My Dog Doesn't Like Me (7 page)

Chapter Nineteen

I was training Ugly on my own today, which was hard without Maggie being there. Ugly likes his treats, but if I was his schoolteacher, I'd write in his school report that he should try a bit harder. Miss Jolly doesn't feed me every time I get a times tables test right. And what's really annoying is that Ugly doesn't remember yesterday's lessons.

The training session was even harder because halfway through, Gretchen came and sat on the back steps and watched me. It felt like she was just waiting to see Ugly or me get it wrong. And that's what happened.

While I was trying to get Ugly to walk at heel, he dived under my legs and I fell splat on the grass.

‘That could have been Grandad taking a tumble,' said Gretchen in her know-it-all voice. ‘The grown-ups are right. That dog should probably go.'

‘I reckon Ugly just got badly distracted and terrified,' I said.

‘By what?' asked Gretchen.

‘By seeing your face,' I said.

I grabbed Ugly's leash and we ran around the side of the house before Gretchen could get me.

Horrible big sister or not, this dog training thing isn't easy or quick. I get all uptight when I'm trying to get Ugly to heel better; he still does his little squirming thing, and he'll end up under my feet or taking off after a bird. Maggie is so calm and quiet when she's training Ugly, even when he's being annoying.

Chapter Twenty

It's a whole week since I've trained Ugly with Maggie. When she's with me, I kind of know what to do, but when she's not around it's a whole lot harder, and I almost give up on Ugly. Sometimes, I look up at our kitchen window from where I am in the backyard and I see Grandad or one of my parents watching to see how I'm going. And if that's not pressure enough, this afternoon Mrs Manchester stuck her head over our fence and asked, ‘Is that dog cat-proof yet?'

Honestly, it's now a week since I wrote that last paragraph and a whole two weeks since training began and he's still not remembering all his lessons. Ugly is sure taking his time with becoming what Mum calls ‘manageable'. Two weeks should be enough. I'm running out of patience. And Ugly doesn't know it, but he's running out of time.

When I told Hugh and Milly at school about Mrs Manchester expecting me to cat-proof Ugly, they tried to help me with ideas. But even I knew Hugh was dreaming when he gave his solution.

‘You capture Mrs Manchester's cat and every cat you can find in the neighbourhood. Next, you put all the cats into one room with Ugly. Then you leave it to the cats to sort him out. For ever after, he'll be terrified of cats.'

‘It's an interesting idea,' said Milly, grinning that big gap-toothed smile of hers, ‘but even if you managed to collect a room full of cats, I can see things going very wrong.'

‘You have to let your imagination run wild to get your best ideas,' said Hugh.

‘Believe me, Hughie,' I said, ‘your imagination has definitely run wild.'

‘I haven't finished yet,' said Hugh. ‘I'm going to bring something amazing for you to school tomorrow, something that will cat-proof Ugly.'

The something amazing was a raggedy stuffed-toy cat. It had large glass eyes and lots of white whiskers; it looked incredibly real.

‘You can keep it,' said Hugh. ‘It's been played with by my cousins and then handed on to my sisters and then to me.'

‘What am I to do with a stuffed cat?' I asked, holding it by the tail so its head hung down to the ground.

‘To train Ugly. Put the cat on the grass and make Ugly sit and stay while you pat the cat.'

‘Interesting theory,' said Milly.

It was interesting, all right. Ugly ran off with the stuffed cat and dismembered it under the house.

‘Dismembered' was the word Grandad used after he helped me pick up all the pieces of toy cat.

Chapter Twenty-one

For a while now I've done what Milly suggested and stuck my training list on the wall next to my bed. I could tell you by heart what it says. I've been doing everything I said I would. I'm up extra early. I do all the caring for Ugly. I train him twice a day. I listen carefully to what Maggie tells me, and I try it out with Ugly.

It's taken nearly three weeks, but as long as there is nothing to distract him, Ugly seems to be getting the hang of heeling when he's on the leash. He'll also sit, but he has a way to go before he'll stay until I call. He's also pretty hopeless at dropping or lying down. And there is one thing that really annoys me.
Maggie says I need to give Ugly more playtime breaks, but when I want to throw the ball for him, he just won't bring it back. I try to pull it out of his mouth, and he seems to think that's funny.

As well as that, the highlight for Ugly on our walks to the park is still trying to catch Mrs Manchester's cat when we walk past her house. Even if Penelope isn't around, Ugly behaves like a bloodhound. With his nose pressed on the ground, sniffing out cat smells, he pulls me around in circles.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to Saturday. Hugh and Milly are coming over to help me train Ugly.

Chapter Twenty-two

When Milly was dropped off at my place with Hugh, she had a shoulder bag with her.

‘I've had a brainwave,' she said, patting her bag. ‘Let's go to your room.'

‘Not another stuffed cat, is it?' I asked.

‘This will work,' she said. ‘I've tried it on our dog. It will make Ugly drop the ball for you and it should also stop him chasing next door's cat.'

‘You'll be a millionaire if you're right,' said Hugh.

Once the three of us were in my bedroom, Milly opened her bag. She pulled out three plastic water pistols.

‘They hose dogs with water to stop them fighting,' explained Milly. ‘And police use water cannons to break up riots. It makes sense that we can use water to train Ugly.'

We started with ball throwing and fetching. When Ugly ran back with the ball, one of us would squirt him. He really did drop the ball. But that didn't work forever. After a while, Ugly lost interest in playing ball.

That's when we tried the water pistol technique to cat-proof him.

We chose to walk Ugly to the park when we knew Mrs Manchester's cat was sunning itself in its favourite place – on her front brick fence. Sure enough, when Ugly saw Penelope, he started yapping, jiggling, and pulling on the leash. Immediately, the three of us squirted him. He stepped back and was quiet for a moment, but then he lunged forward again. I wasn't holding on quite tight enough, and this time Ugly managed to get closer to the cat, who was still sitting but was now also snarling. Once again, the three of us let loose with our water pistols, but Hugh misjudged and gave the cat a blast of water. She yowled so loudly that Mrs Manchester hurried out her front door. All she could see was one half-drowned cat clawing its way up a gum tree.

‘What have you done to my Penelope?' she yelled.

‘We were trying to dog-proof her, Mrs Manchester,' I said.

‘Go away! Just go away!' said Mrs Manchester.

As we ran towards the park, Ugly bounded along barking his head off. It sounded very like laughing.

On Sunday, when Maggie visited, I told her about the water pistols.

Maggie shook her head in a disapproving way, ‘You can't carry water pistols around forever,' she said. ‘Besides, you should stick to positive training methods. Use treats and rewards.'

Then Maggie taught me this cool trick to get Ugly to bring his ball back. You pick up another of his toys, which makes him forget he has the ball, so he drops it. Then you pick up the ball and chuck it again. Even playing with a dog needs owner training, it seems.

Maggie's way of training is pretty smart, but Ugly and I haven't got forever. I held the ball, and he looked up at me, grinning. I thought to myself,
You wouldn't be grinning like that, poor dog, if you knew how serious the situation was.

Chapter Twenty-three

After a month of dog training (which feels as slow as a hundred years), Ugly has improved his behaviour – but only when he feels like it. This afternoon, I took Ugly for a walk on the leash in the opposite direction from Mrs Manchester and her cat. We must have walked about six doors down the street. All was fine until we came to a house where a small dog yapped at us from behind a high gate. Ugly charged across to the gate, barking and pulling me with him.

I was glad Maggie wasn't there because Ugly just ignored me. I tried to talk calmly, but I kind of lost it and I think I did a bit of human barking. I have to admit, the human barking didn't get me anywhere. The two dogs were enjoying their hate session. The dog behind the fence was leaping about and jumping up at the gate. Ugly was doing the same thing on our side of the gate.

I've been wondering what I can do about a dog that only behaves itself at home? Will Maggie make us have the big test away from our place? Somewhere that has barking dogs? The only thing I can think to do is always make sure I have treats in my pocket; then I might be able to tempt Ugly into doing what I want.

Chapter Twenty-four

I'm feeling a bit better about training Ugly. The tough bit has been sticking to all this for six weeks. Milly reckons that's how Olympic athletes must feel. She says there must be so many times when they want to chuck in the hard work day after day, but the difference between them and the rest of us ordinary people is that they just keep going.

Ugly seems to know the routine. I've started to give him fewer treats so that he doesn't always expect them, but I'm giving him just as much praise. It seems to work. Maggie calls it the ‘slot machine' method. Ugly only sometimes hits the ‘jackpot' (that means getting a treat), but he's always hoping for the best,
so he keeps on doing what I ask – or most of the time. That's what makes me sort of on edge. What if Ugly mucks up when it comes time for Maggie to decide if he's been trained enough for me to keep him?

Chapter Twenty-five

I've been flat chat with sticking to Ugly's feeding, walking, and training schedule. Hugh visited after school this week, and he says I'm heaps more patient. He's right. When I manage to forget that Ugly really has to pass his training, I enjoy teaching Ugly stuff.

After two long months, tomorrow is the big test. I've never in my whole life worked as hard as I have over the last few days. Last night I was so tired I fell asleep during dinner. I just put my head down on the table for a moment and, next thing I remember, Dad was carrying me to bed like a little kid.

Every time I look at Ugly and he gives one of his long, loving, brown-eyed looks, I just push myself onwards. I've even added a training trick that Maggie hasn't told me about. I read about it on the internet. I want to surprise Maggie – show her how intelligent and obedient Ugly is.

Tonight has been the opposite from last night. At 7pm, Milly rang me. ‘Hugh and I want you to know that we think you're an amazing dog trainer. Everyone in both our families wishes you the best of luck.'

‘Thanks, Milly,' I said. ‘I know I've tried my very hardest, but one thing that worries me is if Ugly behaves badly.'

‘Just concentrate on being a team with Ugly,' suggested Milly. ‘Try thinking like a dog.'

After Milly's phone call, I thought I'd go to bed early to get a good night's rest, but I haven't been able to sleep.

I know I should be thinking positive thoughts, but I keep imagining it all going wrong and having to say goodbye to Ugly.

About half an hour ago, I went into my parents' room to see if they were awake. Dad was sitting up in bed doing work on his computer. Mum was lying on her side, reading a book. They both looked up.

‘Please just say I can keep Ugly,' I said before they could ask why I was standing there. ‘I beg you.' I thought about falling on my knees, but I know Dad isn't into that sort of thing.

‘No need to be dramatic, Eccle,' said Dad.

‘Ugly is part of our family,' I said.

Mum sat up and put her arms out to me. I walked over, and she hugged me.

‘You love Ugly, Mum. How can you let this happen?'

Mum looked sadly at Dad. I wondered if she was going to give in. But he shook his head at her. She took a deep breath and said, ‘I love Ugly and I want the best for him – and for you, Ec.'

‘But the best is just leaving everything like it is!' I said. I couldn't believe my parents could be so cruel.

‘It's called tough love, Eccle,' said Dad.

‘We want you to grow up into the sort of man who knows how to work towards a goal, who knows that some of the best things don't come easily,' said Mum.

‘Someone who knows about responsibilities and that there are consequences for what we do or don't do,' Dad added.

‘But it's not fair to use poor Ugly to teach me to be a man,' I said.

‘Ugly also deserves to have an owner who can control him. He'll be a happier dog,' said Dad.

I so much wanted to throw something. Boy, was I mad. But I knew that the ‘sort of man' Mum and Dad want me to be wouldn't chuck things. Instead, I yelled, ‘But don't you understand? Ugly is happier than ever. We … we like each other now.'

‘Well, tomorrow you can prove it,' said Dad, and then he put out the light so that I had to feel my way to my bedroom.

Ugly was waiting for me in there. I put my arms around him and leant my head into his hairy side.

‘Don't worry, boy,' I said, but those were just words. There was plenty to worry about, and Ugly knew it.

He licked my face and made snuffle sounds. I think he was saying, ‘I'm sad, too. But cheer up. Together we might just make it.'

Chapter Twenty-six

Well, the big test day is over, but I still don't know if Ugly and I have passed. It's eight o'clock at night and I'm on my bed, writing this. Ugly and I are exhausted. He's curled up next to me. Mum, Dad, Grandad and Maggie are in the kitchen making a final decision.

In my head, I've been going through the tests Ugly and I did with Maggie, trying to figure out what she'd be thinking now. There were definitely some wins, but there were also some bad moments. Maggie called them ‘unfortunate'.

So I'm trying to make a list of the good and the ‘unfortunate' things that happened today. First off, we had to walk to the park. But to get to the park,
we had to pass Mrs Manchester's house. Was that tease of a ginger cat going to be there? Please, no.

But she
was
there – sitting up on the brick fence as if she owned the world. The look on Penelope's face seemed to say, ‘I bet you, Ugly, that you won't be able to control yourself when you see me here!'

Sure enough, I could feel Ugly tense up on the leash. It would just be a couple of seconds before he'd rip free and take off. Maggie and I hadn't done any chasing cat lessons, and I couldn't count on Milly's water pistol method, so I had to think for myself. I swung around to face Ugly so that I was between him and the cat. I gently pulled his leash upwards and at the same time lifted my hand above Ugly's nose, as if I was going to rest a treat there.

‘Sit!' I said in a firm voice. I didn't think he'd obey, but Ugly slowly sat down, the way dogs do when they really don't want to. I slipped him a small treat, patted him, and told him he was good. Then I quickly looked over my shoulder.

The cat was still sitting there, and I'm sure I saw a curtain in Mrs Manchester's front window lift and fall. She was spying. I wasn't going to let that woman and her smartypants cat wreck Ugly's chances right at the start of his test. We couldn't stand there forever waiting for the cat to move, but if we walked past her, I knew I'd lose control of Ugly.

The only thing left to do was to not walk past Mrs Manchester's house. But we couldn't retreat and go back home; that would be failing, too. We still had to get to the park. I gave a quick tug on Ugly's leash and said, ‘Walk!'

I moved in a new direction, so that Ugly was walking away from the cat and towards the edge of the road, where I made him sit again. Then we crossed the road. We walked along the footpath on the other side of the road, past two houses, then I walked to the edge of the road, made Ugly sit again, and we crossed back again so we arrived just where the park was. Maggie was following, but she didn't say anything.

What happened in the park might also be a mixture of good and unfortunate. I'm waiting to hear what Maggie will say about it. Maggie was asking me to make Ugly sit, stay, and come. He was doing it okay, but Mrs Manchester suddenly arrived. She was holding a little boy's hand. He looked about four years old. He climbed onto a swing and Mrs Manchester started to push him. Ugly rushed across to play with the boy. The boy laughed happily as Ugly showed off by running about in little circles. I walked across and held onto Ugly so that the boy could pat him.

‘This is my grandson Jack,' said Mrs Manchester.

‘Hello, Jack,' I said. ‘This is my dog – Ugly.'

‘He's not ugly,' said Jack. ‘He's booful.'

‘I think he's beautiful, too,' I said.

Ugly wagged his tail and gave a happy yap.

After that, I led Ugly to a quiet corner of the park where we could continue with his obedience testing. I could see Mrs Manchester had finished pushing Jack on the swing. She was now helping him up the ladder to the slide. At the same moment, a tall man with a hoodie pulled so far down over his face that you couldn't see his eyes came running across the park. It looked like he was heading for Mrs Manchester. Maggie and I stopped and looked to see what the man wanted.

What happened next was a shock. The man ran right up to Mrs Manchester, who had her back to him, and grabbed the strap of her handbag, which was over her shoulder. Mrs Manchester lost her balance and nearly fell.

‘No!' she yelled, and Jack started crying loudly.

Everything after that happened before you could count to three. I was staring, frozen. Even Maggie was frozen. But Ugly wasn't. He was tearing across the grass towards the handbag thief. He was jumping and dancing in circles around the man. The man kicked out at Ugly. I called Ugly, and he dived past the man again and tried to run back to me. In the same moment, the man tripped over Ugly and went sprawling. Mrs Manchester's handbag flew across the grass. Maggie and I were by now running to help Mrs Manchester and Jack.

The man yelled some incredibly rude words at Ugly. He pulled himself up and limped, staggered, and jogged out of sight.

Maggie was looking after Mrs Manchester and young Jack. I checked on poor Ugly. He came up to me with his tail between his legs. He didn't like getting shouted at by the man, but I reckon he also felt guilty about running away from his obedience test. Just the same, I patted him and said, ‘Good dog. You saved Mrs Manchester's handbag.'

Although his tail stayed low, it started wagging a tiny bit. It was like he was saying, ‘Please don't be cross with me. I was only doing my best.'

‘Your dog saved my handbag,' said Mrs Manchester, holding her grandson to her like she'd never let him go. ‘I couldn't care less about any money being stolen. It's the baby photos in there of young Jack with my dear husband who died three years back. They're precious. I was going to get extra prints made. Ugly is a brave and intelligent dog – even if he
does
give my cat a bit too much attention.'

I think Ugly is brave and intelligent, too, but what do Maggie and the rest of my family think? They're all in the kitchen, talking about Ugly. This pen keeps dropping out of my hand. I have to jerk myself awake. I'll just rest my head for a few minutes and then I'll start writing again when I'm fresher.