Just Annoying! (18 page)

‘We're very disappointed in you, Andy,' says Dad.

‘Yes, Dad.'

‘You've let us down.'

‘Yes, Dad.'

‘I've had to buy three new clotheslines this year and do you know why?'

‘Because they're really bad quality?' I suggest.

Dad's ears start wiggling. Wrong answer.

‘No!' he yells. ‘Because the others were so mangled and broken from your infernal swinging.'

I still think it's a quality issue. If he would buy top of the line, superstrength clotheslines, instead of these crappy jobs made out of nothing stronger than coathanger wire, then we wouldn't have a problem. But I don't say this. Dad is in no mood to see reason. Besides, he's not finished yet.

‘Your mother and I have begged you, have pleaded with you, have extracted promises from you—have even bribed you—to stop swinging on the clothesline, but to no avail. I thought we got things straight the last time we talked, but now we discover that you are sneaking out there in the middle of the night. What have you got to say for yourself?'

‘I have a dream . . .' I say.

‘You have a what?' interrupts Dad.

‘Nothing,' I say. What's the point of even talking about it? I've explained it a hundred times and they still don't get it.

I push my Cornflakes towards the centre of the table and stand up.

‘I'm not really hungry,' I say. ‘I've got to get going to school.'

‘Not so fast,' says Dad. ‘This is the last time I intend to have this conversation. Swinging on the clothesline is to stop and if you think you're going to find that too difficult, then don't worry. I will make it very easy for you.'

‘What do you mean?' I say.

‘You'll see,' he says with a smile. ‘You'll see.'

That's what he thinks.

Nothing is going to stop me training. I'm just hitting my peak. What's the worst he can do?

Sit out there all night on guard with a straw broom across his legs? He'll need to sleep sometime.

Electrify the line? I'll wear a rubber suit.

Set up a machine gun to spray the line with bullets when it's triggered by a motion sensor? I'll wear Ned Kelly armour.

Nothing will stop me.

I'll see? I don't think so. We'll see who'll see.

That afternoon when I get home from school I walk up the driveway and into the back-yard.

Suddenly a huge black dog comes barrelling towards me.

It's massive. Snarling. Long white strings of foam trailing from its bared teeth. And it's heading straight for me.

I clutch the straps of my bag and get ready to bop it across the head. It's not much—like trying to scare off a charging bull with a rolled up tea-towel—but it's all I've got.

The dog lunges for me, but just as it's about to sink its fangs into my neck it is tugged violently backwards. It rears up on its hind legs and flips over onto its back. It has reached the end of its chain, which—as I collect myself—I notice is attached to the clothesline.

I hear laughter from the porch.

‘Andy,' says Dad, ‘I'd like you to meet Spot. Spot, this is Andy.'

Spot picks himself up from the ground. He lunges at me again.

I jump backwards.

‘Are you crazy?' I ask Dad. ‘That dog's a killer!'

‘Spot? A killer?' says Dad. ‘Nah. He's harmless. He just gets a bit touchy when people go too close to the clothesline.'

‘You've bought this dog just to stop me swinging on the clothesline?' I say.

‘I haven't bought him,' says Dad. ‘I just arranged a little swap.'

‘You swapped him for Sooty?'

‘Not permanently.'

‘For how long?'

‘For as long as it takes you to break your clothesline habit and develop some new, more healthy interests,' says Dad.

‘Like football you mean?'

‘Yes, like football—like other boys.'

‘I'm not like other boys!' I yell. ‘I need something more challenging.'

‘Well,' says Dad, ‘I think you'll find Spot challenging enough.'

I look at Spot.

He's straining on his leash. Staring at me. Just daring me to take one step towards his clothesline.

I've got to admit that at this moment football is starting to look pretty attractive. I'd even consider taking up cricket.

I turn around and go back down the driveway to enter the house by the front door.

I throw my bag hard against my bedroom wall. My pencil case falls out and pencils go flying all over the floor. I pick up a handful and throw them against the window.

Just when the speed record was within my grasp!

From my bedroom window I can see Spot. He is sitting straight-backed, ears twitching, ready to tear apart anyone who is even thinking about going near the clothesline.

Fifty kilos of prime slobbering Dog Power.

If only his power could be harnessed for good instead of evil.

Hang on—that's it!

In the early days of my training I used to get Danny to tie a rope to one corner of the clothesline and tow me around at super-speeds. That was until I was able to generate them for myself and go faster than even Danny could run. But I'm looking at a dog with energy to burn.