Aces Wild (5 page)

“Oh, right.” I had wondered the same thing myself. But I looked it up, so I knew what to tell her. “All puppies pee that way. When he gets a little older, when he’s ready, he’ll just start lifting his leg and peeing on trees and stuff.”

“Huh,” said Allie. And then, “So, are you going to do it?”

“What, lift my leg and pee on trees?”

Allie burst out laughing at the idea, and I lifted my leg to make her laugh harder. I knew what she meant, though, so when we caught our breath, I said, “I don’t know.”

Allie was silent as Ace pulled on his leash, desperate to keep moving and sniffing, hoping to find a soggy pizza crust or some other treasure. I noticed a discarded tennis ball, threw it, and watched Ace chase after it, then lunge into piles of leaves, trying to figure out where it had disappeared.

“If it were me, I would,” Allie said.

“You so wouldn’t.”

“Would too,” protested Allie.

“You’re just saying that because you want me to have a sleepover.”

“Am not! I mean, I do, but that’s not why. Besides, I like your grandpa. He’s so … funny.”

“Oh, he’s funny all right,” I said.

Allie and I dragged Ace back to the house and stood by the kitchen woodstove, trying to warm up.

“You girls hungry?” asked my dad, who was peeling carrots at the sink. Ever since moving to Vermont, my parents had gotten much more health-food-y than they were before. My dad had even started reading cookbooks with strange names like
Moosewood
and
Horn of the Moon
. In New York he was more of a takeout-Chinese kind of dad.

“No thanks,” we both said at the same time.

“If you’re not in the mood for carrots, I’ve got some fabulous golden raisins from City Market. Nature’s candy!”

I gave Allie a quick
Told you we should’ve gone to your house
look. My dad’s not such a bad cook, but Allie’s family has much better snacks.

Just then, I heard my mom’s voice coming from the mudroom.

“Dad, we need to talk about this,” she said.

“ALL RIGHT ALREADY,” said Ace. “RIGHT NOW I’M LATE FOR MERENGUE.”

Ace marched into the kitchen. My mom followed him. Ace grunted and returned to the mudroom.

“Merengue?” my mom asked my dad, frowning.

“Well,” reasoned my dad, lining up several carrots on a cutting board, “if Jewish grandmas can play mah-jongg, why can’t Jewish grandpas dance the merengue?”

“That’s not the point, Nate, and you know it,” said my mom.

Ace reemerged wearing the Baxter State, a bright red scarf, and his ice-fishing hat.

My mom was waiting for him.

“What happened to Heart-Healthy Seniors, Dad?” she asked.

“WHA?”

My mom lifted one of the earflaps on his hat and repeated her question.

“I ASK YOU, IF MY HEART WASN’T HEALTHY, WOULD I BE ABLE TO DO THIS?”

Ace raised his hands, palms up, and began to make these little shuffling steps. “YAI-DAI-DAI-YAI-DAI-DAI …,” he sang as he shuffled. He looked like Tevye in
Fiddler on the Roof
.

“That’s great, Dad,” said my mom. “I just wonder if we should maybe check with Dr. Walters before you hit the dance floor.”

Still shuffling, Ace put his thumb on his nose, wiggled his fingers, and went
thhhhhhft!
“I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I’M IN GOOD HANDS. MY MERENGUE INSTRUCTOR, LINDA, IS IN THE MEDICAL PROFESSION.”

“Oh?” said my mom pointedly. “Is she a cardiologist?”

Ace shook his head. “CLOSE,” he said. “SHE’S A DENTAL HYGIENIST.”

“Dad! It’s not the same—”

“MARILYNN, ENOUGH. VEY IZ MIR!”

“That’s Yiddish,” I explained to Allie. “It means—”

“It’s like
oy vey
, right?” asked Allie.

My parents and Ace all stared at her.

“YOU SURE YOU’RE NOT JEWISH?” said Ace.

Allie shook her head and blushed.

Ace shrugged. “LOVE TO STAY AND CHAT,” he said, “BUT MERENGUE WAITS FOR NO MAN. HASTA LA VISTA, SHALOM, AND GOOD NIGHT.”

And with that, he shuffled out the door.

Beep! Beep!

“I’m coming!” I yelled, even though I knew Ace-the-grandpa couldn’t hear me from the car. Class was starting in twenty minutes, and I was running around gathering up Ace-the-dog’s things, as directed by a handout my dad had printed when he signed me and Ace up. It said to bring:

I had the puppy and he was attached to the leash. I had also found an old bath mat, a plastic bowl, and Ace’s squeaky
banana, and I was going to fill a small bag with Cheerios, one of Ace’s favorite things. Except we seemed to be out of them.

Beeeeep!!!

“Hold on!” I muttered, hurrying to pull out boxes of cereal and granola, trying to find a new box of Cheerios. Raisin Bran, Uncle Sam—another Ace favorite—and Kix, yes, yes, yes. But no Cheerios. I finally gave up and reached for the Kix, but Ace, seeing an opportunity, jumped up on me, sending me—

“Whoa!”

Wham!

I fell backward, landing on the floor. The box hit the floor too, spilling cereal in all directions.
Ouch!
I rubbed my elbow. Ace, thrilled to find me at eye level, thoughtfully focused his licking on my face rather than the cereal-strewn floor.

“Ooh!” whispered Sam, who had just padded in, wearing his Luke Skywalker bathrobe over his pajamas and carrying his disgusting Susie-the-schmatte. You knew something was truly gross if Ace-the-dog had no interest in putting it in his mouth. Sam stared at me on the floor, surrounded by tiny cereal balls. “The universe!” he said in awe.

“Yeah, space. The final frontier,” I joked, grabbing a handful of Kix off the floor and shoving them into a plastic baggie. Ace-the-dog would not care. In fact, he seemed to prefer food that came from the floor. Before Ace-the-grandpa could lean on the horn again and before Ace-the-dog could eat the whole galaxy, I stood up, yanked on the leash, and pulled my dog out the front door, into the waiting car.

When we arrived at the puppy kindergarten parking lot, Ace started hopping around, looking out the window nervously. I could tell he knew where we were: the scene of the crime. The place he got thrown out of the last time we tried to take classes. I felt jumpy too. Other people were getting out of cars with their dogs. The dogs looked, well, obedient. Maybe my dad had signed me up for the wrong class? Maybe the Thursday class wasn’t for beginners? A Great Dane got out of the car parked next to us and stared calmly at Ace, who was scraping the window with his paws frantically, like he thought he could claw his way through the glass.
Kid
, the giant dog seemed to say,
you are seriously out of your league
.

My spirits lifted, though, when we went inside. There were all kinds of dogs: big ones, small ones, fluffy ones, and smooth ones, and several of them turned out to be puppies—even the huge Great Dane. A yellow Lab puppy approached Ace and bowed down in Ace’s favorite
Wanna play?
position, chin between front paws, tail high and wagging. But before Ace could face off with him, the other puppy’s owner pulled him away from us, saying “Sorry! Sorry!” over her shoulder.

Even though I had made sure Ace peed before bringing him inside, I chose a spot by the door so I could make a hasty exit if he started to squat. I looked across the room to verify that Ace-the-grandpa was still in the folding chair I had left him in—

No Ace.

No chair, for that matter.

Just then, I noticed that about halfway across the room
Ace was walking determinedly in my direction, dragging the chair, which he had not bothered to refold. This was creating a high-pitched metal
screeeeeeching
noise, so now every dog ear in the room was perked up high. I ran over to him, Ace at my heels.

“Grandpa, what are you doing?”

“I’M COMING OVER TO SIT WITH YOU.”

“Grandpa, that’s not—” I lowered my voice and glanced around. “That’s not necessary. You can just sit and read your newspaper. Like Dad did.”

“EXACTLY!” said Ace. “THAT’S WHY I’M OVER HERE.”

I was about to tell him that my dad’s lack of participation wasn’t the reason Ace flunked out last time, but just then a short lady walked in carrying a clipboard. She had orange hair and glasses on the top of her head. I was hugely relieved to see that she was not the dog trainer who was in charge last time. If anyone needed a clean slate, it was Ace. Trotting next to the lady, matching her hair color almost perfectly, was a fluffy Pomeranian.

“Rosie, go lie down,” the lady said. The little dog immediately obeyed. Ace cocked his head like this reaction made absolutely no sense to him whatsoever. Clearly, this little furry creature was from another planet entirely.

“I’m Delores Wright,” said the lady, addressing the group. “I’d like to welcome all of you to Puppy Training 101! Many people call this puppy kindergarten, and while it will be fun, it is also a lot of work. For this reason, I take attendance every
week, and I’ll need every participant to practice between classes and get here on time. At the end of the session, I will administer a training test. Any questions?”

She looked around the room. I shot Ace a
No questions!
look, which earned me a raised eyebrow. “Good, let’s get started,” she continued. “When I call your name, please raise your hand. Kathy Keller and Georgie?”

“Here!” The woman who had pulled her dog away from Ace raised her hand and waved. “Mark Johnson and Romeo?” continued Mrs. Wright, looking around the room. A large man with a very tiny black dog nodded and lifted his hand. Mrs. Wright kept going, and I almost thought she’d finished when she called out, “Zelda Fried and … Ace?”

A rumble of amusement went around the room. I looked at Ace-the-grandpa. Both of us had our hands in the air. “Is one of you … Ace?” asked Mrs. Wright, wrinkling her forehead as she peered over her clipboard. She looked from me to Ace-the-grandpa. Ace-the-dog cocked his head to one side.

“He’s Ace,” I said. “I’m Zelly. I’m the one who’s doing the class. It’s my dog.”

“Okay, what’s your puppy’s name?”

“Ace,” I said quietly.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you,” said Mrs. Wright. “Can everyone please quiet their dogs? Now say that again.”

I sighed. “Ace,” I said, louder.

Mrs. Wright looked confused. “I thought you said he was Ace?” she said, pointing her pen at Ace.

“He is. They both are,” I told her. “It’s a long story,” I added.

Mrs. Wright stared at us for a minute. Then she sighed and checked my name off her list. She put down the clipboard and began to talk about what she called “training the trainer.” Ace immediately began to doze in his folding chair. Bubbles always used to say that one of his great talents was his ability to fall asleep anywhere. However, I was pretty sure that Mrs. Wright was not going to be impressed.

“Ace!” I whispered quietly. Then louder. “Ace!”

“I see one of our students is already ready for lesson two,” said Mrs. Wright.

I looked over and saw she was staring right at … Ace. The dog, that is. Ace’s floppy ears were as perky as they were capable of being, and his head was cocked keenly to one side as he stared at me with rapt attention.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be. Your pup clearly knows his name, which is a skill we’ll be focusing on next week, when we play the Name Game. Give him a treat, dear.”

I dug in my pocket and produced a Kix. I tossed it in the air, and Ace handily caught it.

“No, no, you can’t do that,” scolded Mrs. Wright. “You need to mark the behavior. That way he understands that the reward is specific to what he did right. Call his name, and when he gives you his attention, mark it by telling him he’s a good dog and delivering the treat.”

“Okay,” I said. “Ace?”

But now Ace was ignoring me and scratching his ear furiously. I tried again. “Ace?”
Scritch, scritch, scritch
.

Now the whole class was watching me. To make sure I got Ace’s attention, I used a much louder voice. “ACE?!”

“HUH? WHA—?” Startled, Ace-the-grandpa sprang to life in his chair, causing Ace-the-dog to stop scratching and turn to stare at him.

“Not you,” I told him.

“NOT WHO?”

“Not you. Ace,” I said.

“I
AM
ACE,” said Ace.

“Not you Ace,” I repeated firmly. “Him Ace.” I half expected Ace to try to launch into “Who’s on First?” right then and there. All I would’ve had to do was say “I don’t know” and I’m sure Ace would’ve answered “Third base!” right on cue.

“OH. THAT ACE,” said Ace, sounding disappointed, like he wished he was the one getting a treat.

“Ruff!” barked Ace, like
Enough already. Shouldn’t I be getting a treat?

“See? He responded to his name. Mark it!” instructed Mrs. Wright.

“Good boy!” I threw a Kix at Ace-the-dog.

“No, no, him,” said Mrs. Wright.

“Okay,” I said, tossing cereal at Ace-the-grandpa.

Mrs. Wright stared at me. “No, dear,” she said. “He should provide the treat. Because when he said the name, he got the dog’s attention.”