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Authors: Daniel Ehrenhaft
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better if she peed out here than—”
“Take her on the
sidewalk
, Logan!” Robert shouted. “It's bad for the grass! Get her out of the backyard! Now!”
Jack's tail stopped wagging. She barked at the window.
Logan turned away and pulled at the leash. But Jack didn't seem to want to move.
“What's that bell you got there?” Robert asked.
“It's supposed to help with the training,” Logan said.
“Why do you need it? The Wallaces don't use a bell with Otis.”
“I was just following the advice of the books,” Logan said.
“What are you, an expert on dog training now?” Robert demanded.
Why are you still talking to me if you want me to get Jack out of the backyard?
Logan wondered. But instead of asking the question out loud, he bent down and picked Jack up, cradling her like a big baby, and carried her away from the window as fast as possible. In a situation like this, it was best just to get her out of Robert's sight.
Not that Logan was going to stop training her to pee under the hammock. He was just going to wait until Robert went back to the car dealership.
Weirdly enough, the hardest part of owning Jack turned out to be finding a toy that she liked.
You couldn't just
give
her a toy, Logan realized. If you tried, shewould sniff at it, then just stare at you as if to say,
Come on, man. This is a fuzzy bumblebee. Don't insult me. Give me the good stuff.
It was actually pretty funny. The day after she arrived, Logan took her to the pet store to load up on plastic bones and rawhide sticks and squeaky stuffed animals. She seemed pretty interested in the stuff while he was picking it out. Especially the bumblebee. She even barked at it. He spent nearly thirty bucks—just about every penny he had. But when he got home and dumped the loot in the middle of his room, she didn't even bother to
look
at it.
Instead she headed straight for his closet and clamped her jaws around his baseball mitt.
“No, no, Jack,” Logan whispered. “Drop it.”
He bit his lip to keep from laughing. He didn't want to raise his voice. If Robert overheard him ordering her to drop the baseball mitt (the baseball mitt that
Robert
had wasted
Robert's
hard-earned money on, and why didn't Logan play baseball, anyway—didn't he know it was the greatest sport ever invented?) … well, in a nutshell, that wouldn't be good.
Jack started shaking her head. She bared her teeth, swinging the mitt wildly from side to side—as if the baseball mitt were really just another meal.
“Come on, Jack,” Logan whispered. “Drop it.”
She swung the mitt harder.
Logan darted forward and snatched the mitt from her jaws.
“Play with your toys,” he commanded, holding the mitt high over his head. “Go on. They're all right there for you.”
But Jack sat still on her haunches, staring at the mitt. A low growl rumbled deep in her throat. Maybe the dogs in those books were dumb, but Jack wasn't. She knew exactly what she wanted.
“Come on, girl,” Logan pleaded. “This isn't a toy. Your toys are right behind you. They're all brand-new.”
Jack's growl grew louder. Her eyes flashed to Logan, as if to say,
So what if they're new? That's the lamest pile of crap I've ever seen in my life.
Logan grinned. He shot an anxious glance toward the door. In a way, he could relate to Jack's frustration. After all, he always hated it when Robert tried to give
him
stuff that he didn't want. Like the baseball mitt. Or the model airplane set. Perfect example.
Robert
was the one who thought model airplanes were so cool. He'd bought it so
he
could use it. But after a while, he'd gotten bored with it (the way he always did), so it had been sitting in Logan's closet for months, collecting dust—until Logan had decided to build the LMMRC.
The thing was, Logan had never even
thought
of it as a model airplane set. He didn't see it that way. He saw a box full of raw parts, the beginnings of a master remote control. So if Jack didn't see a dumb baseball mitt,
“Take her on the
sidewalk
, Logan!” Robert shouted. “It's bad for the grass! Get her out of the backyard! Now!”
Jack's tail stopped wagging. She barked at the window.
Logan turned away and pulled at the leash. But Jack didn't seem to want to move.
“What's that bell you got there?” Robert asked.
“It's supposed to help with the training,” Logan said.
“Why do you need it? The Wallaces don't use a bell with Otis.”
“I was just following the advice of the books,” Logan said.
“What are you, an expert on dog training now?” Robert demanded.
Why are you still talking to me if you want me to get Jack out of the backyard?
Logan wondered. But instead of asking the question out loud, he bent down and picked Jack up, cradling her like a big baby, and carried her away from the window as fast as possible. In a situation like this, it was best just to get her out of Robert's sight.
Not that Logan was going to stop training her to pee under the hammock. He was just going to wait until Robert went back to the car dealership.
Weirdly enough, the hardest part of owning Jack turned out to be finding a toy that she liked.
You couldn't just
give
her a toy, Logan realized. If you tried, shewould sniff at it, then just stare at you as if to say,
Come on, man. This is a fuzzy bumblebee. Don't insult me. Give me the good stuff.
It was actually pretty funny. The day after she arrived, Logan took her to the pet store to load up on plastic bones and rawhide sticks and squeaky stuffed animals. She seemed pretty interested in the stuff while he was picking it out. Especially the bumblebee. She even barked at it. He spent nearly thirty bucks—just about every penny he had. But when he got home and dumped the loot in the middle of his room, she didn't even bother to
look
at it.
Instead she headed straight for his closet and clamped her jaws around his baseball mitt.
“No, no, Jack,” Logan whispered. “Drop it.”
He bit his lip to keep from laughing. He didn't want to raise his voice. If Robert overheard him ordering her to drop the baseball mitt (the baseball mitt that
Robert
had wasted
Robert's
hard-earned money on, and why didn't Logan play baseball, anyway—didn't he know it was the greatest sport ever invented?) … well, in a nutshell, that wouldn't be good.
Jack started shaking her head. She bared her teeth, swinging the mitt wildly from side to side—as if the baseball mitt were really just another meal.
“Come on, Jack,” Logan whispered. “Drop it.”
She swung the mitt harder.
Logan darted forward and snatched the mitt from her jaws.
“Play with your toys,” he commanded, holding the mitt high over his head. “Go on. They're all right there for you.”
But Jack sat still on her haunches, staring at the mitt. A low growl rumbled deep in her throat. Maybe the dogs in those books were dumb, but Jack wasn't. She knew exactly what she wanted.
“Come on, girl,” Logan pleaded. “This isn't a toy. Your toys are right behind you. They're all brand-new.”
Jack's growl grew louder. Her eyes flashed to Logan, as if to say,
So what if they're new? That's the lamest pile of crap I've ever seen in my life.
Logan grinned. He shot an anxious glance toward the door. In a way, he could relate to Jack's frustration. After all, he always hated it when Robert tried to give
him
stuff that he didn't want. Like the baseball mitt. Or the model airplane set. Perfect example.
Robert
was the one who thought model airplanes were so cool. He'd bought it so
he
could use it. But after a while, he'd gotten bored with it (the way he always did), so it had been sitting in Logan's closet for months, collecting dust—until Logan had decided to build the LMMRC.
The thing was, Logan had never even
thought
of it as a model airplane set. He didn't see it that way. He saw a box full of raw parts, the beginnings of a master remote control. So if Jack didn't see a dumb baseball mitt,
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