My Dog Doesn't Like Me (5 page)

Chapter Twelve

In lots of made-up stories that I read, the problems seem to get solved really quickly. In a make-believe story, I would have woken up the next morning and somehow Ugly would instantly look up to me as his leader. But that's not real life.

What happened was this: I woke up the next day feeling calm. I knew I wasn't all alone in trying to get Ugly to like me. Grandad understood my problem, so I'd ask him to help me.

It was a Sunday morning, a few days back. I had dressed quickly and then gone to have breakfast. Ugly was under the kitchen table. As I walked in, he thumped his tail in a welcoming sort of way.

‘Morning, Ugly,' I said. As I bent down to give him a pat, I realised he had probably said hello to me quite a lot of the time, but I was in the habit of only noticing what Ugly did wrong. Maybe I should take more notice of when Ugly did things right. But for the moment, I needed to concentrate on figuring out how to be his leader. After eating my porridge, which Grandad makes for the family every morning, I went down the back to look for Grandad. He was tidying up his tools in the shed.

‘Hey, Grandad,' I said, ‘can you tell me more about how to be Ugly's leader?'

‘Sure thing. You can help me hang these tools on the shadow board. We'll talk as we work.'

I started to pass Grandad tools as he asked for them. He hung them on hooks on a pegboard he'd built on the wall.

‘First off,' said Grandad, ‘if you're the one who looks after your dog, he will naturally see you as the important one. Looking after means feeding, grooming, walking, playing and training.'

‘I already do a bit of that,' I started to say.

‘Listen up,' said Grandad. ‘It's the same old story for lots of youngsters. It's the mum who does most of the hard yakka.'

‘So?'

‘So, unless Ugly sees you doing most of the work, this talk of ours is going to be pointless. Pass that hammer, please.'

To be honest, the word ‘work' sounded boring. Having to do jobs, even stuff like learning tables, at a certain time every single day isn't my thing. Mums are good at it, not kids.

‘I've got school and all that. I'm pretty busy,' I said.

‘Are you fair dinkum?' Grandad was just standing there staring at me with his eyes all big. He snorted in a cross way and pointed at the door. ‘If you're busy, what does that make your poor overworked mum? Out you go! You're wasting my time.'

That scared me. I really wanted Grandad's help. I realised I was skating on thin ice.

I held my hands up, like people do in films when a gun is pointed at them. ‘Kidding! I'm listening, Grandad. Just tell me what I need to do.'

‘For starters, you should write up a timetable. You'll have to ask Mum what sort of chores she does for Ugly. When you've done that, come back and we'll talk some more.'

I found Mum. She was giving Ugly's grooming brush and comb a wash in the laundry bucket. I wrote down everything she said. I already knew most of it, but making the list made me take notice. What she did for Ugly made me feel bad. This is my list of Mum's chores:

• •
  Take Ugly for a little poo walk early each morning;
  
• •
  After getting him to sit, give him breakfast and afterwards wash his bowls;
  
• •
  Refill his water bowl;
  
• •
  Lay Ugly on a mat and comb and brush his fur;
  
• •
  Shake out Ugly's bedding;
  
• •
  Clean up most of his messes/house-train him;
  
• •
  Take him for a long evening walk and give him his evening meal;
  
• •
  Every few weeks, give Ugly a bath and wash his bedding;
  
• •
  Give Ugly health checks and take him for vaccinations.
  

And all of this was before and after she went to work. Saying I had school was a weak excuse.

Next, I started on my timetable. Trying to fit in the morning jobs meant I had to wake up earlier. Then I added the evening jobs and realised I'd have to cut back on my free time if I was going to get everything done.

I read my new timetable and sensed something was missing. What had Grandad said you had to do for a dog? Then I remembered. It was feeding, grooming, walking, playing and training. I looked at the incredibly long list of things Mum did for Ugly. She fed, groomed, walked and watched Ugly's health. But I was right – two things
were
still missing. They were things Mum had not had enough time to do – train Ugly properly and play with him. I felt a light bulb go off in my head. I knew why Ugly had chewed up my Parthenon project. He was bored.

Chapter Thirteen

‘How do you make a dog un-bored?' I asked Grandad at breakfast the next morning.

Mum and Dad had already left for work, although Gretchen was rushing through the kitchen to get her car keys off the wall hook. She heard what I said and joined in.

‘Try having a personality change, Ec. That might help.'

‘Very funny. Ha, Ha,' I said in an unfunny voice. I surprised myself by speaking this way. It was better than having a sook. For once, Gretchen didn't have a nasty comeback.

‘It's actually an interesting question,' said Grandad, taking a gulp of hot black tea and a bite of marmalade toast. ‘And, Eric, you've put your finger on one of the keys to encouraging a dog to willingly obey you.'

‘Likely!' said Gretchen, throwing her keys in her handbag.

‘Your words exactly, Gretchen,' said Grandad. ‘More than likely. A certainty. Naturally, all dogs love playing, but an intelligent dog like Ugly also enjoys learning and communicating. In a nutshell, if someone plays with and trains Ugly, he will not be bored.'

Gretchen tossed her head in a snooty way. ‘Well, bored dogs are low on my list. I have more important things to do, like get to work and talk to human beings.' She rushed out of the room.

Grandad said we'd talk more at the end of the day after school. ‘Now put your timetable under one of those magnets on the fridge, and get that dog fed. You do your bit, and I'll spend the day thinking about what Ugly and you need to do.'

It was comforting, knowing that a grown-up cared enough about my problems to spend a day thinking.

At school, when I told Hugh and Milly about what Grandad was saying, they both agreed I was lucky to have a grandfather to give me advice.

Hugh didn't have a grandfather alive. ‘But I have a lovely grandma. She taught me to knit,' he said.

‘Grandparents can teach you useful things.' Both lots of Milly's grandparents lived in other states. ‘We chat online,' said Milly. ‘I sometimes play a word game called Scrabble with one of my grandfathers.'

‘Yes,' I said, ‘grandparents are special. I wonder what Grandad will say makes a dog un-bored?'

‘Spending time with your dog,' said Hugh. ‘It was somewhere on that list when we did the research. I'm always wanting my dad to spend time with me.'

‘Me, too,' said Milly. ‘Dads seem to be at work a lot.'

‘And mums, too,' I said. ‘They seem tired and worried a lot of the time; that's why grandparents are good. They're too old to go to work, but not too old to spend time with you.'

When I got home after school, Grandad handed me a fruit juice and a muffin. ‘As soon as you've had your afternoon tea, you need to read your timetable and get on with your dog jobs.'

‘What about your ideas for making Ugly un-bored?' I asked.

‘Don't worry, I haven't forgotten. My first idea is that if you're the one feeding and exercising the mutt, he'll be easier for you to train. Easier to train means he won't be bored. First things first. What does your timetable say?'

I looked at the timetable on the fridge:

‘
After school –
 
4 pm. Feed Ugly. Groom Ugly. Walk Ugly.
'

‘Boring,' I said. I folded my arms on the kitchen table and dropped my head on them. ‘I'm tired. It's been a long day at school. Even longer than usual.'

‘That makes no sense,' said Grandad. ‘How can a school day be longer?'

Oh, dear. I'd said too much. I tried to get Grandad off track. ‘Nice muffin,' I said. ‘Did you make it?'

‘You know I'm the muffin king round here. Stop stalling. Why was your day long?'

‘I was kept in at recess. Unfairly.'

‘How so?'

‘Because I failed my seven times tables test.'

‘Why did you fail?'

‘No time to practise.'

‘Why no time?'

‘I'm too busy.' I waved my hand at Ugly's care timetable stuck on the fridge.

‘Busy!' said Grandad. He didn't actually
say
it. He snorted like a horse. ‘Now listen up. Training a dog. Doing schoolwork. Learning tables. Being a sports star. Playing a musical instrument. It's the same thing. Disciple and routine. You start looking after your dog properly, every day, even when it's boring, even when you're tired and don't feel like it, even when there's something better to do. Then we'll talk.'

Talk about cranky. How come I thought Grandad was the nicest one in my family?

So I fed Ugly. Then I made him lie on his mat while I combed him and gathered up all the clumpish bits of hair and put them in the bin. Then I walked him.

Chapter Fourteen

The walk wasn't any better than usual. It was a drag. That's a pun. There are two meanings for
drag
, see? Drag, meaning really, really boring, and drag as in pull. Ugly tugged on his leash and pulled me along. His nose would find an interesting smell and he'd drag me around, back, forth, left, right, round in circles. Worst of all, on our way back from the park, Ugly met Penelope, the ginger cat who lives next door at Mrs Manchester's. It was sunbaking on Mrs Manchester's low brick fence. For the squillionth time on one of our walks, I lost control.

Ugly flew after the cat. I hung onto his leash. If I could draw well (which I can't) I'd have Ugly moving like one of those Japanese bullet trains and me in the air behind him, clutching his leash – wind pushing the hair back off my face and my legs flying straight out behind like a flag in a storm.

I expected the cat to run away, but it stayed put. It had attitude. Its back went into a spiky arch the shape of Sydney Harbour Bridge. It spat, snarled, and clawed at Ugly's face. Ugly put his tail between his legs and backed off for a moment. Then his tail started wagging. He turned his head to the side and raised his little brown eyebrows up and down, as if he wanted to ask the cat a question. The cat hunched low. Ugly was smiling, and then he started yapping. He was glad the cat was standing up to him.

I thought Ugly might want a playmate. But I instantly changed my mind. Ugly growled and pulled his lips back in a nasty, wolfish way. He leapt at the cat, which shot up into the air, as if it had been thrown straight upwards. Penelope did this amazing mid-air twist and the next minute she was off, tearing towards her house. Ugly tried to jump the brick fence to follow the cat, but I hung on with all my strength.

By the time we got home, my right arm was nearly pulled out of its socket. Ugly trotted along beside me, pretending he didn't know I was upset. I call that emotional bullying. We learnt about that at school. It is when, for example, like Ugly, you mean to hurt someone's feelings and then you make it even worse by ignoring the person.

If Ugly could talk, he would have said, ‘It was just a bit of fun. What's the fuss?'

I knew he'd say that, so I answered him out loud, ‘You're a bully. I'm dobbing.'

What did Grandad say when he heard all this? ‘It'll get better. Stick at it.'

But things got worse. The phone went. I heard Grandad saying, ‘Sorry … yes … of course. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again …'

After putting the phone down, Grandad turned to me. ‘That's old Mrs Manchester. She's very upset about her cat being traumatised by your dog. I don't want to hear a complaint from her again.'

So once again it's ‘your dog' when Ugly does something wrong.

I don't like Ugly, and I don't like my grandfather.

Chapter Fifteen

This is Ugly's last chance, of course. It's a long last chance. Hugh and Milly say I should stick at what Grandad has told me to do, so I've been trying. I've been doing most of the feeding and a bit of grooming and walking.

I promised Grandad I'd do this for two whole weeks, and I've usually kept to my promise, except I'm a bit forgetful. My family doesn't seem to appreciate the effort I'm making.

Dad says ‘forgetful' is an excuse for ‘don't want to'. Mum says, ‘Parents can't pick and choose when they'll look after their children. It should be the same with you and your dog.' Gretchen usually says something to my parents like, ‘I keep telling you he's spoilt.'

There have been some improvements with Ugly. Slower than a snail, mind you. He now knows it's me who mostly does the feeding. A few times when he's wanted his dinner, he's found me wherever I am and nudged me with his nose, or he's sat next to where I'm sitting and stuck his paw on my knee, staring hard at me with those big brown eyes of his. I think he's trying to hypnotise
me
now.

The best thing is that Ugly now greets me when I get home from school. He can hear me as soon as I come in the front door. He bounds up to me, barking, smiling and whacking me with his tail.

I'm also becoming more alert to Ugly's naughty tricks. The other day I prevented a crime Ugly almost committed. I was doing my maths homework at my bedroom desk when out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark shadow moving very slowly – almost gliding like a shark does. It was Ugly, creeping towards the door with something in his mouth. I slowly turned my head a little more. Ugly had one of my runners in his jaws. He didn't know I could see him. What amazed me was his sneakiness. Ugly knew he was being a thief. He knew he shouldn't be pinching my things, but he had it all planned out. Just before he got to the door, he started to speed up.

‘Stop!' I said firmly.

Ugly dropped down. He still had the runner in his mouth, but he had a guilty expression. He didn't want to look me in the face. I walked up and took the runner away. Normally, Ugly would want to make a game of this and hold on tight. But not this time. He let go of my shoe and then he slunk away. This shows that Ugly is starting to see me as his master.

Ugly's failed shoe robbery got me thinking. Ugly is clever. He thinks things through. He plans stuff. He knew he needed to move slowly so that I didn't notice, and then he timed it so he knew when to make a dash for freedom. When he was caught red-handed (or in Ugly's case, red-mouthed), he looked guilty and embarrassed, just like I'd be. If I was Ugly's schoolteacher, I'd say what Miss Jolly said about me in the mid-year report:

‘Ugly has some challenges with completing learning tasks at home. Nevertheless, he has enormous potential if he can be more disciplined.'

I liked the word ‘potential'. I looked it up after I got my report from Miss Jolly. It means,
a possibility or likelihood of becoming something in the future.
So on this thirteenth day, I can see that Ugly does have potential. It is possible for him to learn to obey me, but I'm stuck as to how to go further.

Walks are still horrible. Ugly pretends to be good until he sees something he wants to chase. My arms are getting stronger from hanging onto the leash, but I can think of better ways to build my muscles. How do I cure a dog who thinks he's a hunter?

Most nights, after his walk, Ugly lies in his usual spot under the kitchen table. He falls asleep on his side, his legs making running movements and with little
woof
sounds coming out of his mouth. Even in his dreams, Ugly is chasing enemies.

While I was in the middle of writing my book tonight, Grandad popped his head around the door. ‘Get back quickly from school tomorrow, okay?'

‘Okay,' I said. ‘Grandad, do you realise that right now it is Ugly's second last day of his third chance?'

‘I do, indeed,' he said.

So now I'm sitting up in bed, writing away. I don't feel a bit sleepy. Firstly, I want to know what Grandad has up his sleeve. Secondly, and much more importantly, I want Ugly to pass his third test on the last day, but I can't see how I can do any more for him. Although Ugly is still annoying, I'm starting to like my dog.