Read Online Smart Dog by Vivian Vande Velde - Free Book Online
Authors: Vivian Vande Velde
Tags: Ages 8 and up
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could see over them to look at their visitor, too.
"Your dog?" Mom repeated. There was a certain tension in her voice, just a hint. Amy caught it, and Dad probably did, too; Dr. Boden wouldn't have—even though he was the cause of it: He'd gone ahead and opened the screen door without being invited, which practically put him into the house. He even had one foot up on the doorjamb, as though ready to dash in, which was obviously much too pushy for Mom. She was giving him the benefit of the doubt for now, but she was holding on to the heavier wooden door, looking ready to sweep him away with a good hard slam at a moment's notice. Behind Amy, Dad set down his newspaper and glasses and stood.
Dr. Boden said, "I think you have my dog." His tone said:
You're liars and thieves—but you've been caught so don't try to deny it.
He didn't look that much older than a college student, a rather too short, too thin man with so much nervous energy he couldn't seem to stand still.
And,
Amy thought,
way too much self-confidence.
Or maybe not enough: Maybe, like some of the high schoolers she'd seen, he was just too interested in proving himself. She didn't have any trouble believing he was the kind of person who would cut open a dog's brain to see how it worked.
And Mom looked fed up with him already, too.
Amy's father stepped in to take Mom's place guarding the door. "What makes you think we have your dog?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm sure it's just an honest mistake." Dr. Boden flashed a smile with teeth so straight and perfect they looked like they were from a denture cream commercial. The smile said:
Yeah, right.
"Apparently you missed seeing these that I distributed in the neighborhood." He held up a flier like the one Rachel had given Amy the evening before, snapping it with a flourish that said:
Fat chance.
By the light over the stoop, Amy could see that his fingernails were ragged and the skin around them raw. They looked so nasty, she resolved never to bite her fingernails again.
Dad took the flier, which Dr. Boden had practically shoved into his face. Dr. Boden himself was practically shoved into Dad's face, but Dad wouldn't retreat because—the way Dr. Boden was acting—he clearly might take that as an invitation to step right into the house. "Different dog," Dad said.
"I think not," Dr. Boden answered. "I've been talking with your neighbors, and they tell me you seem to have acquired a dog at just about the same time I lost one." Again he smiled:
Caught you.
Did he think he was so much more clever than they that he was fooling them and reassuring them?
"Different dog," Dad said more emphatically. "We know where ours came from: It belonged to a boy whose family was moving."
The smile wavered. "
If
you got it from a boy and that's what the boy said, then the boy lied. You know how children are." He made a point of looking at Amy.
She hadn't realized he had seen her there, and she shrank back.
"For example," he continued, "there was an incident this afternoon—"
Dad interrupted by trying to hand him back the flier.
Dr. Boden wouldn't take it. "Why not just let me see the dog," he said, "and I can prove it's mine by the identifying tattoo on the inside of its left ear."
Ouch,
Amy said to herself at the thought of such a tattoo. Sherlock's ears were so floppy, she hadn't noticed; but she remembered how he hadn't let Rachel pet his head. He had known she'd look and be able to identify him. Clever, clever dog. Amy wanted to kick Dr. Boden's knee and yell,
How'd you like your ears tattooed? And Sherlock is a he. Not an it, a HE.
"As a matter of fact," Dad said, matching Dr. Boden smile for smile, "
our
dog has gone missing, too."
Dr. Boden looked exasperated. His expression said:
Can't you even come up with a good lie?
He glanced beyond Dad and Mom and Amy, into the house, as though weighing his chances of forcing his way in.
Dad started to close the door, and Dr. Boden shoved his foot in the way. "It's a very valuable animal,"
"Your dog?" Mom repeated. There was a certain tension in her voice, just a hint. Amy caught it, and Dad probably did, too; Dr. Boden wouldn't have—even though he was the cause of it: He'd gone ahead and opened the screen door without being invited, which practically put him into the house. He even had one foot up on the doorjamb, as though ready to dash in, which was obviously much too pushy for Mom. She was giving him the benefit of the doubt for now, but she was holding on to the heavier wooden door, looking ready to sweep him away with a good hard slam at a moment's notice. Behind Amy, Dad set down his newspaper and glasses and stood.
Dr. Boden said, "I think you have my dog." His tone said:
You're liars and thieves—but you've been caught so don't try to deny it.
He didn't look that much older than a college student, a rather too short, too thin man with so much nervous energy he couldn't seem to stand still.
And,
Amy thought,
way too much self-confidence.
Or maybe not enough: Maybe, like some of the high schoolers she'd seen, he was just too interested in proving himself. She didn't have any trouble believing he was the kind of person who would cut open a dog's brain to see how it worked.
And Mom looked fed up with him already, too.
Amy's father stepped in to take Mom's place guarding the door. "What makes you think we have your dog?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm sure it's just an honest mistake." Dr. Boden flashed a smile with teeth so straight and perfect they looked like they were from a denture cream commercial. The smile said:
Yeah, right.
"Apparently you missed seeing these that I distributed in the neighborhood." He held up a flier like the one Rachel had given Amy the evening before, snapping it with a flourish that said:
Fat chance.
By the light over the stoop, Amy could see that his fingernails were ragged and the skin around them raw. They looked so nasty, she resolved never to bite her fingernails again.
Dad took the flier, which Dr. Boden had practically shoved into his face. Dr. Boden himself was practically shoved into Dad's face, but Dad wouldn't retreat because—the way Dr. Boden was acting—he clearly might take that as an invitation to step right into the house. "Different dog," Dad said.
"I think not," Dr. Boden answered. "I've been talking with your neighbors, and they tell me you seem to have acquired a dog at just about the same time I lost one." Again he smiled:
Caught you.
Did he think he was so much more clever than they that he was fooling them and reassuring them?
"Different dog," Dad said more emphatically. "We know where ours came from: It belonged to a boy whose family was moving."
The smile wavered. "
If
you got it from a boy and that's what the boy said, then the boy lied. You know how children are." He made a point of looking at Amy.
She hadn't realized he had seen her there, and she shrank back.
"For example," he continued, "there was an incident this afternoon—"
Dad interrupted by trying to hand him back the flier.
Dr. Boden wouldn't take it. "Why not just let me see the dog," he said, "and I can prove it's mine by the identifying tattoo on the inside of its left ear."
Ouch,
Amy said to herself at the thought of such a tattoo. Sherlock's ears were so floppy, she hadn't noticed; but she remembered how he hadn't let Rachel pet his head. He had known she'd look and be able to identify him. Clever, clever dog. Amy wanted to kick Dr. Boden's knee and yell,
How'd you like your ears tattooed? And Sherlock is a he. Not an it, a HE.
"As a matter of fact," Dad said, matching Dr. Boden smile for smile, "
our
dog has gone missing, too."
Dr. Boden looked exasperated. His expression said:
Can't you even come up with a good lie?
He glanced beyond Dad and Mom and Amy, into the house, as though weighing his chances of forcing his way in.
Dad started to close the door, and Dr. Boden shoved his foot in the way. "It's a very valuable animal,"
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