The 12 Dogs of Christmas (4 page)

“Arragh!” Norman yelled, and he jumped back up onto the Fearsome Machine.

The chase was on! The old man with the gray beard mushed his dogs on faster and faster, and Norman bashed bug-face Melvin on the head to get him to catch up. Soon the Fearsome Machine was running parallel with the sled.

Norman reached and tried to grab the puppy from Emma's embrace. “Closer, closer!” he yelled at Melvin.

“Watch out!” Emma cried, watching the two contraptions almost collide.

Norman's glove-covered hand was just about to latch on to the pup when the sled suddenly veered to the left at a fork in the road, leaving the Fearsome Machine to veer right and go off farther and farther away.

Emma looked up at her rescuer and smiled. The old man did not smile back. Soon he pulled up in front of Doverville School and stopped. “You should be in school!” the old man snipped, speaking to Emma for the first time. Emma got off the sled, and the old man was gone before she could thank him.

After an adventure like that, it seemed sort of anticlimactic to have to go to school. And what was she going to do with the puppy? She figured this Mrs. Walsh, the principal, could help, so she took the puppy along with her into the school.

She was wrong. Mrs. Walsh, with a face as sour as a summer lemon, told Emma, “It's an old wives' tale that dogs are good for girls. Get rid of that puppy immediately! And get back here fast so that you're not late for class!” Emma ran out of the school. She supposed she could have just let the dog go, but she knew its mother was gone, and the Banshee Man might come back, so she couldn't really do that. Outside, walking around the school, trying to figure out what to do, Emma saw a large storage shack attached to the back of the school. She looked in, and there was a perfectly good box that might be comfortable for the pup. She put him in, covered it with a plank of wood, and put a heavy brick on top. “I'm sorry I don't have food for you,” Emma told the pup, “but I'll come back. I promise.” The puppy whimpered in response as Emma ran back to the school.

7
Puppy Love

Music greeted Emma as Mrs. Walsh escorted her into the school assembly hall. The class she was to join was rehearsing “The Twelve Days of Christmas” for an upcoming school program. The students, including Mike, were standing around a piano singing. “Eleven pipers piping,” the voices rang out over the piano, played by their teacher, Mrs. Clancy, a pretty young woman whom Emma could see was very pregnant.

“Class,” Mrs. Walsh said, “I would like you to meet Emma O'Connor.”

The class looked at this new student very curiously, for they had rarely seen a girl in boy's clothes before.

“And where are you from, Emma O'Connor?” Mrs. Walsh asked.

“Pitts—” Emma started to say. But after the last couple of days of upsets and rejections, Emma really wanted to make a good impression. And besides, was there ever an adventure hero from Pittsburgh? “I live in New York—the greatest city in the world.”

“Well,” Mrs. Clancy said, getting up from the piano bench with some difficulty, “welcome to Doverville, Emma. This is just perfect, because we've been looking, looking, looking for a partridge in a pear tree.” “

I don't sing,” Emma told her truthfully. “Anyway, I won't be here that long. My dad—my dad and
my
mom
are coming to get me before Christmas.”

Mrs. Walsh was shocked by Emma's brassy tone, but her attention was averted by the burst of a whole range of notes on the piano when Mrs. Clancy flumped down on the keys overcome by the sudden onset of labor!

Mrs. Clancy started breathing hard, and two of the girls, who had been rehearsed in more than just “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” ran up to her and, each taking an arm, walked her out of the assembly hall. Mrs. Walsh, who really didn't like little matters like childbirth to upset her school day, had no choice but to cancel the rehearsal and, indeed, class for the rest of the day—which made not one student unhappy.

Emma had wanted to run out right away to check on the puppy, but Mrs. Walsh kept her behind to answer a few question about her previous school and other “facts” about her life. By the time Emma got out to the shed, she found the box empty!

“Is this who you're looking for?” came a voice from behind her. It was the boy from yesterday who had called her useless. “Look, you cannot keep a puppy in a dark box,” Mike lectured. “He was crying. I could hear him from all the way in the front.”

“Well, they took his mother!” Emma said, trying to explain her actions.

“The new dogcatcher?” Mike asked. Emma shrugged her shoulders, for she really didn't know. She took the puppy into her arms, and Mike could see that she was truly concerned about it. Maybe she wasn't so useless after all. “Look, do you want to take him to my house? We'll get him something to eat. We have lots of dogs.”

When they got to the Stevens farm, despite the snow on the ground and the chill in the air, Emma felt nothing but warmth. Maybe it was because Mike was now being nice to her and was, Emma had to admit, kind of cute with his red hair and freckled face. Or maybe it was because Mrs. Stevens seemed genuinely happy to see her and welcomed her to their home. Or possibly it was because she found on the farm many happy dogs.

There were Dalmatians and Sheepdogs, and Boxers and Bassett Hounds. There were big dogs like St. Bernards, and little ones like Chihuahuas. There were Cocker Spaniels like the puppy, some Golden Retrievers, and even a Poodle in a doghouse. But the Poodle was different—the Poodle did not seem happy.

“This is Max,” the boy said to the girl. It was the girl who
had jostled his cage. Max was a little scared of her, but she
was holding a puppy and loving it, so she must be okay.
“Hey, Max!” said the boy as he started to rub him behind
the ears. Max closed his eyes and nuzzled the boy's arm.
“You going to come out, boy?” Despite the persuasive behind-the-
ear rubs, Max still didn't want to come out. Not until
Mr. Whiteside came to get him.

“He just won't come out,” Mike said to Emma, while showing her the barn where the dogs slept.

“How come?”

“I think it's because he's so sad. He eats a little, not as much as he should. I wish we knew what was wrong.”

Mrs. Stevens prepared a wonderful lunch, and as they sat and ate it, Mike explained how his mom had become the Dog Lady of Doverville and showed Emma the
LIKE
magazine. Emma was impressed; she had never had lunch with someone famous before. “Too famous,” Mrs. Stevens said. “Now I have all these dogs coming from all over the country, and I don't know how I'm going to continue to feed them all.”

After lunch, Mrs. Stevens called around to see if the puppy and her mother had belonged to anyone, but no one claimed the dogs.

“So what're you going to call him?” Mike asked, figuring the dog now belonged to Emma.

“I don't know,” Emma said.

“Well, he's got to have a name.”

She supposed he did, so she picked the name she liked the best. “Douglas O'Connor.”

“You can't name a dog Douglas O'Connor.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's just not a dog's name.”

“Yeah, well, what about Yeti?”

Yeti was Mike's dog, a beautiful Sheepdog he had had since it was a puppy. There were a lot of wonderful dogs on the farm now, but Yeti was Mike's number one favorite. “Yeti is a perfect dog's name. My mom says it's ‘
fraught
with meaning.' See, look at her fur. It's like snow. Look at her face.”

But you couldn't really see Yeti's face, and Emma said so. “Of course,” Mike said, “that's why her name's Yeti. It's the name of the Abominable Snowman. Douglas O'Connor is the dumbest name I've ever heard.”

Emma had not explained that it was her father's name, and she didn't want to now. “Well, he's not my dog anyway.”

Mrs. Stevens offered to take care of the dog, and Emma agreed that was best. But as they started walking to the truck for Mrs. Stevens to drive Emma back to Dolores's, the puppy broke from his pen and ran into Emma's arms. “Well, it looks like you've got someone to look after,” Mrs. Stevens said as she, Emma, and the puppy got into the truck.

On the way Mrs. Stevens cautioned Emma to keep the puppy hidden and told Emma that she would pick her up in the morning for school. “Sneak the puppy out, and I'll take it during the day,” she said with a smile. “Got to keep it away from old Norman Doyle!”

When she got back to Dolores's, Emma wrapped the puppy in her coat and ran upstairs before Dolores could come out of the salon. As soon as she was in her room, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Hurriedly, Emma sat the puppy on her bed and threw blankets over him. “You get a job?” Dolores yelled out. “No,” Emma yelled back, thinking that would stop her, but Dolores was unstoppable. “You better be getting a job and paying your fair share, or you'll be living in the woods. You hear me?” The door swung open, and there stood Dolores, one hand on her hip. “I'll tell you what. I know a fellow who will give you a job if I ask him. He practically worships the ground I walk on. Poor soul.”

Emma, trying to still the wriggling lump on her bed, attempted to act normal and make conversation. “What does your boyfriend do?”

“He is
not
my boyfriend! He just thinks he is some hotshot 'cause he was promoted from garbage to animal control.”

“You're going to get me a job with the dogcatcher?!”

Dolores nodded. “Just until your dad shows up—if he ever does.” Then she left the room. Emma breathed a sigh of relief, and the puppy whimpered. Emma was just about to let him out from under the blankets when Dolores suddenly popped back in. “Look, you're whimpering like some little lost pup, and I'm only trying to help you.”

“You don't need to bother the dogcatcher. I'll find a job. I promise,” Emma said. But Dolores's attention had already moved to the braids coming out from under Emma's cloth cap. “Is that how you always wear your hair?” she said, taking some professional interest.

Emma just shrugged, wanting to engage Dolores as little as possible. And it worked—Dolores left. Emma rescued the puppy from the blankets, and the two snuggled up together on the bed. Soon they were both asleep.

8
Old Jake

Mrs. Clancy brought into the world a beautiful baby boy, seven pounds, eight ounces. But that did not impress Mrs. Walsh, whose only concern was that now Mrs. Clancy could not bring into the world the Christmas program. She had to find someone else. She asked Mrs. Jones, the history teacher, but Mrs. Jones said she couldn't do it because she didn't have any music experience in her past. Then she asked Mr. Shaw, the biology teacher, but he said if he couldn't dissect it, he couldn't understand it. Finally she asked Mr. Cullimore, the school coach, who said sure—he was game for anything!

So Mrs. Walsh gathered all the students into the assembly hall and made the grand announcement that Coach Cullimore would now direct the Christmas program and the singing of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” She also seemed to take pleasure in announcing that Emma, who
would
participate in the program, was
not
from New York City but from Pittsburgh, and that she would
not
be going home anytime soon. Emma blushed a deep red, while the other kids fought to stifle laughs. Why Mrs. Walsh enjoyed being mean no one really knew, but she did and that was a fact. So it was no wonder that they were all happy when she left them alone to get on with the rehearsal.

Now Coach Cullimore, who was also the math teacher, was perfectly capable of being a shortstop or doing long division, but he could not, as his dear old mother use to say, carry a tune in a bucket. Nor could he play the piano, which became obvious after just a few notes. The students cringed.

“I think it's more like this,” Mike suggested, as something more closely resembling music came from the piano.

“You're in!” Coach directed. “You can take the position at the piano from here on out.”

“No, no, no,” Mike protested, head shaking. “My mom forced me to take lessons, but I never practiced. I really can't play. But my mom, now, she's great on the piano!”

“Really?! Do you think she would be willing to come play for us?” the coach asked Mike.

“Well, not if
I
ask her,” Mike said in a knowing manner. “But maybe if you asked her personally . . .” Mike really liked the coach and knew his mom would too.

Emma was to be the Partridge in a Pear Tree, and found herself sticking her head through a hole in a large cardboard painting of a pear tree. This was her second embarrassment of the day—not something an adventure hero should be doing. Unless, of course, that adventure hero was working undercover. That thought helped Emma get through the rehearsal and the rest of the day until school let out and she could go look for that job she promised Dolores she would find.

Naturally Emma first went to the town newspaper to offer her services as a paper “boy.” But this was the
Doverville Trumpet
not the
Pittsburgh Herald
, and the editor of the paper himself doubled as the paper “boy.” She went to the general store and the hardware store, to the dry goods store and to the butcher; but no one had a job for an adult, much less a kid, much less a girl kid, as several of the boys from her class were happy to tell her. But they also told her about Old Jake down by the river; he always had chores for kids. “Really?” Emma asked. “Yeah, just follow the river to the old bridge. It'll be right there.” Emma thanked the boys and set off with renewed hope. One of the boys yelled after her, “It's a ways, but it's worth it!” But she did not hear him then say to his companions, “Yeah, if you like being eaten by dogs,” which his friends thought was a pretty funny idea.