My Dog Doesn't Like Me (4 page)

Chapter Nine

It seemed a stroke of luck that when I walked into the house that afternoon, I had the place to myself. Mum, Dad, and Gretchen were still at work, and Grandad was snoring away on his daybed. Even Ugly was sharing Grandad's afternoon sleep. He was lying on his side in a pool of sunlight next to Grandad's bed. When he saw me out of one squinty eye, he thumped his tail on the floor, shut his eye, and went on sleeping.

I opened the fridge door to see what I could raid. There was some freshly squeezed orange juice and a bit of leftover pasta from last night's dinner, which I hungrily scoffed. I decided to give the contents of the fridge one more inspection. What should I find at the bottom but a big leg of lamb covered in a tea towel! Mum was obviously going to roast it tonight.

I thought of the research Hugh, Milly and I had discussed. Underneath all that meat there was a huge bone. My family wouldn't be needing it. All I had to do was cut off the meat so Mum could cook that – and here was a bone for me to chuck for Ugly.

It was hard work slicing off the meat from the lamb bone, but I got off as much as I could. I neatly laid the meat on a plate and put it back in the fridge with the tea towel over it. Then I quietly returned to the living room and waved the bone at Ugly, who had opened one eye again. He scrambled to his feet and followed me to the kitchen. His eyes gleamed, and he was grinning and whacking his tail against the table.

Without even having to speak, I walked out the back door and down the steps with Ugly following close by me. On the lawn, I held the bone high above my head and told Ugly to sit. I didn't even have to push his bum down. He sat right away and woofed.

I threw the bone with as much strength as I could. It flew over the kennel and across to the far side of the backyard. Ugly took off after it, quickly reaching it and pouncing on it like a lion attacking its prey.

‘Okay. Come, Ugly. Bring it back here!' I called.

What a fool I'd been. Why had I expected Ugly to come back with a meaty bone when he wouldn't even come back with a tennis ball?

I yelled and stamped my foot, but he just picked up his bone and hid behind Grandad's toolshed, up next to Mrs Manchester's fence.

I was so angry that I left Ugly in the yard and stomped back up to the kitchen. But I wasn't as angry as Mum was when she came home from work and went to take the roast out of the fridge to put it in the oven. I tried to explain that we didn't need the lamb bone, but Mum couldn't see my point. Dad, Gretchen, and Grandad couldn't either. I have to agree that those bits of meat on the plate didn't look like very much. I'd left more meat on Ugly's bone than I realised.

Mum set about making a shepherd's pie with the leftover slices of lamb and lots of chopped vegetables. Gretchen stared into the baking dish and said, ‘There's not enough meat in there for two people, let alone five. Eccle should have bread and water, like
a convict.'

‘We'll make do,' Mum said in a grumpy voice.

‘You're too soft on that boy. You were never like that with me. At least make him eat an egg,' Gretchen whined.

‘Give me an egg, then,' I said. ‘See if I care.'

‘Okay, you asked for it,' said Mum.

Mum had just put the casserole dish in the oven when we heard a long, loud yell from the back garden. Grandad had gone out to water his vegetables, but we could hear him marching up the steps. He burst into the kitchen.

‘Eric!' he bellowed. ‘Your dog has dug a flamin' great hole in my carrot bed! If your mother ever wanted her lamb bone back, it's now buried.'

Before I could finish saying sorry, Grandad said, ‘And that's not all! You'd better get out there and give the dog a good wash.'

‘What's happened?' asked Dad.

‘As well as destroying my carrots, he's got into the compost pile, eaten those old fish heads we threw out the other day, and rolled in all that muck as well.'

‘Out you go, Eric, and don't come back till that dog smells as sweet as a newborn baby,' ordered Dad.

I'm not so sure a newborn baby smells sweet, but I wasn't about to argue with Dad. By the time I was in the back garden with Ugly's leash, a bucket, dog shampoo, and a towel, Ugly had escaped under the house. Grandad's yells must have sent him hiding.

I had to commando crawl under the house, attach Ugly's leash to his collar, and drag him out. He smelt like something that had been dead for a year.

Because Ugly hates being washed, I had to tie him to the lemon tree so he couldn't run away. I hosed him, shampooed him, hosed him, shampooed him again (because he still stank), and then hosed him a third time. By the end, especially after Ugly had given himself a huge shake, I was as wet as Ugly was. I towelled him dry, and Mum let him inside for his dinner.

When we sat down for dinner, I kept as quiet as possible. Ugly lay under the table, his nose resting on Mum's feet and his bum up near my feet. Nothing had changed. He'd been happy to take a huge lamb bone from me, bury it in Grandad's carrot patch, eat compost and roll in it, and then watch me get into trouble. Mum was still the one he loved.

I was just dipping my toast finger into my boiled egg when Gretchen, who was sitting next to me, pulled a face and said, ‘Eccle, you smell disgusting!'

‘Does he?' asked Mum.

‘He's let off,' said Gretchen.

‘I have not!'

‘Phew,' said Dad, swatting at the air in front of his nose. ‘Something's powerful in here.'

‘Own up, Eccle. I know a fart when I smell one,' said Gretchen, leaning away from me.

‘Something's rotten in the State of Denmark.' Grandad got up to open a window.

By now, I could smell it, too. I've been to the local rubbish tip with Dad and Grandad, and here, in this room, was a thick and putrid smell that reminded me of the tip in a heatwave.

‘It's you, Eccle!' said Gretchen again. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.'

‘Abandon ship!' called Grandad. He grabbed his dinner plate and left the room. Mum, Dad, and Gretchen did the same.

‘It's Eccle's very own chemical warfare,' said Gretchen as she slammed the door shut.

I stayed behind, staring at my boiled egg in its eggcup. After a few moments, a fresh wave of stink swept around me. I lifted the tablecloth. The stink poured up at me. It was coming straight from Ugly's bum. You can't eat old fish heads and other rotting food and get away with it.

I can't say Ugly farted on purpose, but it's just another example of how I get blamed for everything Ugly does. I'm seriously wondering if I should tell my family to give Ugly away.

Chapter Ten

‘T
he compost and fish heads would have definitely made the farting worse,' said Milly.

It was lunchtime the next day. Hugh, Milly and I were under our pepper tree again. I'd been telling them about the night before and what Gretchen now called the ‘Emergency Evacuation'.

‘How come fish heads make it worse?' asked Hugh.

‘A completely meat diet added to stinky fish heads and old food scraps makes the foulest stink in the universe,' said Milly.

‘I wonder if a vegetarian fart would smell better?' I said.

‘Probably,' said Milly. ‘My uncle is a vegetarian. He says meat takes longer to digest. It rots in your body.'

‘Anyway, the bone-chucking method is now definitely ruled out,' I said.

Milly crossed bone-chucking off our list. ‘Okay, don't give up hope, Ec. We've still got hypnosis.'

‘Hypnosis is where you put someone to sleep and then talk them into believing what you want, isn't it?' I asked.

‘Something like that,' said Milly.

‘It's all about controlling the mind,' said Hugh. ‘I heard my big sister talking about it. The most successful people on earth have mind control over themselves and other people.'

‘And dogs?' I asked.

‘Why not?' said Hugh.

‘How do you reckon you control a dog's mind?' I asked.

‘Same as with a person. You get them relaxed and concentrating, and then you make positive suggestions to them. Deep, deep down the person is listening and believing. Like you might say to someone who's a smoker,
Your lungs are black and disgusting and you'll probably die by coughing up blood, so you'd better give up smoking and start exercising
, and then they go and do what you say. With Ugly, you'd probably say,
Obey me. Obey me. I'm your lord and master.
'

‘But how exactly do you relax the person and make her concentrate?'

‘Well, a well-known way is to use a man's pocket watch. Do you know what that is?'

I did know. Grandad had inherited his dad's pocket watch. He kept it in his bedside table. On special occasions, he would let me hold it. It was the size of a large, round sink plug, made out of shiny silver with fancy patterns carved into it. A long silver chain was attached to the little knob on the top. If you wanted to know the time, you just pressed the little knob and the shiny front would click open. Under the cover was a clock. In the olden days, a man kept his watch in his waistcoat pocket, and the long chain would be attached to a button so he didn't lose his precious watch.

I loved being allowed to touch my great-­
grandfather's pocket watch, but it didn't make sense how such an old-fashioned thing would be used to hypnotise someone.

‘Do you make someone listen to the ticking?' asked Milly.

‘No,' said Hugh. ‘You hold the chain and swing the watch sideways, back and forth, back and forth, in front of the person's face. You tell them to concentrate and you speak to them really calmly. You just do the same thing to Ugly. Easy as pie.'

‘Why is pie easy?' Milly asked.

‘Darned if know,' replied Hugh.

‘I think it might be an idiom,' I said. ‘It probably means that eating a pie is easy. But I'm not so sure that hypnotising a dog will be as easy as you reckon.'

Chapter Eleven

Step one to hypnotising Ugly was getting Grandad's permission to use his watch for a while. It turned out to be surprisingly easy. I was allowed to play with it for half an hour on the condition that I didn't take it out of the house.

Next, I had to get Ugly into my bedroom. I couldn't risk distractions like people barging in and out of a room. When I managed to get Ugly in there, I slammed the door so he couldn't escape.

I thought the third step of my plan was clever. I put on calming music, but with no singing. It was a CD Mum used for relaxation, one with sea and wind sounds to harp and flute music. I also gave Ugly some dog biscuits. I reckoned that if I needed food to think, Ugly probably needed food to concentrate, too. After that, I gave Ugly a brush-down with a grooming brush. He liked that, except for the bit on his tummy, near his back legs. When I brushed there, his back legs started moving. I think he was ticklish.

As anyone can see, I did my best to make Ugly feel at home in my room.

When Ugly was lying on my mat beside my bed, looking relaxed, I crouched down and spoke to him.

‘Ugly,' I said, ‘You must watch what I do.'

Ugly looked at me.

I held the pocket watch by the chain and started swinging it slowly back and forth. ‘You will love and obey me. You will love and obey me,' I started to say.

Ugly liked this. For a moment he was really interested. His ears pricked up straight. His eyes looked bright. He smiled. But then he did something silly.

He snapped at the watch!

He was trying to bite it.

I held the watch further from his face.

Ugly thought this was fun.

He thumped his tail on the floor, gave a happy bark, and threw himself at the watch again. Luckily, it swung away from his mouth.

‘This is not a game, Ugly,' I said. ‘Get serious.' I clipped his leash onto his collar and tied the other end to the doorknob, so Ugly couldn't jump at the watch again. I pushed down on Ugly's bum to make him sit. Then I started all over again. Back and forth with the pocket watch.

It looked like Ugly had got the idea. His ears were up straight again, and he watched the clock swing. His shaggy head tilted left and right. He was grinning and panting.

‘Love and obey me. Love and obey me,' I said.

Ugly yapped. Then he leapt so hard at the watch that he yanked the leash and fell backwards. Even that didn't stop him. He got up and went for the watch again.

‘You idiot!' I screamed. I threw myself on the bed and jammed my face into the pillow. Tears leaked out of my eyes without permission.

Ugly was barking away. He sounded glad that I was upset.

I heard a knock on my door.

‘What's going on in there?' It was Grandad's voice. ‘Can I come in?'

‘Okay.'

Grandad opened the door halfway.

Ugly swung around and started pawing Grandad's legs.

‘Why's your dog tied to the door handle?'

‘He's not my dog. He doesn't want to be.'

‘Well, what are you doing mistreating the poor mutt?' asked Grandad. He immediately untied Ugly, who escaped out of my room.

What a traitor that dog was.

‘Trying to hypnotise him.'

‘What would a crazy coot like you want to do that for?'

‘To make him like me.' I sat up on my bed.

Grandad spotted his pocket watch still clutched in my hand. ‘And you were using my father's watch to do this?'

‘You know about using a watch?'

‘Of course I do,' said Grandad. ‘But even if that sort of thing works, in your situation you haven't got Buckley's.'

I guessed Grandad was using an idiom here, but I was too upset to ask for it to be explained. I just knew Grandad meant I had no hope of hypnotising Ugly.

‘No use?' I asked.

‘The first thing you need to know about hypnosis is that the subject has to want to do the thing you're suggesting.'

‘Subject?'

‘The person – or dog – you're hypnotising. They'll only agree to do what they want to do.'

‘So because Ugly wasn't interested in being hypnotised, it means … he … doesn't … want … to … be … my … friend,' I said, between little gulps. It felt like my heart was crying. It was going all the way up my throat.

Grandad did something he doesn't often do. He sat down on my bed and gave me a hug. He smelt of mown grass and sweaty armpits. The prickly white stubble on his chin scratched my forehead, but I liked the way he crushed me to his bony chest.

‘It's not too late. Your dog can still be your friend. You just have to be his leader.'

‘But how? I've been trying!'

I didn't know what Grandad meant. I really had been trying. And I'd failed.

‘I said
leader
, not
dictator
.'

‘What's the difference?'

‘A good leader is kind.'

I still felt a bit confused, but one thing was clear – my grandfather was hugging me because I was sad and lonely, and he wished I wasn't. That was good enough.