The Pup Who Cried Wolf Read online

  I wish I’d stayed with Mona.

  I wish I’d listened to Glory.

  I think about making a break for it. I think about how quickly I left Alexandra in the dust.

  Then I think about how those wolves ran down a lightning-fast rabbit with all of its twisting and turning tricks.

  No matter if I choose to run or just stay in my shivery clump of grass, it looks as if I have only a minute or two left to live.

  I’m doomed.

  16

  Brother Rat

  The wolves don’t move a blade of grass when they take a step. They are in no hurry.

  I can see every whisker now, every silver hair among the gold and brown and black. They are beautiful. They are strong and confident.

  And they are going to eat me.

  The sun is burning hot on the top of my head, and I think about how I have seen my last sunset.

  Just when it seems as if it can’t get any worse, it does.

  A flash of white catches my eye. A fat little rodent waddles his way down the dry, dusty bank to the meadow just behind the wolves. He must not have seen the wolves. Rats can’t see very well. He is looking at that nice, green meadow grass.

  I can just imagine what he’s thinking. He’s thinking about all the hiding places and girl rats who would definitely make a home in such a beautiful place.

  Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who sees him.

  The wolves turn. They don’t miss a thing. They have heard his little scurrying footsteps. At first they just stare as if they can’t believe their eyes. It’s possible that tasty rodents in Yellowstone Park don’t often waddle by dressed in an easy-to-spot white outfit, all fattened up and ready to eat.

  They don’t just stand and stare for long. You don’t become a top predator by standing around and staring when your midday snack strolls by.

  The wolves turn their backs on me. I think about jumping up right then and hightailing it out of there. But my legs won’t move.

  The rat stops in his tracks. He sees the trouble he is in too late.

  You might think I’m thrilled to have the wolves get interested in someone else. But I am not thrilled at all. I know, for sure, that it is my brother rat in the dirt.

  As I watch, the wolves surround Hector. I can see his face clearly now. It is a face I have seen every morning of my life.

  He crouches down as low as he can go in the dust and shows his yellow teeth. I’ve always thought those teeth were creepy, but these wolves don’t seem too impressed. In fact, the wolves seem to be grinning.

  One of them reaches out a paw and flips Hector over. Another one grabs him in his teeth and tosses him spinning in the air.

  They are playing with him.

  It’s too much for me to watch. I can’t do it. My legs stand up on their own. I take a step. My brain screams at me to run in the opposite direction. But my legs run me right toward those wolves.

  Unbelievably, I bark at them.

  I reach right down to the biggest, fiercest part of me and woof with all the power I can muster.

  Okay, I admit it. I yap. I yip and yap, and I give it everything I have.

  They aren’t going to gobble down my friend without a fight. These top predators will learn what it’s like to face down the baddest pet-store Chihuahua the world has ever seen.

  Okay, I’ll admit that my loudest and angriest barking has never caused anyone to run away in fear. Or even to back away slowly.

  But I’m hoping that just this once the wolves will tuck their tails and run.

  They don’t.

  They also don’t wag their tails and walk up to me in a friendly, sniffing sort of way.

  Instead they all pull their lips over their teeth and snarl. There is no sound in the universe as frightening as the snarl of a wild wolf.

  Ice tingles spread down my legs. But I’m not going to stop barking. Okay, yapping.

  I yap like I’ve never yapped before. I yap as if twenty burglars have broken into Mona’s apartment. I yap as if a hundred buffalo have gotten loose in Central Park, and it’s up to me to move them along. I yap as if it were my last yap—which I figure it probably is. Then I yap some more.

  And for just a moment, it seems to confuse the wolves. They look at me as if this is something they might need to take a minute to figure out. Before they eat it.

  I see Hector gather himself off the ground where he landed. He begins to sneak a few steps closer to the meadow. Then he makes a dash for it and disappears into the long grass. I hope there’s a hole somewhere close by.

  The wolves don’t notice. In a stiff-legged way, they begin to move in my direction. I stop yapping. There are no snarls now. Heads low and ears forward, the pack is done figuring or being confused or surprised.

  They are hunting.

  It’s all over.

  17

  Crazy Bird

  I stop barking. My thoughts echo inside my head. No more road trips in Mona’s sporty car. No more exercise runs around her apartment. No more crunchy doggy chow Nibbles and Nuggets all the same size.

  Step by step the wolves close in on me. There is no hurry, no doubt in those six yellow eyes about how this is going to end. I have eaten my last doggy biscuit. I have felt the last rush of wind in my ears out of a car window. I have enjoyed my last tummy party.

  I also think I have seen the last surprise of the day.

  I’m wrong.

  A flash of green suddenly falls out of the sky in between me and the wolves.

  The wolves stop their stalking. We all stare at this strange fluttering collection of bright green leaves. It’s flopping around on the ground in a circle.

  As I watch, it flops under the feet of the wolves and makes them jump back. They sniff at it and get a snoot full of dust for their trouble.

  It flops over to me.

  I sniff at it—and catch sight of an eyeball.

  “Split!” whispers the collection of leaves with an eyeball. “Run!” Then in a louder voice it moans, “Oooh, my stomach. I think I’m dying.”

  That is no collection of leaves. That is a bird. My powerful reasoning ability tells me this.

  “Call a doctor,” it screeches.

  A poor diseased bird. An unfortunate traveling parrot that has been blown off course and has chosen the exact wrong spot to get sick.

  I sniff again at the bird and get punched in the nose by a wing for my trouble. “Go home, you walnut-headed dingbat,” it whispers.

  Huh? A sick bird that still has enough pep in it to be insulting? I back up a step to put a little distance between me and this crazy thing with the spicy tongue and the good, strong left hook. The sick bird flops and flutters back over to the wolves, who seem more and more interested.

  As I stare, the bird flaps helplessly downhill toward the meadow. The wolves cautiously follow.

  “Que stupido!” the doomed bird squawks. “Get out of here, you bug-eyed mutt!”

  Now, most bug-eyed mutts wouldn’t know what to do in that situation. Most bug-eyed mutts would have no idea what their next move should be. But I have no such confusion.

  I charge out of there as if I’m on fire. I tuck tail and run just as hard as I can in the direction of Mona and the motor home and darling Alexandra.

  I don’t lope. I scamper. Honestly, I’m not concerned about how I’m moving. I’m just dashing and dodging in a way that gets me gone from that meadow as fast as possible.

  There is no thundering of feet behind me. There is no hot breath on my hindquarters, no snapping of teeth. It doesn’t matter. I keep dashing.

  There’s one thing wolves don’t know about Chihuahuas. Parrots don’t know this either. Or rats. Chihuahuas don’t even know this about Chihuahuas. If there are wolves behind them, they can move very fast!

  18

  A Glorious Escape

  Safety. Shelter. My poor brain whispers to me over and over. Mona. Humans. Motor homes with big butts and cars with the windows rolled up. It all seems wonderful to m
e at the moment. I’m moving faster than a New York taxi on a day with no traffic.

  I hope Glory is waiting back at camp.

  Glory?

  I stop running. In a Chihuahua-sized cloud of dust, I pull up short. My brain starts an argument with my legs. My legs want to keep going. They are just trying to do their job, I suppose, and they won’t stop dancing around. But my brain has cleared in a snap.

  Que stupido! Que problema! I know that voice. I know that phony Spanish accent. That is no stranger in green feathers behind me. The truest, bravest friend I have is about to be torn apart by big and unforgiving teeth. And all because she got sick in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  I can’t let it happen.

  I have to go back. I have to try and save her. But how did Glory get sick so quickly? When we left camp, she was fine.

  I turn around. I get those legs moving the other way.

  Suddenly, something dive-bombs me from above. A large, dog-eating bird of prey swoops down on me, screaming and aiming its giant beak at my eyes.

  I fling myself on the ground as low as I can. But I know it isn’t going to do any good. I’m not going to be able to rescue anybody. I am about to be carried away and fed piece by piece to young, hungry eagle babies.

  To escape from wolves and end up as eagle burger is the worst thing that I can think of. I crouch and wait for the claws to seize my body and lift me into the air.

  “Run, you fool!” The screeching turns to words—words in a fabulous, dear, familiar voice. “They’re right behind you!”

  My legs push off. My toes dig in. No scrabbling and slipping over hardwood floors. My ears fly back, and I glue my eyes to the green flier ahead of me. I never look back. In a short time I can see the road. I can smell the hot dogs and spicy mustard from the campers. Don’t stop. Don’t even slow down, I tell my legs.

  I dash. I streak. I burn through the grass.

  Once on the other side of that road, I know I’m safe. Glory flutters down and I leap up to meet her. We roll over each other on the ground laughing and celebrating like wild things.

  “How did you get away?” I ask Glory when I’m too tired to jump and celebrate anymore. “And how did you get well so fast?”

  She falls to the ground in a heap of feathers. “Call the doctor!” she moans.

  “Oh, Glory!” I say. “How did you know the perfect thing to do?”

  Glory picks herself up off the ground and shakes off the dust. “You don’t get to be as old as I am without tucking a few tricks under your wing. If you pretend to be sick and helpless enough, predators don’t think they have to rush in for the kill, and you can distract them.”

  Wow!

  Glory is smarter than us all. For a moment I wonder what she would do if I were to give her a big, wet, slobbery kiss. “Those aren’t just tricks. Those are wild tricks, Glory,” I tell her. “Those are jungle-bird, fly-in-your-face, don’t-even-think-about-sticking-me-in-a-cage tricks.”

  “Well, let’s not get carried away.” Glory shakes the dust off her feathers. “I like my cage just fine and I don’t need any extra excitement.”

  We start walking toward the motor home. Glory has a long, striding, side-to-side, swing-your-tail-back-and-forth sort of walk I have never seen before.

  Then I stop. “Glory,” I say quietly, “no one made you come save me. You could have just let me run off on my own and let me get snapped up in the wilderness. It would have served me right.”

  Glory gives her feathers a shake. “Oh, I would have to agree with you. It definitely would have served you right. I probably should have.”

  She chuckles. “But what a glorious escape we had. And my goodness, you were a little blur. Que rapido. I don’t know where it came from, but I do believe there is a bit of wild-wolf speed in those little legs of yours.”

  A few moments later, we reach the motor home. From the way Glory hunkers down as she creeps toward the steps, I know we are thinking the same thing. Alexandra could be waiting. Make a quiet entrance. But it isn’t meant to be.

  We hear a screech. “Glory and Lobo came home!” That’s Alexandra. I brace myself for the attack. But it never comes.

  Because Mona beats her to it.

  She scoops both Glory and me up in her arms before Alexandra can get to us, and twirls around and hugs us. I even get a kiss on the nose.

  Truthfully, I don’t mind. Maybe I even like it. When she is finally done hugging and kissing us, she puts us in the motor home.

  Alexandra tries to get past, but Mona playfully grabs the monster, gives her a noogie, and tells her that we have had enough loving to last us for a while.

  I have to agree.

  Quite a while.

  The door closes. The footsteps and whining noises fade, and for a long moment I listen to the quiet and look around. Glory’s cage has been shined up and cleaned. My pillow has been brushed.

  Wow. We came so close to leaving Mona all alone.

  I glance inside Hector’s cage. Seeing it empty makes me sad. Someone has cleaned it out and put in fresh sawdust.

  I wander over and sniff the bars up and down. “He’ll never come back,” I say.

  “True. And thanks to you, he’s not causing indigestion, rolling around in some wolf stomach.” Glory flutters up to her cage and climbs in. “One question. What on earth made you turn around and head back toward that meadow?”

  “When I figured out it was you who was sick … even though you weren’t really—I had to go back for you.”

  Glory shakes her head. “You are brave,” she says, “and a good friend.”

  I make a few circles.

  She turns around and pokes her head out. “Now, enjoy your peace and quiet. I know I will.”

  I settle down on my own beloved pillow and try to enjoy the quiet.

  But the quiet feels all wrong. “Actually, I kind of miss him,” I say. “I wish I could tell him that.”

  Glory cracks open a few seeds. “I miss him too. Although heaven knows I won’t miss all the squabbling and fighting around here.”

  “He’s probably out there with a girl rat right now,” I say. “He’ll never give us another thought.”

  I hop up on the seat and looked out the window.

  Stars are beginning to shine through.

  I close my eyes.

  “Lobo,” Glory says softly. I look up. “I’m sorry your lifelong dream of finding your pack wasn’t meant to be.”

  19

  My Pack

  It’s true. If there was ever a time to feel sorry for myself, this is it.

  I feel mixed up or dizzy or sick. I feel … I don’t know what I feel.

  Tired. That’s one thing I feel.

  Maybe after I get some rest I’ll know what I’m feeling.

  I close my eyes again and just start to doze when a happy scream from outside makes my ears shoot straight up. I leap to my feet and run in circles.

  There are a few more shouts and then the door of the motor home bursts open. Mona hurries in and slides a fat little white rodent into his cage.

  “Heckles?” I leap for joy and circle and bark and bark. Okay, I yap. I can’t help it. I’m so happy.

  “Thank goodness my family is all safe tonight,” Mona says. “I don’t know how I could go back to the city without you guys. Sweet dreams, everyone.” She closes the motor home door.

  I run up to the cage. “You came back. I can’t believe you came back!”

  “What a day.” Hector flops down in a corner. “And what a night.”

  “Did you find a girl rat?”

  “There was a girl rat on the other side of every dark tunnel,” he says. “Those country girls love a party rat, let me tell you.” He wiggles his toes.

  “Then why did you ever come home?” I ask.

  “Did I tell you it was dark? That’s exactly the problem. It’s dark down in those underground rat holes. I’m not used to creeping around in tight places.” He rolls over and comes up to the side of his cage. �
��Especially if you happen to be carrying around a few extra love handles.” Hector pinches the extra fat on his tummy. “You can’t even turn around in some of those rat highways. It’s oneway traffic all day, every day, for a skinny country rat. But for a fat city rat, it’s no-way traffic.”

  “So that’s why you thought it was a good idea to hop out of your nice, safe hole and go strolling around in broad daylight,” Glory says.

  “Hey, you were right.” Hector sighs. “No question about that. The minute you poke your head out for fresh air, it’s nothing but teeth and claws and sharp beaks. Especially if you’re a plump, tasty, good-looking fellow like me.” He fluffs up some sawdust and flops back down.

  I lie on my pillow and listen to the peaceful night noises of crickets and frogs. “Heckles … I mean Hector, I’m glad you came back,” I say softly.

  There is no answer, and I think the little guy must have fallen asleep. Then he coughs. “First of all,” he says, “call me Heckles. I can’t deal with any more surprises tonight. Second of all, I did a little thinking out there and decided I’m not going to meet anyone out there as good as you and the bird, who were both going to face down the biggest teeth on the continent just to save my smelly old self.”

  I sit up and look at him.

  His tail gives a little twitch.

  “And last of all, somebody has to make sure Glory doesn’t sleep the days away with too much peace and quiet.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” says Glory. “Somebody put a towel over my cage and let me have some rest!”

  Hector winks at me.

  I put my head on my paws. The night is quiet for the moment. Then from far off comes a long, high, lonely howl. I hear Glory stir in her cage, and Hector and I sit up.

  “Back to sleep,” says Glory. “Just a family calling to itself. Everybody needs a family.”

  “The trick is to make sure someone else’s family doesn’t eat yours,” says Hector.

  I turn two and a half times and lie down. The sounds of the room settle all around me like the blankets Mona used to tuck me into when I was a lonely puppy. Heckles scratches himself, and his sawdust rustles as he tries to get more comfortable. Glory makes her feather-fluffing sounds and then grows quiet again.