A Tale of Two Tails

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GROSSET & DUNLAP
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Doodles by Theo Baker and Sarah Stern

Text copyright © 2008 by Henry Winkler and Lin Oliver Productions, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 2008 by Grosset & Dunlap. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. S.A.

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

eISBN : 978-1-440-68819-5

 

“Good morning, boys and girls,” my teacher, Ms. Adolf, said as we settled into our seats for the school assembly. “I'd like to introduce you to my dear partner and beloved companion, Randolf Bartholomew Irving Adolf.”

I grabbed my best friend, Frankie Townsend, by the arm.

“I can't believe what I just heard,” I whispered to him.

“What did you hear that I didn't hear?” he asked.

“Ms. Adolf just told us her whole story. As in the divorce. The painful breakup followed by the months of loneliness, and at last, remarriage to her beloved longtime companion, Randolf.”

“You've gone cuckoo, Hank,” my other best friend, Ashley Wong, whispered. “You've been watching too many soap operas.”

48 “I think you need an ear cleaning,” Frankie added.

“I think I understand why the first Mr. Adolf dumped her,” I went on, ignoring them. “She probably graded him on how he ate dinner.”

Luckily, before I could think more about the disgusting details of Ms. Adolf's social life, she leaned into the microphone and continued.

“Please give a PS 87 welcome to my award-winning thoroughbred boxer, Randolf, better known in my household as Pookie Doodle,” she said.

“What a relief!” I whispered to Frankie. “Her beloved is a
dog
.”

Between you and me, I have a really good imagination, but even I was having a hard time picturing Ms. Adolf in love. Just the thought of her in her grey shoes and grey dress, holding hands and walking through Central Park on a grey day, pausing for a little kiss by the side of the . . .

Randolf—oh excuse me . . . I mean Pookie Doodle—was led onto the multipurpose room stage by our principal, Leland Love. Oh, excuse me again. It was actually Randolf who was leading Principal Love. And let me just say, “leading” would be a gentle word for what that dog was doing. Randolf, who was the size of a small tugboat, was dragging Principal Love toward the edge of the stage at a very rapid pace.

Ms. Adolf bolted out from behind the podium, grabbing Randolf's leash and the back of Principal Love's jacket at the same time. It's a good thing she acted fast, because old Principal Love was about one second away from doing a major face-plant on the hardwood floor below. He gave Randolf a fake smile, the kind people in the park give to dogs that growl at them.

“His canine legs are quite well developed for a dog of the canine species,” he observed.

Principal Love was trying to appear cheerful, but I could tell he was afraid of Randolf because the mole on his cheek, which is shaped like the Statue of Liberty without the torch, turned a fearful shade of burgundy. If you looked really close, you could see that mole shaking, and I'm not kidding.

“Come to mama,” Ms. Adolf said to Pookie Doodle. “You're such a handsome boy. Such a good boy. Such a mama's boy.”

Pookie Doodle seemed to like this kind of gooey talk, because drool started to pour from his face like the Nile River.

It was really funny to see grouchy old Ms. Adolf talking in that sweetie-baby-cutie-pie tone of voice. In the twenty-three years Ms. Adolf has been teaching at PS 87, not one student has ever heard her utter the words “good boy.” Or good anything, for that matter.

Ms. Adolf, holding Randolf's leash with a grip of steel, took him back to the podium and tapped on the microphone.

“Pupils, I would like your undivided attention,” she said. “Now.”

When Ms. Adolf says “now,” it means five minutes ago. So we all tried our best to stop laughing.

“I suppose you're wondering why Pookie Doodle has graced us with his attendance at our assembly today,” Ms. Adolf said.

“I know,” Luke Whitman called out, shooting his arm into the air. “Because we're having an ugly dog contest.”

Well, that did it. Everyone cracked up, even the teachers. Mr. Sicilian, the fourth-grade teacher, was laughing. Mr. Rock, our music teacher, was laughing. Principal Love's mole was even laughing. (You can tell because it looked like it was doing the hula.) Only one person in the whole auditorium wasn't laughing.

You guessed it.

The grey queen herself, ladies and gentlemen—may I present the non-laughing Ms. Fanny Adolf.

“Pookie Doodle and I do not find that remark funny, Luke,” she said. “It is especially offensive in light of the fact that the Pookers here has donated his valuable time, when he should be practicing his agility training at obedience school. He wanted to come to PS 87 to help make an important announcement.”

“That dog talks?” asked Nick McKelty, the bully idiot of all time. “My dog talks, too . . . in three languages. English, Spanish, and he can bark in Italian.”

Yup, there it was. The McKelty Factor at work. With that guy, it's always truth times a hundred. I've seen that ratty little Chihuahua of his, and I can tell you this. He can barely bark, let alone bark in Italian.

“Pookie Doodle and I are here to announce that one week from today, PS 87 will be holding its annual Pet Day,” Ms. Adolf went on. “You are all welcome to enter your pet in the competition to become the school mascot for the year.”

“But I don't have a pet,” Ava Turrisi, a first-grader with really tight pigtails, said.

“Then clearly, you won't be entering the competition,” Ms. Adolf answered. I felt really bad for little Ava.

“My cat coughed up a fur ball in the shape of Florida,” called out Rob Reinis, a tall second-grader with a big head.

“And your point, Mr. Reinis, is exactly what?” Ms. Adolf said, staring him down with her beady grey eyes.

“I just wanted you to know,” the poor kid answered.

“Are there any relevant questions?” Ms. Adolf said, ignoring him.

“I have one,” Katie Sperling said, raising her beautiful hand, which is attached to her beautiful self. “Does it have to be a real pet, or can I enter my stuffed autograph dog? It's baby blue with a rhinestone collar.”

Ashley leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“I helped her make that collar,” Ashley said. “I let her have some of my best tricolor rhinestones.”

“The animals in the competition will be judged on beauty, obedience, and intelligence,” Ms. Adolf said. “And I'm afraid your stuffed toy does not possess the latter.”

“But he has Justin Timberlake's autograph across his tail,” Katie Sperling said.

“Well, I'm sure your little pre-teenage crushes look wonderful on your bedspread, but that's where they should remain,” Ms. Adolf said.

“I bet you a million dollars Ms. Adolf has never even heard of Justin Timberlake,” I whispered to Frankie.

I swear, Ms. Adolf has two sets of eyes. One set watches everyone else in the school, and one set just watches me. She never misses me doing anything wrong, and me whispering during a school assembly was no exception.

“Mr. Zipzer, it looks like you enjoy talking out of turn,” she said . . . into the microphone, no less! “Pupils, shall we all pause while Mr. Zipzer has a private conversation?”

That's my life, friends. In a nutshell. Everybody in the school is laughing and yelling things out, and I whisper one itty-bitty sentence to Frankie, and she's on me like mustard on a hot dog. The yellow kind, not the brown.

“I was just telling my friend Frankie that I plan to enter my dog, Cheerio,” I said, hoping that if she knew I was talking about the mascot competition she wouldn't continue to embarrass me.

“I think you'll change your mind when you hear that there is one additional requirement,” Ms. Adolf said.