Rocky (2 page)

Lizzie wanted to jump up and down. She wanted to shout. She wanted to dance around the room. This was so exciting! But she wanted to hear every word of what Mom was saying, so instead she plopped down on the floor and pulled Buddy into her lap. She buried her face in his neck as she listened to Mom’s half of the conversation.

“The puppy is a bulldog?” Mom asked. She knit her brow and nodded. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, I see,” she said. “And so you want to find him a new home.”

Him! Lizzie grinned. The puppy was a boy. A boy bulldog. She couldn’t wait to meet him. He must be totally adorable.

“Well, our family fosters puppies, and we thought maybe —” Mom stopped, listening. “You would? Right now?” She put a hand over the receiver and turned to Lizzie. “He said he’d like us to come meet Rocky,” she said.

“Rocky?” Lizzie jumped to her feet. “His name’s Rocky? That’s so totally, completely, absolutely perfect for a bulldog. Yes, tell him yes! Let’s go!” Now she couldn’t help it. She
had
to dance. She twirled and spun all around Mom’s chair. “Rocky! Rocky! Rocky the bulldog!” she sang. Buddy jumped up again and danced around with her, wagging his tail and grinning a doggy grin.

Mom frowned at her and put a hand over her free ear so she could hear what the person on the other end was saying. “Okay, so it’s the second left, then up the hill, and your store is on the right side of the street?” She reached for a pen and scribbled down the directions. “Well,” she said finally, “I guess we can be there in” — she checked her watch — “about half an hour? Will that be okay?”

Lizzie was about to burst. And when Mom hung up, she did. “Rocky!” she yelled, loudly enough that Buddy got all excited and started to bark.

Mom put both hands over her ears. “Lizzie,” she said. “I can’t hear myself think. Calm down.”

“Calm down?” said Lizzie. “How can I calm down? We’re getting a bulldog puppy! Right now!”

Mom smiled. “Tell you what. Go downstairs and take Buddy out in the backyard before we go. Run around a little and blow off some of that steam, would you? I just have to write one more e-mail. And I’ll try to call Dad to let him know what’s up. Then we’ll go.”

Lizzie clattered down the stairs with Buddy bounding beside her. She banged out the back door. “Whoopee!” she yelled as she and Buddy tore around the yard.

Mom was right, as usual. Running around helped, and Lizzie did feel a little calmer by the time she climbed into the van and buckled her seat belt. “So, where are we going?” she asked. “Where does Rocky live?”

“He lives at a store,” Mom said. “Albert’s Electronics. The man I talked to — his name’s Albert Lowell — owns the place.”

“A store?” Lizzie asked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Mr. Lowell lives at the store, too,” Mom explained. “I guess he has an apartment upstairs. But the point is, he got Rocky because he felt he needed a guard dog. Some stores near him have been burglarized recently. But —”

Lizzie laughed. “I bet I can guess!” she said. Lizzie prided herself on knowing everything there was to know about dogs. Every night she studied her “Dog Breeds of the World” poster, and she practically had it memorized. “Bulldogs might look mean and ferocious, but they’re not. Stubborn, maybe. But not scary. Most of them are actually sweet little pooches who love to be around people. I hear they can be real clowns, too.”

Mom looked at Lizzie in the rearview mirror. “You really are something else, my girl,” she said. “You hit the nail right on the head. That’s exactly what Albert said. He said Rocky wouldn’t bark at a stranger if the person were carrying three TVs and a stereo system out of the store.”

“So he wants to get rid of him?” Lizzie asked. “That seems mean, just because he’s not cut out to be a guard dog.” She felt bad for Rocky.

“I guess Albert also found out that he’s not really a dog person,” Mom said. “He’s going to install an alarm system instead. When I told him we foster puppies, he jumped at the chance to give Rocky to someone who could find him the right home.” Mom squinted up at a road sign. “Does that say ‘Terrace Street’?” she said. “I think this is where we turn.”

Lizzie didn’t answer. She was thinking about this guy Albert. Why did people get dogs if they weren’t going to love them and keep them forever?

A few minutes later, Mom pulled up in front of a yellow building. “This is it,” she said. “There’s the sign: Albert’s Electronics.”

Lizzie folded her arms. “I’m going to wait out here,” she said.

Mom turned to look at her. “What? I thought you’d be dying to meet Rocky.”

“I am,” Lizzie said. “But I’m not so sure I want to meet this guy Albert. I feel kind of mad at him, and I might not be able to hide it. He acts like a dog is like a CD player, or a toaster, or — or just something you can toss away if it’s not living up to your expectations.”

Mom nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I understand. I’ll go in on my own.”

Lizzie waited in the van, arms folded, feeling angrier by the minute. But her anger fell away when she saw Mom come out the door, carrying a white puppy with brown and black splotches. Lizzie threw open the door of the van. “Rocky!” she said.

The puppy looked up at her, his funny flat face wrinkled with curiosity.

Lizzie held open her arms, and Mom leaned in to put Rocky on her lap. The puppy was surprisingly heavy, and his short fur was soft. His head seemed huge, and his droopy jowls made him look like a wise old man. He had a big, flat, wrinkly face; broad shoulders; a wide, muscular chest; and short, stocky legs. His stubby tail wagged hopefully as he looked up at Lizzie. He snorted and licked her hand as she petted him. He was a funny-looking little thing, just adorable. “Hello, you silly boy,” Lizzie murmured as she petted him. Rocky sighed and settled into her lap.

The puppy was asleep by the time Mom buckled in and started the van.

And he was snoring loudly by the time she turned back onto Terrace Street.

“You know,” Mom said, as she drove toward home, “this Albert person really was not such a bad guy. I think he just got in over his head. He had no idea how much responsibility it is to own a dog.”

Lizzie put a hand on Rocky’s head. “Still,” she said. “Didn’t he care at all about where Rocky ended up?”

“He did,” Mom said. “He told me he was planning to have a long talk with anybody who called. He was going to ask the right questions, about whether they’d had a dog before and how they planned to care for a puppy. All that stuff.”

Lizzie sniffed and looked out the window. “Well, that’s good.” She still wasn’t so sure about Albert Lowell, but what did it matter anymore? “We’ve got you now,” she whispered into Rocky’s little rosebud-shaped ear. He snorted in his sleep, and his ear twitched. Lizzie smiled. Now the Petersons were fostering this puppy, and that meant they would keep him safe and sound and happy until they could find him the perfect forever home. “Right, Rocky?” Lizzie whispered again. Rocky answered with a long, loud snore.

When they pulled into the driveway, Dad’s red pickup was there, too. “They’re home,” said Lizzie. “Wait ’til everybody meets Rocky!” She made sure the puppy’s leash was clipped on, and led him out of the van and into the front yard.

Rocky snuffled and sniffed his way up the walk, stopping to investigate each blade of grass and every tulip. Lizzie tried to keep him moving, but Rocky was stubborn. And he was strong. He was not a big puppy, but he was all muscle. When Lizzie pulled on the leash, he just set his short, squat legs and pulled back harder.

Lizzie laughed. She could be stubborn, too. But for today, at least, she decided to let Rocky have his way. After all, it was his first day in a new place, with a new family. She stood patiently as he snorted and snuffled. His flat, wrinkly face was so cute, and she loved the way his jowls shook when he found an especially interesting smell.

The front door opened. “What have we here?” Dad asked, poking his head out. “Is this the famous Rocky that Mom called me about?”

“Rocky!” said Charles from behind Dad. He and the Bean pushed their way past their father and ran outside to meet the new puppy. Buddy followed them, running headlong toward Rocky, his tail wagging and his eyes bright.

Rocky looked up just in time to see them all coming at him. His eyes grew wide. He tilted his head at Lizzie, wrinkling his forehead.

Quickly, Lizzie scooped him up. “Slow down, guys,” she told her brothers. “Give him a chance to get to know you.” She tightened her arms around Rocky. He was awfully heavy to hold. In fact, he was sort of sliding down her legs. Charles zipped over to give him a boost.

“He’s cute,” said Charles. “What a funny face.”

The Bean reached up to pet Rocky. “Hi, uppy,” he said. “Nice uppy.”

“Easy,” Lizzie said. “Remember, he’s a new dog. We don’t really know him yet.” But she was just about positive that Rocky would never nip or growl at anybody. She’d only known him for a few minutes, but she could already tell he was a total pussycat. No wonder he had not worked out as a guard dog.

Buddy circled around Lizzie’s knees, panting with excitement. Rocky did not seem afraid, so with a sigh of relief, Lizzie let him back down. He and Buddy sniffed each other, tails wagging. Then Buddy put his front paws down and his rear end up and gave Rocky a big doggy grin.

Rocky lay down and rolled over onto his back, paddling his paws in the air. His jowls fell back so that it looked as if he wore a huge smile. Lizzie and the rest of her family cracked up. “That is hilarious,” said Charles.

Then Rocky rolled back over and ambled his bowlegged way on up the walk, continuing his sniffing and snuffling.

Dad grinned. “What a little tank,” he said. “He doesn’t look like the world’s most active dog.”

“No,” said Lizzie. “He’s sweet, though.”

Inside, everybody helped get Rocky settled. Charles set up the dog bed that they used for foster puppies, and Mom put out the extra food and water dishes. Lizzie and the Bean showed Rocky where the dog toys were kept in the basket in the living room. Rocky did not seem too interested in any of the stuffed toys, but he did sniff at a squeaky plastic hot dog. Then he turned and put one paw on the couch, ready to try to climb up.

“I don’t think so, champ,” said Dad, gently pushing him back down. “In this house, couches are for people.”

Rocky wrinkled his nose and looked up at Dad.

Lizzie laughed and called Rocky into the kitchen. “Come sit here with me, you silly,” she said, hauling him onto her lap. She needed to finish up her pen-pal letter and get it into the mail. She pulled her letter out of her notebook and began to copy it over. She used her best stationery, the notepaper Aunt Amanda had given her, with pictures of puppies around the borders. When she was done, she would address the envelope and put on a bunch of dog stickers.

Before she had even finished the first paragraph, Rocky was asleep on her lap.

“I wonder when we’ll get letters back from our pen pals,” said Lizzie on Monday afternoon.

“Daphne Drake already heard from hers,” Maria said. “She sent her pen pal her e-mail address, and they’ve been writing back and forth a bunch already.”

Lizzie wished she had thought of that. She was impatient for her first letter from Allyson.

School was over, and Lizzie and Maria were finishing up their dog-walking for the day. They were partners in a business called AAA Dynamic Dog Walkers, and it sure did keep them busy. Every day after school they headed out together to walk dogs. It took a while since they had a lot of clients. They could each handle two dogs at a time, though it wasn’t always easy. Every dog got at least a twenty-minute walk, and Lizzie also usually threw in some free training. She had taught three of the dogs to shake hands, and one of them was even learning how to roll over.

They had already walked Tank, Pickle, Atlas, and Molly, their most active and energetic charges. Then they’d taken Dottie the Dalmatian out; she didn’t get along as well with the other dogs. Plus, she was deaf and only responded to hand signals, so it was easier to walk her on her own.

Now they were walking Ginger, who Lizzie liked to call The World’s Pokiest Dog. Or rather, Maria was walking Ginger. Lizzie held Rocky’s leash. He needed a walk, too, and Lizzie had figured that Ginger was just about Rocky’s speed. Usually it took the whole twenty-minute walk just to get Ginger around the block. You spent half of that time pulling on her leash and begging her to keep moving. Some days, once you got her a certain distance away from her house, she would stop trying to plod back home and might even become interested in trying out a new block, in a new direction.

Today was not one of those days. “I knew Ginger was a slowpoke, but this is ridiculous,” Lizzie said to Maria.

“Well, Rocky’s not helping any,” Maria said. “In fact, I think there may have to be a new entry in the Guinness book under ‘World’s Pokiest Dog.’” She gave a gentle tug on Ginger’s leash and rolled her eyes when the basset mix tugged back, standing her ground. “At least Ginger has an excuse. She’s old. But Rocky’s a puppy.”

Each dog sniffled and snuffled at a different side of a big bush at the end of someone’s driveway. Rocky’s big brown eyes were bright in his flat, wrinkled face as he snorted. He pawed at the bush.

“Rocky,” Lizzie said, giving his leash a little pull, “you’ve been sniffing that bush for about fifteen minutes. Can we go now?” She sighed. “I’ve been trying everything to get him going,” she told Maria. “I’ve never seen such a couch potato. Remember when we fostered Muttley? He was lazy, but at least he usually slept with one eye open so he could look over everyone. Rocky just snores. I don’t think he’d notice if a freight train came roaring through the house.”

“I guess that’s why he’s not a good watchdog,” said Maria. “Does he ever bark?”

Lizzie shook her head. “I’ve only heard him bark once, when he found Buddy sleeping in his favorite spot. I thought maybe I could teach him to bark, so Albert Lowell would take him back, but so far that hasn’t worked.”

“How do you teach a dog to bark?” Maria asked.

“Good question,” Lizzie said. “I tried to look it up in all my dog training books, but they only had information on how to teach a dog
not
to bark. So I just figured I would reward him for barking, by giving him a treat when he does it. But since he never barks …”

“He never gets the treat,” said Maria. “Okay, so watchdog is off the list. I guess you have to figure out what else Rocky might be good at.”

“You mean, besides that?” Lizzie pointed at Rocky, who had decided to roll over and paddle his paws in the air while he waited for Ginger to finish sniffing. She and Maria cracked up. Rocky opened one eye to glare at them.

He paddled his paws some more. His wrinkled face and flappy jowls looked especially funny upside down. Rocky seemed to like making the girls laugh. He squirmed and grinned at them, blinking lazily.

“Maybe he could be a clown,” suggested Maria. “Doesn’t Charles’s friend David have a cousin who’s in the circus?”

Lizzie nodded. “Right,” she said. “Charles thought that guy might adopt Sweetie.” Sweetie was a miniature poodle the Petersons had fostered. She was great at tricks. “But Sweetie was like a little jumping bean. She was full of energy and always up to something. Rocky — well, he has a few crazy spells every day when he acts silly and makes me laugh, but besides that …” She looked down at the bulldog pup, who was sprawled out on the sidewalk like a rug. She shrugged. “I don’t think the circus is in Rocky’s future.”

“Probably not search and rescue, either,” Maria said with a giggle. Scout, a German shepherd the Petersons had fostered, was already learning how to find lost people and save their lives.

“Or agility,” said Lizzie. She thought of Flash, a border collie puppy who was quicker than lightning. He was perfect for the sport of agility, where dogs clambered up and over tall A-frames, galloped through tunnels, and flew over jumps. “Can you imagine Rocky lumbering around an agility course?” By now, both girls were laughing.

Rocky rolled over onto his feet and started his slow amble again, tugging Lizzie along with him as he headed to the next bush for a big sniff. Lizzie sighed. How was she ever going to find the perfect owner for this slowpoke pup?