Chewy and Chica (4 page)

Lizzie looked under “house-training” in some of her other dog-training books. Then she sat on her bed, with Chica cradled in her lap, and thought.
The whole idea with house-training was to, as one book said, “set your puppy up for success, not failure.” In other words, make sure the puppy had lots of chances to do her business in the right place and do your best never, ever to let her go in the wrong place. That meant taking the puppy outside after every meal and play session (since sometimes the excitement of playing makes puppies have to go), before bed, and right after waking up — at the very least.

Could Chica get through the night without making a mistake? Lizzie did not think so. She carried her puppy down the hall to Mom’s study. “Mom?” she asked. “Since it’s vacation week, is it okay if I set my alarm for midnight so I can get up with Chica and take her outside?”

“I think that would be all right,” Mom said. She smiled at Lizzie. “Guess what? I got Mr. Beauregard’s phone number from Ms. Dobbins. I called and asked him if he remembered that truck’s license plate. He didn’t, exactly. But I
think he gave me enough letters and numbers to start a search. I’ve already passed them along to my friend at the police station.”

“That’s great, Mom!” Lizzie moved Chica’s tiny paws to make it look as if the puppy were clapping. “Chica says, ‘Yay!’”

After she had taken her puppy outside one last time, Lizzie brought Chica down to Charles’s room so she could see that her brother, Chewy, would be sleeping right next door. The two puppies touched noses and wagged tails, but neither of them cried when Lizzie picked Chica up to take her away. That was good news. The puppies already felt secure in their new place.

Back in her room, Lizzie tucked Chica into the crate Dad had brought upstairs. The pup must have been very tired out from her long day. She curled right up, tiny nose to tiny tail, and went to sleep.

Lizzie got up with the puppy four times that night. Each time, she stumbled downstairs with
Chica in her arms and went out the back door with the puppy, holding a flashlight so that she could see whether Chica peed in the yard. Sometimes she did, and Lizzie made a big fuss over her and told her what a good girl she was. And sometimes she didn’t. Either way, when Lizzie fell back into bed each time, she reset her alarm so Chica would have another chance in two hours.

When Lizzie woke up for good the next morning, she felt bleary-eyed and exhausted. She peeked inside the crate. Chica squinted back at her with that mischievous expression. She shivered a bit, too.

Oh, no,
thought Lizzie. But when she touched the blanket beneath Chica, it was dry. Success! The puppy must have been shivering with excitement because she had made it through the night. Lizzie took Chica out of the crate and covered her with kisses. Then she ran the puppy downstairs and straight outside. When
Chica squatted and peed, Lizzie swooped her up and kissed her all over again. “What a good puppy.”

Chica trembled with happiness.

Gee, this person sure does like to make a fuss over nothing! Oh, well. I love the attention
.

Lizzie went back inside and set the kitchen timer for twenty minutes. When it dinged, she took Chica out again. She did that all morning long, taking Chica outside whenever the timer dinged, no matter what she was doing when it went off. Lizzie figured that if she brought Chica outside before even
Chica
knew she had to pee, maybe the puppy would do the right thing more often.

Mom was impressed. “You’re really taking your job seriously, Lizzie,” she said.

“It’s my new training plan,” Lizzie told her. “I
call it the Twenty-Minute Plan. It came to me in the middle of the night. If it works, I’ll make a million dollars and be as famous as Mickey Milligan.”

“That’s great, Lizzie. And we have another young dog trainer in the house. Have you noticed?” She nodded at the Bean, who tugged on Buddy’s leash as he took the puppy outside. “Every time you go out, he takes Buddy out. I make him wait until you’re done so the puppies each have their space. It’s wonderful. Buddy gets plenty of attention and exercise, and the Bean stays busy. Maybe I’ll even be able to get some work done on my article.”

Later that morning, Lizzie’s friend Maria called. “I am so tired,” Maria said, yawning into the phone. “I hardly got any sleep at all last night.”

“Neither did I.” Lizzie yawned, too. Why were yawns so catching? She told Maria about her
night with Chica. “I was up at two
A.M.
, four
A.M.
, and six
A.M.
” She explained the Twenty-Minute Plan to Maria. “So, why didn’t
you
sleep?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about that puppy mill and how horrible it must be,” said Maria. “Those poor puppies. I want to do something nice for the ones Ms. Dobbins has at the shelter. Dad said he’d drive me to that new PetLove store so I can buy them some special treats. Want to come?”

“Definitely.” Then Lizzie spotted the timer and remembered. “Oops. What am I thinking? I can’t go. I have to watch Chica.”

“Maybe Charles would take her out a few times,” suggested Maria.

“I doubt it. He’s busy with Chewy, and besides, we’re kind of at war.” She told Maria about the bet. “He wants to win as much as I do. Why would he help me train my puppy?”

Mom waved a hand at Lizzie. “Do you need some help?” she asked. “I can keep an eye on
Chica while I work at my desk. You’ve been very responsible. You deserve a break.”

“Really? Thanks, Mom.” Lizzie spoke into the phone again. “I can go!”

“Pick you up in ten minutes,” said Maria.

Lizzie used the time to make sure Mom understood the Twenty-Minute Plan. She explained how to praise Chica if the puppy happened to pee while she was outside, and how to watch for signs that she might need to go, like sniffing the floor, circling, or squatting.

At the shopping center, Maria and Lizzie headed into PetLove while Maria’s dad stopped in to say hello to his friend Manny, who owned Rispoli’s Hardware next door. PetLove was a huge store, with every thing you could possibly need for pets stacked from floor to ceiling in long aisles. Pet beds, pet dishes, pet food. Hamster habitats, fish tanks, birdcages. There was even a whole section dedicated to nothing but snakes and lizards.

Lizzie usually loved pet stores, but this one was almost too big, with too much to look at. After they wandered up and down a few aisles in a daze, she and Maria finally found their way to aisle twelve (cat and dog treats) and picked out an assortment of goodies for the puppies. Then they headed for aisle ten (dog toys) and added a squeaky hamburger, a rubber carrot, and a stuffed purple-and-green dinosaur to their basket. Ms. Dobbins was always glad to accept donations of new toys for her shelter dogs and puppies.

Then, when they were on their way to the checkout counter, Lizzie spotted the cages. Three forlorn dachshund puppies stared back at her from one cage, and in another, a skinny black Lab hung back in a corner while her brothers and sisters slept in a pile. A frantic terrier pawed at his cage, scrabbling as if he thought he could break free. One glance made Lizzie want to cry.
She wished she were as rich as Mr. Beauregard so she could buy them all and take them home to love. “Wait! Look!” She tugged on Maria’s shirt. “They sell puppies here.”

“Wow,” said Maria. “They’re adorable. Let’s stop and say hello to them.”

Lizzie pulled her friend away. “Ms. Dobbins said that sometimes these big pet stores get their puppies from puppy mills,” she whispered.

“What?” Maria’s face turned white.

“Look at those puppies. Do they look healthy?” Lizzie grabbed Maria’s arm. “Come on, let’s go find out where those puppies come from.” She marched up to the counter.

The girl at the cash register shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “Ask him. He’s one of the managers.” She pointed to a skinny guy with glasses by the front door. Like her, he wore a red T-shirt with “PetLove. We Love Your Pets!” embroidered on the chest pocket.

“Lizzie,” Maria said, “are you sure —” Maria didn’t always like it when Lizzie spoke her mind about things or made a scene.

But Lizzie had already headed for the manager. “Excuse me, sir?” She tapped the skinny guy on the arm. “Can you tell me where those puppies came from?”

“Puppies aren’t exactly my department.” The manager shrugged. “You’d have to talk to Mr. Sneed, the owner of this store. But I’m pretty sure they come from a breeder around here somewhere. The guy who delivers them drives a truck. White, with red stripes.”

Lizzie took the basket of treats and toys from Maria and set it down on the floor. “That’s all I needed to know,” she said. “Come on, Maria. We’re not buying anything at
this
store.” And with that, she marched out the door.

Maria’s dad met them out front. “Not one puppy biscuit in that whole giant store?” he asked when they got into the car empty-handed.

Lizzie was too mad to answer, but Maria explained. “They sell puppies in there,” she told her dad. “Puppies from that puppy mill I told you about.”

“That’s awful.” Mr. Santiago frowned. “How can they call themselves PetLove if they do something like that?” He started the car. “I can’t imagine that any responsible pet owner would want to shop there if they knew.”

Maria’s dad drove them to the supermarket to buy puppy treats. “These aren’t so special,” said Maria, “but they’ll do.” When they arrived at Caring Paws, Lizzie spotted Mr. Beauregard’s big black car parked outside the shelter. Inside, everyone was busy taking care of the new puppies. Andrew cleaned kennels while Julie walked three pups at once. In the grooming area, Ms. Dobbins and Mr. Beauregard were giving puppy baths. Mr. Beauregard whooped and laughed as he soaped up a black Lab. “This is more fun than wrasslin’ alligators!” he told Lizzie and Maria.

Ms. Dobbins looked tired, but she smiled, too. “Mr. Beauregard has been a huge help. He’s skipping a meeting about a million-dollar deal, just to be here!” she said, wiping some suds off her nose.

Lizzie told Ms. Dobbins about the puppies for sale at PetLove.

“Shops like PetLove keep the puppy mills in business.” Ms. Dobbins sighed. “They need lots of puppies to sell, so the puppy mills keep supplying more. Meanwhile, there are already plenty of puppies in shelters like this one, just waiting to be adopted.”

“Why can’t pet stores just have
shelter
puppies for people to adopt?” Lizzie asked.

“Some do,” Ms. Dobbins said. “I work with some other pet stores around here. They feature puppies, dogs, cats, and kittens from our shelter. They have a sign that explains where the animals came from, and they charge just a little more than we charge here as an adoption fee. They make some money, and pass the rest along
to us to help cover any care we’ve given the animals, like shots or flea baths.”

“So why can’t PetLove do that?” Lizzie demanded.

“I’ve already asked.” Ms. Dobbins shook her head. “As soon as they announced plans to open, I spoke to the owner, Mr. Sneed, and offered to work with them. But he thought it would be too much trouble.”

“Trouble?” Lizzie clenched her fists. “How can he run a pet store if he doesn’t even care about dogs?”

“Makes you madder than a hornet, doesn’t it?” asked Mr. Beauregard. “My advice is, take that anger and try to
do
something with it. That’s why I’m here washing these pups. Better than walking around feelin’ steamed about that puppy mill place.”

Lizzie nodded. That was probably good advice — but what could she do to change Mr. Sneed’s mind?

“Grrr,” growled Charles. “Yip-yip-yip!” Chewy looked up at Charles in surprise.

What? You mean that hurts?

The puppy stopped chomping on Charles’s thumb.

“It works!” Charles said. He kissed Chewy on the top of his apple-shaped head. “Good boy.” He grinned at Sammy. Charles and his friend were in the backyard, playing with Chewy — and training the puppy with a brand-new method, Charles’s idea.

Chewy licked Charles’s chin. Then the licking
turned into nibbling. Then the nibbling turned into biting.

“Yip!” said Charles. “Grrr — yip!”

Chewy stopped biting and blinked up at Charles.

You don’t like that? Oh, okay, then I won’t do it
.

“Good boy,” Charles said again. He rummaged in his pocket for a puppy treat. “Here you go.” Charles smiled down at the tiny puppy in his arms. “You’re learning,” he said. “You really are.”

“What is going
on
out here?” The back door slammed and Lizzie appeared on the deck with Chica in her arms. She stomped down the stairs and put her puppy on the grass. Chica scampered right over to where Charles, Sammy, and Chewy sat.

Hey, bro! I’ve missed you!

Chewy sprang out of Charles’s arms and tumbled over his own feet in his hurry to meet his sister.

Yay! It’s you!

Chica jumped on top of Chewy. Chewy wriggled out from underneath his sister and put a paw across her back while he chomped on her ear. Chica squealed and batted Chewy away, then charged over to jump on top of him and bite his tail. Chewy yipped and rolled over, pawing madly at Chica’s face. The puppies rolled and tumbled and chased each other around the yard in a blur of black- and brown-and-white. Chewy stopped near a pink rosebush to pee, and Chica did, too. Then they started to dash around again.

Charles laughed so hard his stomach hurt. Sammy laughed, too. But Lizzie barely cracked a smile. “Why are you two out here barking at Chewy?” she asked.

“We’re trying to teach him not to bite people,” Charles said. “It’s my new training idea, and it’s working.” Charles was proud of his idea, because he had come up with it all by himself. Well, mostly. Mickey Milligan had helped. “See, I read in this, uh, book that puppies learn not to bite from playing with their brothers and sisters. You know, like these two were just doing. Did you see how Chica squealed when Chewy bit her? That’s how puppies learn that biting hurts. Mother dogs teach their puppies, too, by growling at them when they bite too hard.”

“Okay,” said Lizzie. “I’m with you so far. Chewy needs to understand that it hurts when he bites. But why don’t you just tell him, ‘No!’?”