A Tale of Two Tails (9 page)

“Hank, look,” Mason called out. “Cheerio's doing it.”

Sure enough, there was Cheerio on the grassy area, sitting on his hind legs, waving with his right paw.

“I'm going to give him a treat,” Mason said.

Mason opened the baggy to get out a chunk of soylami. Unfortunately, my mom's soylami has a powerful odor, which made its way over to Ryan Shimozato's Great Dane's nose. Before you could say “whoa, boy,” that horse-dog took off across the grass, pulling Ryan and his posse like they were riding a sled through the winter snow. The Great Dane snatched the entire baggy from Mason's hands, and in one swipe of his humongous tongue, the soylami and the baggy disappeared down his throat.

The commotion was too much for Katherine, who is used to the peace and quiet and boredom of Emily's room. She let out a hiss that sounded like the air going out of a truck tire, and took off across the concrete. When she reached the first tree, she climbed up the trunk, and hung onto the bark with her nine-inch claws. My belt was still hanging off her neck, but she was too far up the tree for Emily to grab it. Katherine was so nervous that she just clung there, hissing and staring at the sky.

“Now look what you've done,” Emily shouted at me. “Katherine is having a panic attack.”

“How can you tell?” I shot back at her. “To me, it just looks like an ugly attack.”

“That's not funny, Hank. Our entire training session is ruined because of you.”

“If we're really lucky, she'll stay in that tree for the next six years.”

“Yeah, this whole mess is all your wiener dog's fault,” McKelty said. “He's a menace to society.”

“Hey, look!” Mason shouted. “Cheerio's rolling over. He's really smart. Now he's sitting up. Now he's rolling over again.”

Cheerio must have given the Great Dane the idea, because suddenly he started rolling over and over in the grass. He looked like a blue whale, which is supposed to be the largest mammal on earth. As he rolled on the grass, he came dangerously close to Fang, who didn't stand a chance if that Great Dane decided to roll over on him.

“Okay, okay!” Officer Quinn said, trying to capture Fang to get him out of the way. “Everyone put your animals on a leash. This has gotten way out of hand.”

“Don't blame my fabulously talented dog,” McKelty said. “It's all the wiener dog's fault. He's the one who took off after my dog.”

Cheerio didn't like the sound of that at all, and I can't blame him. McKelty's been insulting me ever since I've been in preschool, and sometimes you want to really go after that big bully. Which is exactly what Cheerio did. He lowered his whole body, which was already pretty darn low, into the grass, and stalked McKelty like a lion stalking his prey.

“Don't do it, Cheerio,” I warned. “This is not the time or place.”

Cheerio looked at me, then looked at Officer Quinn. I could tell he was trying to figure out what his chances were.

“You wouldn't dare, short stuff,” McKelty said to him.

Uh-oh. The one thing you don't want to do is to call my dachshund short. He's very sensitive on the subject.

Cheerio leaped into the air like SuperDog and landed right on McKelty's shin.

“Protect me, Fang,” McKelty said.

Fang, brave protector that he was, immediately jumped onto Officer Quinn's shoe, raised his hind leg, and let loose a yellow river. Or maybe, since he was just a tiny Chihuahua, you'd call it more of a stream.

That did it. Officer Quinn had one very wet shoe and that seemed to make him angry. Cheerio just stood in front of Fang, barking at him like a maniac. If you could understand dog talk, I'll bet you would have heard him saying, “Don't call me short, shortie!” But if you didn't understand dog talk, it just sounded like Cheerio had gone nuts.

Officer Quinn reached down and picked up Cheerio, who immediately licked his face, trying to make nice.

It didn't work.

“You've caused a lot of trouble here,” he said to Cheerio. “And now you've got to come with me down to the police station.”

I couldn't believe it!

“You're arresting him?”

“I have to take him in, Hank. Disorderly canine conduct.”

“But, he didn't mean to do anything bad. He just has trouble focusing. And following directions.”

“Yeah,” Frankie chimed in. “Underneath, he's really a good dog.”

“Who tries really hard,” Ashley agreed.

“I say take him in,” McKelty said. “We're all safer with that mutt off the streets.”

Mason jumped in front of McKelty with his hands in the T. rex attack position.

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrr,” he roared in his fiercest, loudest voice.

“I'm not scared of you, kid,” McKelty said. “Go play with your mommy.”

“That's an excellent idea,” Mason's mom said, taking Mason by the hand. “I don't want him around a bad-mannered boy like you.”

As Mason and his mom left the park, I reached out and gave Cheerio a pet. Poor guy, he didn't even know he had caused any trouble.

“I wish you were coming home with me, Cheerio,” I said to him gently.

“I'm sorry, kid,” Officer Quinn said to me. “Your dog's got to come with me to the station.”

He held Cheerio in his arms, turned, and walked out of the park.

All I could do was follow him.

Oh, no!

My mind was racing.

My little Cheerio. My puppy. My pet. My pal. My doggy vacuum cleaner.

In jail?

What was going to happen to him? Would he be sentenced to life behind bars? Would he have to eat prison meals? Well, it's got to be better than my mom's food. But still, he'd be locked up! When were visiting hours? Would they let him have his little navy blue terry-cloth bed? Or his squeaky kangaroo?

Oh, Cheerio. I have to help you.

I couldn't let Cheerio out of my sight, so I followed very closely behind Officer Quinn. I didn't think he even knew I was there until we got to the station, when he held the door open for me so I could go in first.

“I have a great idea,” I said, before I went into the station. “Why don't I just take Cheerio home so you can get on with the business of protecting and serving.”

“I'm sorry, young man,” Officer Quinn said. “A complaint has been filed by one of our citizens.”

“Wait. You're calling Nick McKelty a citizen? Of what? The United States of Bullies?”

Officer Quinn didn't answer. He just went inside the station, put Cheerio down on the top of a counter, and asked the officer sitting behind the desk to help him start the booking process.

“The booking process?” I said, following Officer Quinn to the counter. “You mean Cheerio is a criminal?”

“Don't panic, kid,” said the officer behind the desk. She had a blond ponytail and was chewing a big wad of bubble gum. “Fingerprinting him, or in his case, pawprinting him, just gives us a record of who's been in here.”

I looked at the desk officer and pleaded with her.

“Please, Officer . . . Kras . . . Kras . . . Krascoz ... I'm sorry I can't make out all those letters on your name badge. I'm not such a great reader.”

“That's all right, sweetie,” she said. “A lot of people have trouble with my name. Why don't you just call me Officer K and we'll leave it at that.”

“Thank you so much, Officer K.”

She was really nice. I think Cheerio liked her, too. I could tell because he jumped off the counter and into her lap and started licking her cheek. Or maybe he just liked the smell of her bubble gum. He is a sucker for anything watermelon-flavored.

“Whoa there, little guy,” she said. “I can't socialize with the suspects.”

“Officer K, please hand the dog over to me,” Officer Quinn said.

Officer Quinn opened up an ink pad. He took Cheerio in his arms, held his front paw, and rolled it across the inky surface. I was watching Cheerio very carefully and I could see him getting agitated. He let out a low growl and his upper lip curled into a snarl.

“Don't even think about it, boy,” I whispered to him. “You better be on your best behavior. And I mean it.”

Cheerio settled down and let Officer Quinn press his inky paw on a sheet of paper. He didn't make a move when they did his other front paw, either. As a matter of fact, his curled lip had relaxed. I guess he was getting used to being in jail.

Or at least, that's what I thought. But was I ever wrong.

That whole time, he was just waiting for his opportunity to make a break. As soon as Officer Quinn turned his back, Cheerio leaped off the counter and took off running through the station house. It wasn't hard to find him, though, because everywhere he went, he left two big black paw prints on the mint-green linoleum floor. When we finally caught him, he had jumped into a wastebasket next to the water cooler. I figured that out because the paw prints stopped right there.

“Cheerio, get out of that wastebasket,” I commanded him. “You're just making things worse.”

He didn't listen. He tried to burrow into the crumpled-up papers and empty coffee cups.

“You can't hide from the law, pup,” Officer Quinn said. He was laughing by this time, which shows you that basically he is a really nice guy.

Cheerio peeked out from over the top of the wastebasket. His long ears flopped over the side, and all you could see were his big brown eyes and his black wet nose.

“Aww,” said Officer K. “How could such a cute fellow like you cause so much trouble?”

Officer Quinn reached in and lifted Cheerio from the wastebasket.

“Excuse me, Officer,” I said, “but doesn't he get to make one phone call?”

“Your dog is talented enough to dial the phone?”

“No, I was going to do it for him.”

“Here, sweetie,” Officer K said. “You can use my phone.”

I went over to her desk and picked up the receiver. As much I didn't want to do it, I knew I had to call my dad. Cheerio was in trouble, which meant I was in trouble. We needed my dad, and that's all there was to it.

I started to dial our number, when suddenly, my mind went totally blank.

I took a breath and went with my best guess. The phone was ringing, and it sounded like our ring. That was good.

“Hello. Baja Fresh,” the voice said on the other end of the phone.

That was bad.

“Hello. Uh . . . Stanley Zipzer isn't there by any chance, is he? Maybe ordering a beef-and-cheese burrito?”

The guy on the other end of the phone must have covered the mouthpiece because I could hear his muffled yell.

“Anybody here named Stanley? With the last name of Zipzer? Sorry, kid. There's a Jimmy and a Salvador here. Salvador's got the taco grande. Does that sound like somebody you know?”

“No, sir, sorry. But I hope he enjoys his meal.”

I hung up the phone and almost started to cry. That was our one call, and my stupid brain blew it. It's just like my brain to give up when I need it the most.

I looked at Cheerio. He seemed to be enjoying the delicious smell of Officer K's watermelon gum.

That's just great
, I thought.
He's sniffing up a storm and having a fine old time. He doesn't even have a clue.