Read Online Smells Like Dog by Suzanne Selfors - Free Book Online
Authors: Suzanne Selfors
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for you,” he whispered. “Until then, be careful. Remember, your life could be in danger.” He let go of Homer’s shirt.
“Ouch,” Homer said as he tumbled onto the grass.Dog stuck his nose into Homer’s scared face. Expecting Ajitabh to grab him again, Homer scrambled to his feet and ran. “Dad!”
“Homer?” Mrs. Pudding stepped onto the porch and held out her arms as Homer barreled into them. “Whatever’s the matter? What happened to your shirt? Where is your other boot?”
“There’s… there’s… there’s…”
“Is it a coyote?” Mr. Pudding started down the stairs.
“No.” Homer pointed frantically toward the cherry trees. “A man. A man in a cloud.”
“What?” Mr. Pudding stopped in his tracks. He and Mrs. Pudding looked toward the trees. But there was no cloud. And no man. Only a dog chewing on a boot.
“Homer,” Mrs. Pudding scolded. “You’re supposed to make sure your dog doesn’t eat anything bad. Go get that boot away from him.”
“But Mom, there was a man hanging from a cloud. He grabbed me.” Homer raised his arms to reveal the ripped shirt seams.
Mr. and Mrs. Pudding shared a worried look. Then Mrs. Pudding sat on the porch swing and pulled Homer next to her. Squeak peeked outside but she waved him back into the house. “Your teacher just telephoned,” she told Homer as she tucked one of his curls behind his ear. “You didn’t do your subtraction problems todayand you didn’t turn in your Milkydale history essay last week or your solar system diorama. Mrs. Peepgrass said that even though we’ve talked about this over and over, you still spend most of your time daydreaming. And today you made up a story about a cloud just to get attention.”
“I didn’t make it up. There
was
a cloud at school today and I just saw it right over there,” Homer insisted, pointing again. “And there
was
a man hanging upside down from the cloud. He said he was a friend of Uncle Drake’s and that they used to hunt for treasure together.”
“Hunt for treasure?” Mr. Pudding walked back onto the porch. He folded his arms, took a deep breath, then gave Homer a long, serious look. “Now look here, Homer, I’ve had just about enough of this. Treasure hunting destroyed my brother’s life and I’ll be hog-tied if I’m gonna let it destroy yours.”
“Now, dear…”
“No. Enough is enough.” Mr. Pudding tucked his thumbs into his overall straps. “There’s no use in having the boy believe that he can do something he can’t. He’s not one bit like my brother. He’s not cut out for mountain climbing, or deep-sea diving, or any of that crazy stuff my brother was always doing. Homer’s future is here, on this farm, and I’ll have no more talk of treasure hunting in this house. And no more books abouttreasure hunting or magazines or maps or anything that has to do with treasure hunting.”
Mrs. Pudding and Homer’s mouths fell open but they sat in silence. Though Mr. Pudding hadn’t raised his voice, his tone left no room for argument.
“The only books he’ll be reading are the ones that Mrs. Peepgrass tells him to read. And don’t think he can sneak in some treasure reading at the library. Tomorrow morning I’m calling Mr. Silverstein and telling him that Homer’s not allowed to step foot in there unless it’s on official school business. And that’s my final word.” Then, having finished his declaration, Mr. Pudding stomped off toward the barn.
Homer slid to the far end of the porch swing, away from his mother’s hugs and kisses. No more books or magazines about treasure hunting.
No more maps.
He shivered as if he’d been dunked in an ice bath.
And so, on that very night, Mr. Pudding hauled all of Homer’s treasure hunting things into the attic. Homer ran his hand along his empty bookshelf. His first edition of
The Biography of Rumpold Smeller
, his worn copies of
Long Lost Ships
and
X Marks the Spot: An Encyclopedia of Buried Treasure
were gone.
“Ouch,” Homer said as he tumbled onto the grass.Dog stuck his nose into Homer’s scared face. Expecting Ajitabh to grab him again, Homer scrambled to his feet and ran. “Dad!”
“Homer?” Mrs. Pudding stepped onto the porch and held out her arms as Homer barreled into them. “Whatever’s the matter? What happened to your shirt? Where is your other boot?”
“There’s… there’s… there’s…”
“Is it a coyote?” Mr. Pudding started down the stairs.
“No.” Homer pointed frantically toward the cherry trees. “A man. A man in a cloud.”
“What?” Mr. Pudding stopped in his tracks. He and Mrs. Pudding looked toward the trees. But there was no cloud. And no man. Only a dog chewing on a boot.
“Homer,” Mrs. Pudding scolded. “You’re supposed to make sure your dog doesn’t eat anything bad. Go get that boot away from him.”
“But Mom, there was a man hanging from a cloud. He grabbed me.” Homer raised his arms to reveal the ripped shirt seams.
Mr. and Mrs. Pudding shared a worried look. Then Mrs. Pudding sat on the porch swing and pulled Homer next to her. Squeak peeked outside but she waved him back into the house. “Your teacher just telephoned,” she told Homer as she tucked one of his curls behind his ear. “You didn’t do your subtraction problems todayand you didn’t turn in your Milkydale history essay last week or your solar system diorama. Mrs. Peepgrass said that even though we’ve talked about this over and over, you still spend most of your time daydreaming. And today you made up a story about a cloud just to get attention.”
“I didn’t make it up. There
was
a cloud at school today and I just saw it right over there,” Homer insisted, pointing again. “And there
was
a man hanging upside down from the cloud. He said he was a friend of Uncle Drake’s and that they used to hunt for treasure together.”
“Hunt for treasure?” Mr. Pudding walked back onto the porch. He folded his arms, took a deep breath, then gave Homer a long, serious look. “Now look here, Homer, I’ve had just about enough of this. Treasure hunting destroyed my brother’s life and I’ll be hog-tied if I’m gonna let it destroy yours.”
“Now, dear…”
“No. Enough is enough.” Mr. Pudding tucked his thumbs into his overall straps. “There’s no use in having the boy believe that he can do something he can’t. He’s not one bit like my brother. He’s not cut out for mountain climbing, or deep-sea diving, or any of that crazy stuff my brother was always doing. Homer’s future is here, on this farm, and I’ll have no more talk of treasure hunting in this house. And no more books abouttreasure hunting or magazines or maps or anything that has to do with treasure hunting.”
Mrs. Pudding and Homer’s mouths fell open but they sat in silence. Though Mr. Pudding hadn’t raised his voice, his tone left no room for argument.
“The only books he’ll be reading are the ones that Mrs. Peepgrass tells him to read. And don’t think he can sneak in some treasure reading at the library. Tomorrow morning I’m calling Mr. Silverstein and telling him that Homer’s not allowed to step foot in there unless it’s on official school business. And that’s my final word.” Then, having finished his declaration, Mr. Pudding stomped off toward the barn.
Homer slid to the far end of the porch swing, away from his mother’s hugs and kisses. No more books or magazines about treasure hunting.
No more maps.
He shivered as if he’d been dunked in an ice bath.
And so, on that very night, Mr. Pudding hauled all of Homer’s treasure hunting things into the attic. Homer ran his hand along his empty bookshelf. His first edition of
The Biography of Rumpold Smeller
, his worn copies of
Long Lost Ships
and
X Marks the Spot: An Encyclopedia of Buried Treasure
were gone.
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