Don't Swap Your Sweater for a Dog (3 page)

For the rest of the week, I worked with Goofy.

He did not learn any letters.

Or any words.

None.

But we had fun chasing Hector and rolling around together.

Even though it had nothing to do with reading.

On Friday I sat on the front steps with Goofy.

I had on my Grandma sweater. Because Mom made me wear it. Again.

Mom was mulching the garden.

Mulch is kind of like dirt. Mom says when she puts it around the plants, it's like giving them a blanket.

But if you ask me, a blanket shouldn't smell like cow poop.

“Why aren't you and Goofy working?” Mom asked.

“The trick contest is tomorrow,” I said. “And he still hasn't learned anything.” I sighed. “I think maybe Goofy is a dummy, Mom.”

I whispered that last part so he wouldn't hear me.

“Roscoe, Goofy is the best dog in the
world,” Mom said. “But he's just a dog.

He can only do doggie things. If you work hard with him, maybe he can learn to fetch or shake hands. But mostly he's going to do what he does best—love you!”

“But he doesn't even know one letter, Mom!” I said.

Mom shook her head. “Maybe the problem isn't the student,” she said. “Maybe the problem is the teacher.”

“But I'm a good teacher!” I cried.

“That poodle you told me about—” Mom said.

“Edward.”

“Edward,” Mom said. “Edward wasn't reading, sweetie. It's just a trick his owner taught him. A good trick, but still a trick.” Mom stood up. “I'm going to the garage to get some more mulch. I'll be right back.”

I pictured that trophy. Shiny. Heavy. Gold.

If Goofy weren't so goofy, I could have that trophy.

Down the sidewalk I saw Martin and Edward. Martin waved.

He paused and said something to Edward.

Edward waved his little poodle paw at me.

Goofy ran over to say hello.

The old-fashioned dog way.

With major sniffing and tail wagging.

“Hey,” I said. I gave Edward a pat.

Today he was wearing a pink-and-green sweater.

“Is that a white tiger on your sweater?” Martin asked.

“It's a panda,” I said.

“It's like you've got a whole zoo on there,” Martin said.

“Hey, how did you teach Edward to read?” I asked.

Martin just shrugged. “It's kind of a secret,” he said.

“I'm trying to teach Goofy so he can be in the trick contest,” I said. “But he's not a very good student.”

Goofy licked my hand.

I felt awful for saying that about a friend.

“Don't get me wrong,” I added. “He's the greatest. He just doesn't know his letters.”

“Well,” Martin said, “even Edward took a long time to learn.”

“I wish I could take Edward to the contest,” I said. “He'd for sure win.”

Goofy sighed and lay down on the sidewalk.

I felt even worse.

Martin thought for a minute. Then he started grinning.

“You know,” he said, “I might be able to let you borrow Edward.”

I felt my eyes get wide. “You would let me borrow Edward for the contest?” I cried. “Name your price!”

Martin thought. “You know, I do like that sweater. It's very unusual.”

I had to think for a minute. “You mean
this
sweater? This one I'm wearing? With smiley faces and monkeys on it?”

“Yep,” said Martin. “It's one of a kind.”

“That's for sure,” I agreed. “But the thing is, my grandma knitted this for me. With love.”

Martin shrugged. “That's okay. It was just an idea.”

I pictured myself holding that shiny, glittering-in-the-sun, could-even-be-real-gold trophy.

I looked down at poor old goofy Goofy.

I checked over my shoulder.

Mom was back in the garden, busy mulching.

“No, wait,” I whispered. “It's a deal. Follow me.”

We went behind some tall bushes. Goofy and Edward came, too.

I took off my itchy, ugly sweater.

It was the best trade I'd ever made.

Except for the time I talked Hazel into giving me her double-scoop chocolate-chip-cookie-dough ice cream cone for a pink rubber band.

“Don't put it on till you get to the end of the street, okay?” I said.

Martin held up the sweater. “Is that a crocodile?” he asked.

“I think it's a rabbit,” I said.

I touched the crocodile-rabbit's little nose.

“My tuba lesson is at ten tomorrow,” Martin said. “I'll drop off Edward before I go.”

“Great!” I said. “Ed, give me five!”

Edward put up his paw and we high-fived.

“It's Ed
ward
,” Martin said. “Not Ed.”

I'm not sure, but I think maybe Goofy groaned.

Goofy and I went back to the porch. I was cold.

On account of I didn't have my sweater anymore.

It was ugly and itchy. But it sure was warm.

“Roscoe,” Mom said, “where's your sweater?”

“I—” I swallowed. “I, uh, took it off.”

Which was true.

True-ish.

“It's chilly out here,” Mom said. “You really need it.”

“Goof and I are going in now, anyway,” I said. “I think he's had enough learning. See you, Mom.”

Goofy and I ran inside. I closed the door behind me.

In the hallway was a picture of me and Max and Hazel and my grandma and grandpa at a baseball game.

I thought about Grandma knitting all those furry little animals and smiley faces.

It probably took her a very long time.

She'd made that panda special. Because I was in the Panda reading group.

Martin would never even know that.

It was warm and sunny on Saturday morning.

That was a good thing.

Because I didn't need to wear my sweater.

And because when Martin brought Edward over, Martin wasn't wearing my sweater.

His sweater, I mean.

“I'll pick Edward up after my tuba lesson,” Martin said.

I took Edward's leash.

“Hey, did you know that sweater has ‘I love you' written on the right sleeve in teensy yellow letters?” Martin asked.

“No,” I said quietly.

“And I found a mouse and a raccoon on it,” Martin said.

“That's not a mouse,” I said. “It's a possum. My grandma and grandpa have a possum family living in their backyard.”

“It's a great sweater,” Martin said. “I wish Edward had one so we could match.”

Today Edward was wearing a green T-shirt. It said “World's Smartest Dog” on it.

“Almost forgot,” Martin said. He pulled
Frog on a Log
out of his backpack.

“That's okay,” I said. “I have a book he'll like even better. It's Goofy's favorite.
Bad Cat Goes to the Vet
.”

“Well, there's something I need to tell you,” Martin said. He made a throat noise. “See, Edward can't exactly read.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

What about my trophy?
I was thinking.

“It's a trick. I just signal him how many times to bark,” Martin said. “I count the words on a page. Then I tap my foot. If it says, ‘Jump, frog, jump!' then I tap my foot three times. And Edward barks three times.”

“So it only looks like he's reading,” I said. “Oh.”

I was disappointed.

I sort of liked believing dogs could read.

Also I could see how I'd been a little hard on Goofy.

“You'd better stick with
Frog on a Log
since Edward is used to it. It's a cool trick,” Martin said. “I'm sure you guys will win.”

Martin patted Edward's poodle pompom. “Be sure he gets plenty of water,” he said. “He likes springwater. Cold. But not too cold.”

“Goofy likes toilet water,” I said. “He's very open-minded.”

“He's a nice dog,” Martin said.

Goofy licked Edward. Then he licked Martin. Then he licked me.

“Yes,” I said. “He really is.”

 

Dad drove me and Edward to the contest.

I'd told him and Mom a teensy little fib about why I was taking Edward instead of Goofy.

I said Martin had to go to his tuba lesson. So he couldn't take Edward to the contest.

Which was true.

Then I said I was doing Martin a favor. Because he really wanted Edward in the show, so he asked me to help out.

That part was not so true.

Mom and Max and Hazel were coming to the show later. But I had to get there early to sign up.

“I'll say this for you, Edward,” Dad said as we parked. “You sure smell better than Goofy.”

“I think he's wearing doggie perfume, Dad,” I said.

The contest was in a park by the street fair. Dogs and kids were everywhere.

We walked over to a long table covered with paper and pencils. Dad helped me fill out a form so I could enter the contest.

A lady gave me a number to pin to my shirt. It was 13.

“Thirteen is not very lucky,” I said.

“Could be your lucky number today,” the lady said. “What's your dog's name?”

I started to say, “He's not my dog.”

But instead I just said, “Edward.”

As we walked toward the big field, Dad said, “Goofy looked a little forlorn as we drove away.”

“What's
forlorn
?” I asked.

“It's how you feel when you think your boy doesn't like you anymore.”

“Goofy couldn't win a trophy, Dad,” I said.

As soon as I said it, I felt bad. Even though it was the truth.

“He could win for biggest appetite,” Dad joked.

He gave me a hug. Then he patted Edward.

“Good luck, guys,” he said. “We'll meet you after the contest. I'm going to go save some seats so we have a good view. See ya, Ed.”

“It's Edward,” I said.

“Figures,” said Dad.

The dogs and their kids lined up in a special area.

The crowd got bigger.

I saw Gus and Emma. They waved.

I saw Mom and Hazel and Max.

They waved too.

Then I saw somebody else.

Goofy.

He wagged his tail and pulled on the leash Max was holding.

He barked hello.

I felt like I was on a playdate with the wrong friend.

I mean a
hang-out
.

Three judges sat in chairs behind a table. They had paper and pens and serious faces.

“Contestant number one,” said a man on a loudspeaker. “Mary Lou Oliver and her dog, Moe.”

Mary Lou and Moe went to the center of the field.

Moe rolled over. Then he played dead.

Next came Nico and Spinner. Spinner danced on his hind legs.

Noodles caught a Frisbee in midair.

Linus played a toy piano with his nose.
He was extra good.

But nobody was as good as Edward.

On the judges' table I could see lots of colored ribbons.

And one beautiful trophy.

It was silver. Not gold.

And smallish. Not huge.

But still, it was going to look great on my dresser.

And be a cool show-and-tell.

When other kids brought their ribbons and certificates and awards, I would have something to show at last.

More dogs did tricks.

My favorite was Astro. He chewed up a kid's homework for his trick.

On purpose.

But even that amazing trick couldn't
beat Edward's.

At last they called us.

“Roscoe Riley and his dog, Edward,” the loudspeaker man said.

We walked onto the field. I turned toward the judges.

“Edward, the amazing reading dog, will now read from this book,” I said.

The crowd made a “wow” noise.

The judges leaned forward.

I brought the book over so they could see the first page of
Frog on a Log.

Then I took it back to Edward. I put the book in front of him.

“Open the book, Edward,” I said.

Edward opened the book with his nose.

Just like I knew he would.

“Now read to us!” I said.

The first words in the story were “Frog on a log.”

I tapped my foot four times. Just a little, so that only Edward could see.

He barked four times.

Just like I knew he would.

“He's right!” one of the judges exclaimed.

The crowd cheered.

And I knew right then that trophy was mine.

 

While we waited for the judges to make their decision, I went over to the stands to say hello to my family and Gus and Emma.

“You rocked!” Gus exclaimed. “You for-sure are going to win!”

“Not bad,” Dad said, “for a dog who
wears perfume.”

People crowded around me. Everyone wanted to pat Edward.

“How did you teach him to do that?” a man asked.

“How long have you owned him?” a lady asked.

“Why is he wearing a T-shirt?” a boy asked.

I tried to answer all the questions. But it felt a little funny.

On account of I had to pretend I knew the answers. Like I really was Edward's owner.

“Do you have any other pets?” a little girl asked.

At least I knew the answer to that one.

“I have a dog named Goofy,” I said. “He's over there.”

I pointed. Goofy was sitting by Max's feet. He looked sort of left out.

Maybe even forlorn.

“Can Goofy do cool tricks, too?” the little girl asked.

“Well, not exactly,” I said. “He's still
learning. But he's a really great guy.”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the loudspeaker man said. “It is time for the awarding of prizes. If your name is called, please come to the judges' table to accept your award.”

One of the judges stood up. She held a microphone in one hand and ribbons in the other.

“I just want to say that it was very difficult to determine a winner in this year's contest. What we especially love seeing is the wonderful bonds between dogs and their owners. A dog learns best when he is loved and praised. And it's clear that all these dogs are very much loved.”

I looked down at Edward.

He was standing perfectly still.

I looked over at Goofy.

He was trying to catch a fly in his mouth.

“Third prize goes to Linus and Larry Dunn!” the judge announced.

Everyone clapped. Larry ran over with Linus to accept a yellow ribbon.

“Second prize goes to Astro and Penelope Watson,” the judge said. “But don't you dare use that trick to get out of doing your homework!”

Finally, my moment arrived.

“And our first-prize trophy goes to the amazing team of Roscoe Riley and his dog, Edward!”

It was just like I'd imagined it.

Applause.

Cheering.

Even some barking.

We dashed over to the judges.

The trophy wasn't as heavy as I thought.

In fact, I think maybe it was plastic.

But it was a silver trophy, and it was mine.