A Tale of Two Tails (12 page)

“Now that's my kind of skirt,” Ashley whispered to me as we led Cheerio to his chair on the stage. “I'm going to make one just like it, except I'll desperately need to add more rhinestones.”

Principal Love was standing at the microphone in the center of the stage. He was in the spirit of Pet Day, too, wearing a knitted scarf with purple alligators on it. Even the mole on his face had changed shape. Instead of looking like the Statue of Liberty, I swear it looked like a gerbil without a tail.

“Children, how exciting,” he said. “Today PS 87 will finally have a new mascot, which will connect the animal kingdom with the kingdom of children, thus creating a space where children and animals coexist in what I like to call the kingdom of childimals.”

“Did I just hear what I think I heard?” Frankie whispered to me.

“Yes, you did,” said Ashley.

“We are now officially childimals,” I whispered.

“What does that make Nick the Tick?” Frankie said. “He's already an animal.”

“That's easy,” I whispered back. “He's a jerkimal.”

We cracked up, which was not such a good thing, because it caught the eye of Principal Love.

“Mr. Zipzer, would you mind taking your seat and not disrupting the proceedings,” he said. “Unless you are a participant, you should be in the bleachers.”

“I'm on my way, sir. I was just settling Team Cheerio down. Nerves are a little on edge today, as I'm sure you can understand. But here I am, on my way to my seat.”

At the very instant, the doors to the multipurpose room flew open and Mason came bounding in like a Spalding pink high-bounce ball.

“Wait for me,” he yelled. “I had to go to the bathroom and I couldn't get my underpants up.”

Everybody burst out laughing. Mason stopped dead in his tracks with a surprised look on his face, wondering why everyone was laughing.

I put my arm around his shoulder, and whispered as quietly as I could, “Mason. When there's a group larger than two, we don't mention our underpants. And you haven't missed anything. Go take your place with Team Cheerio.”

“Got it, Hank,” Mason said, not even a little embarrassed. Then he darted off toward Ashley's outstretched hands and jumped right in her lap. What a great kid he is. He flashed me a thumbs-up and mouthed the words, “Cheerio's going to win!”

I didn't share his confidence. I mean, Cheerio hadn't exactly been a star student in the training. And with so many kids crowding the room, I could see that he was feeling a little agitated. And when he's feeling agitated, it's police station, here we come again . . . if you know what I mean.

I climbed up into the bleachers and took a seat. The multipurpose room was almost full and all the kids actually seemed happy to be there and excited to see the contest. This was going to be a fun assembly, not like the one a couple weeks ago when a squeak-box opera singer from Brooklyn came and sang us a bunch of songs in German, wearing a blond wig and a helmet with horns.

I'm not kidding. The helmet had horns.

“Our first contestant is Luke Whitman,” Principal Love said. “Luke, would you like to come forward and introduce your candidate for mascot?”

Luke went to the center of the stage area, squatted down on the floor, and placed a large green leaf in front of him. When he unwrapped the leaf, everyone leaned forward to see what he had.

“Eeuuwww,” Rashid Nelson gasped. “It's one of those slimy things.”

“I thought they were against the law,” his buddy Connor called out.

A whole bunch of other boys from Mr. Sicilian's class cracked up and started to make gagging noises.

“It's called a slug,” Luke said, glaring at them, “and it's like a snail with no shell. This one's name is Fritz.”

“And what in particular is Fritz's talent?” Principal Love asked.

“He will leave a slime trail in the shape of a
p
, which as we all know is the first letter of PS 87.”

“That is so incredibly weak,” Nick McKelty yelled out from his place on the stage. I noticed that his Chihuahua, Fang, was shaking like a leaf in his lap.

“Oh yeah?” Luke fired back. “What can your dog in a rat suit do?”

Everyone in the multipurpose room started to laugh, which made McKelty steaming mad.

“Pupils,” Ms. Adolf said, standing up from her chair on the judges' panel. “That's quite enough laughter to hold us for the rest of the afternoon. This mascot competition is not an occasion for fun. It is an educational experience through and through.”

Boy, old Adolf knows how to stomp out a laugh before it even leaves your throat.

“And how long will this slime-trail-forming trick take?” Principal Love inquired.

“An hour and a half, if we're lucky,” Luke said. “Depends if Fritz takes a pit stop, and we'll only know that if the color of the slime changes.”

“I'm going to throw up,” Katie Sperling said.

“I can feel it in the back of my throat now,” her best friend, Kim Paulson, agreed. Those two do everything together.

“Why don't you take Fritz to the side of the room and allow him to continue, while we move on with the rest of the program,” Principal Love suggested.

“Okay, but you don't know what you're missing,” Luke shrugged.

“I'm quite sure we do,” Principal Love said. “Now who's next?”

Frankie and Ashley both raised their hands at the same time.

“And who is your contestant?” Principal Love asked.

“Cheerio Zipzer,” Frankie said.

“The hot-dog dog,” Mason shouted out.

Everyone in the bleachers started to giggle, especially everyone in Mrs. McMurray's kindergarten class. I think they were happy that one of their classmates got a big laugh. All Ms. Adolf had to do was raise one finger on her grey hand, and that put an end to that. Every laugh in the room stopped mid-throat. I never thought silence could travel at the speed of sound.

Ashley led Cheerio up to the center of the stage area, and Frankie and Mason followed behind. Frankie was holding a baggy of bits of soylami, and Mason kept shaking his leg as if he was trying to get his tighty-whities to settle down.

I could see Cheerio's eyes scanning the audience, looking for me. Our eyes met, and my heart froze.

It was as if I could see into that crazy brain of his.

And what I saw was not good.

But I was wrong.

Cheerio took the stage like a real champ. Ashley was holding his leash and he pranced out with his head held high and his tail waving back and forth as if he was saying, “Hello, everyone. Cheerio has arrived.”

I know this sounds weird, because I'm not a dog and I don't really think like one. But I'm here to tell you that Cheerio knew this was his moment. He marched to the middle of the floor, sat his sweet little rump down, and waited for the command.

The kids in the audience sensed something great was about to happen, because they all leaned forward in their bleacher seats.

Ashley, Frankie, and Mason stood in a semicircle around Cheerio and faced the kids.

“The dachshund was developed to smell, chase, and flush out badgers,” Ashley began in a clear, confident voice.

“From their burrows,” Mason added in his very high kindergarten voice.

“Some historians believe dachshunds go all the way back to ancient civilizations,” Ashley continued.

“Like Egypt,” Mason added, very proud of contributing his fact.

Frankie flashed him a smile and gave him a thumbs-up. Ashley put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a light squeeze.

“The first real references to dachshunds came from books written in the 1700s,” Frankie said, sounding like he knew all there was to know about wiener dogs.

“In Germany,” Mason added.

Everyone in the audience chuckled. I could see Mrs. McMurray out of the corner of my eye, and she looked really impressed. Not only was Mason paying attention and focusing and doing a good job, but he had learned his facts perfectly. That's a lot for a five-year-old, especially one who has trouble in school and can't remember the alphabet. And I should know.

I also knew that I really wanted to be down there on the floor with them. On the one hand, I was so happy it was going well. But on the other hand, Cheerio was my dog and it was killing me not to be there with them.

“Before we begin our performance,” Frankie said, “and on behalf of our entire team, we would like to thank Hank Zipzer, the founding member of Team Cheerio. Hank, please stand up and take a bow.”

Every head in the multipurpose room turned and looked at me as I stood up. I took a big bow, probably deeper and longer than I should have, but can you blame me? It really felt good to have the old Zipzer attitude kick in.

“Sit down, Zipperdoofus,” McKelty shouted from his chair. “Your stupid dog hasn't even done anything yet.”

“That will be enough out of you, Mr. McKelty,” Ms. Adolf said. “Please refrain from erupting like a volcano.”

“Yeah, McKelty,” I shouted back, before I could control my mouth. “Watch the lava dripping down your chin.”

Everyone cracked up at that, but Ms. Adolf was not having any of it.

“And that goes for you, too, Henry,” Ms. Adolf said. “Might I remind all of you that we are not here to indulge in laughter.”

At that very second, and I swear to you this is the truth, Randolf Bartholomew Irving Adolf let loose . . . and I'm afraid to say there is only one word to describe it and here goes . . . a
fart
. And not just a regular one, either. This one was a megaton.

It was so loud that Cheerio did a backflip from his sitting position, as if he was an Olympic gymnast. It didn't affect Luke Whitman's slug, however, that seemed to have stopped about halfway up his slimy
p
.

I don't know whether it was the odor or the trumpeting noise or both that upset McKelty's rat dog Fang, but whatever it was, that Chihuahua sprang off McKelty's lap and make a beeline for Cheerio, who had recovered from his backflip and was sitting there like a good dog, waiting to start his trick.

Before I had a chance to yell, “Watch out, killer Chihuahua on the loose,” Fang sank his teeth into poor Cheerio's tail, and latched on like he was caught in a mousetrap. Cheerio was so startled, he started to spin in circles, chasing his tail at a rate faster than I've ever seen him do in his whole life. He built up speed with every revolution until he was just a whirring blur of motion.

“Stop, Cheerio,” Mason yelled.

And can you believe it? Cheerio listened. He actually followed the command. He put on the brakes so fast that Fang was catapulted off his tail, like he had been shot from a slingshot. That little Chihuahua flew across the room and landed smack-dab on Nick McKelty's forehead, which knocked McKelty backward out of his chair. The two of them landed together in a heap on the floor.

Everyone was howling with laughter, and if there's one thing McKelty cannot stand it's to have people laughing at him. He jumped to his feet, held Fang above his head, and yelled out at the top of his lungs, “We meant to do that. That was our trick! Does my dog rock or what?”

“Right. If you meant to do that, then my name is Bernice,” Frankie said.

The uncontrollable laughter that followed made Fang shake with fear. And then it happened. He produced a yellow stream that came from . . . well, I think we all know where it came from . . . and ran down McKelty's arm into his shirtsleeve. It looked like he was getting a big sweat stain, but I don't have to tell you, that wasn't the truth.

Seeing that dog pee down McKelty's arm was maybe one of the greatest moments of my life. And if that wasn't sweet enough, it got even better when Principal Love ejected both of them—bully boy and rat dog—from the room.

“Mr. McKelty, I'm afraid you and your pet are disqualified for inappropriate and disruptive behavior unbefitting a mascot,” he said. “Go to the office, call your mother, and
please
take a shower.”

“Awww, why do I have to take a shower?” he said.

“Because, Mr. McKelty, you're starting to smell like the boys' room.”

McKelty got up and lumbered out of the multipurpose room, but just before he left, he turned around and pointed to Cheerio.

“It's all your fault, wiener dog,” he said.

But Cheerio didn't care. He just curled his lip and flashed him the old Zipzer family attitude.

That's my dog
, I thought,
and I'm proud of him.