susan’s den opened and Jazzy burst out. Racing to the bush, she snapped up the treat.

  Fleas on her! The impudent mutt. How much longer would we have to be out here? Sighing, I glanced at the sun. It gleamed pale in a soft blue sky, and no longer burned the earth. The cool time must have arrived while we paraded around and around the streets, but how could I have noticed?

  A corner came into view, and I cocked my ear for Darcy’s next command.

  “Belle, Buster, sit,” she called.

  I dropped to my haunches. Buster crouched into a half sit. Darcy jerked his leash. He settled on the pavement.

  “Heel,” Darcy said heading down the block leading to the Robinsons’ street.

  Somewhere not too far away, roller skates clicked, and I glanced toward the sound. Katherine Robinson glided toward us, her hair ruffling on the breeze.

  We met in mid-block, and a shy smile played on Katherine’s face. She looked at Darcy. “Can I pet your dogs?”

  With a tiny lightning burst smell of surprise, Darcy nodded.

  We both dropped to our haunches, ears up and noses wiggling. What would Katherine do?

  She patted the top of our heads, almost burying me in her snapdragon scent. Buster sneezed.

  “My dad said I don’t have to be afraid of dogs,” Katherine said. “So I’m not.” She looked up at Darcy. “Your dogs are nice. You’re nice, too.”

  “Thank you,” Darcy smiled and waited.

  I smelled the metallic odor of alertness replacing the lightning.

  Katherine dropped her hand to her side. “My sister got off crutches today. But she can’t play soccer yet. She’s jealous cuz she thinks you sing better than her.”

  Darcy said nothing.

  Katherine stood silent for about as long as it takes to eat a dog biscuit, then stepped away from us. “Bye.” Lifting her hand, she swerved around Darcy and whizzed down the sidewalk, clicks growing fainter.

  I craned my neck to watch her go. What a sweet kid. Smart, too. Where had her flea brain of a sister come from? What did Emily’s feelings mean for Darcy?

  * * *

  I didn’t have time to wonder. Darcy marched us around that flea-bitten block for what seemed like a dog’s age. We crashed onto our blankets when we got home.

  If aching feet weren’t enough of a skunk pile, our vet poked us, stuck needles in our scruffs, and cleaned our teeth, to meet the Pet Partners’ requirements for therapy dogs.

  Finally, one sun time when paper turkeys lined
windows and Darcy talked about Thanksgiving, we drove to a place named Albuquerque and stood on a street.

  “Okay, guys, time to do the therapy test.” Darcy held our leashes.

  Thrusting out my forepaws, I lifted my hips and stretched. During the trip from Appleton, I’d kept last night’s dinner in my stomach. Maybe I’d get points on the test for that.

  Margaret started up a walk. “The test’s in the building just in front of us.”

  Tail high and ears erect, I pranced toward the den eager to show what I could do.

  Buster ambled beside me, tongue hanging out and tail wagging, as if he strolled in a park. I had to admit even when he didn’t like doing something, he managed to have fun at it.

  Margaret opened the door to a large den, and a kennel full of smells greeted us: the sheep aroma of a border collie, the sausage odor of a dachshund. A number of mutts smelled like pungent chili or that sweet wood Darcy called pinion.

  The dog odors mixed with people smells ranging from heavy oil to warm, fried bread.

  Margaret stopped us at a table. She introduced Darcy and herself to a lady with a broad, pleasant face and dark hair pulled back in a bun. Extending a brown hand, the lady took the folder Margaret carried, opened it, looked at us and smiled at Darcy.

  “All right, you and your mom can do the tests together, since you have to be 16 to do it alone. Go sit down.” She nodded at chairs grouped to one side of the room.

  Smelling like lightning, Darcy stroked both of us. We lay down at her feet. Pulling a notebook out of her jacket pocket, she looked around.

  Margaret raised her brow in question.

  Darcy tapped her pencil. “I’ve got to keep a log of what I do for my project,” she said. “I want to describe the room. Let’s see, white walls, beige vinyl floor, about ten people and their dogs here...”