Pup Idol Read online

  ‘Listen,’ Molly said, in a tone of voice that sounded suspiciously like Mum when she’s telling me something For My Own Good, ‘these classes are exactly the kind of thing Monica Sitstill recommends dog owners to go to in her brilliant TV programme, Love Me, Love My Dog. It’ll be nothing like doing schoolwork, because we’ll get to play games with Honey and meet loads of other like-minded owners and their dogs. It’ll be like the puppy party we went to at the vets’ when Honey was tiny!’

  I made what Molly calls my Dubious Face when she said this, which is when I pull the corners of my mouth down and raise my eyebrows to show that I am not sure about something. I was Dubious about Molly thinking the puppy party had been fun, as all I could remember about it was that my annoying older sister, April, had come along and used the opportunity to make Nick Harris notice her, and Honey had hated him because of his beard, and I had hit my head and fainted.

  But Molly was now Warming to Her Theme – which means that she was getting really very excited about the whole idea. Usually when Molly gets excited I end up being Infected by her Enthusiasm. (This does not mean that I get a horrible disease from her, or that a scab on my knee goes all pustular or anything. It means that she gets so keen on an idea that I end up getting excited about it too.) But today I was finding it a bit more difficult than usual to get Infected in this way. I just frowned, while Molly got more and more enthusiastical and talked on and on about what she would be doing to get Honey to behave like a highly trained and super-obedient pooch.

  ‘It’ll be so cool!’ Molly was saying. Ignoring my Still-Dubious Face, she leaped up and did a cartwheel, which made the cherry tomatoes roll all over the picnic rug. Hon tried to pinch one, and then remembered that she didn’t actually like raw tomatoes.

  ‘I’ll learn so much about how to train dogs that I’ll be able to teach Honey to do tricks like they do ’ she went on, her voice getting quite shrieky and, I must say, a little bit irritating. ‘And then I, er I mean we,’ she added hastily, finally catching sight of my Still-Still-Dubious Face, ‘can enter competitions and win PRIZES. And then Honey’ll be famous and will sit on one of those platforms that winning dogs sit on and she’ll get a medal!’ Unfortunately as she said this last bit she punched the air with her fist in a Symbol of Triumph – and whacked me in the face.

  Her plans for future Fame and Fortune were then brought to a swift and sudden CLOSURE by the amount of blood gushing out of my nose. I ran into the kitchen screaming while Honey jumped up and tried to lick my face. Gross.

  Mum cleared up the blood and put a packet of frozen peas on my nose (which was supposed to stop the swelling, but in actual fact just made my nose freeze so that I couldn’t feel it any more), while Molly apologized over and over again.

  Then the doorbell rang and it was Mrs Cook, who said she was sorry but Molly could not stay any longer at my house as she had to go to her ballet class, which she had obviously forgotten about in the excitement of taking over my life. Personally I could not have Given a Milkshake that she had to go early – in other words I could not care less. I had already had quite enough of Molly’s Infectious Enthusiasm for one day, plus I was sure that my nose was swelling up to the size of a small house at this point and that I would look like at school the next day.

  Mrs Cook looked at me worriedly as she left and said, ‘You put your feet up, Summer.’

  Quite why you need to put your feet up when it is your nose that is hurting, I have no idea. But I couldn’t actually Physically say anything, as the pea packet was covering half my face, so now my mouth had started to freeze too.

  Once Molly had gone I asked Mum, in a numb-mouthed kind of way, if she would help me go on to the Internet to look up about obedience classes in our area. Molly had really irritated me by taking over the whole idea of how I should Progress My Relationship with Honey and I decided that it would be better to get One Step Ahead of the Game and find out about training for myself. It had been bad enough when April had pretended Honey was her dog so that she could get a date with Nick. I was not going to let anyone else take away my puppy ever again.

  Mum smiled. ‘It’s nice to see you taking a bit of initiative, Summer,’ she said.

  Actually I did have one more reason for wanting to find out about classes on my own. And it didn’t have anything to do with Molly. It was because I had no Desire in the faintest to let Mum call Frank Gritter’s mum about it. Frank is such a Know-It-All annoying boy, and he would only have been full of RELISH at the fact that I was asking his mum for help.

  I soon discovered that there were obedience classes at the local leisure centre. I knew the place well – there was a pool there called a leisure pool, which I used to love swimming in when I was smaller as it has a wave machine. I started to feel confident that I could cope with the obedience classes if they were in a place that I knew and that maybe Honey and I could go Just the Two of Us.

  I scrolled down the screen and read a bit about the classes. They were run by a lady called Mrs Beatrice Woodshed, which sounded like rather a posh name, but there was no photo of her, so I didn’t know if she really was posh or not. I read on about when the classes were and what to bring with you (apart from your dog, of course) and I started to get really thrilled about the idea of what I would be able to teach Honey to do. Then I read a bit at the end of the website which cheered me up even more IMMENSELY:

  I wasn’t sure what ‘consistently’ meant, but I quickly realized that the website was being Crystal Clear about one thing: Molly was not going to be allowed to come with us. This is what she herself would call an Interesting Development – in other words, it was completely unexpected. It was also really quite helpful, as I now had a way of saying Kindly But Firmly to Molly that she could not come to the classes with me and Honey.

  It would just be me and my pup – the perfect team!

  4

  How to End Up in the Dog House

  Even though I was pleased that I had a reason to go to the classes without Molly, I must admit that I was more than a teensy-weensy bit worried about telling her. Still, I had a couple of days to work out how to say the exact words as the new session of classes didn’t start till the beginning of the next week. I decided that Something Would Come To Me by then and that I should stop worrying about it for the moment.

  So, This Was It! My pooch and I were going to finally get the chance to work together As One Being! It would be so cool to teach Honey how to come and how to stay and possibly then how to do tricks like ‘sit up and beg’ and ‘roll over’ and other truly IMPRESSIVE stuff. Actually, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Honey would probably become a .

  I decided to tell her so.

  ‘Honey, you will be the most obedient pooch in the entire class and wow everyone with your wonderous obedience!’ I whispered, tickling her soft, golden tummy.

  Yes, I, Summer Holly Love, would learn to be truly Bonded as a pair with my dog and go on to learn how to do those agility-type tricks and probably one day win that most famous of all dog shows, Crufts, just like Molly had said.

  I soon ended up thinking that I could Convince Molly to understand after all, especially if I used the word ‘consistent’ in my explanation. ‘Consistent’ was a Convincing type of word, I thought. Also, Molly was my most favouritest Best Friend, after all. She was the only person in the world who had ever been able to read my mind, plus she was the only person who really understood my Relationship with Honey. So of course she would see how important it was for Honey to only concentrate on one trainer, that is, me.

  ‘Yes, I will be your Sole and Only trainer, Honey Love,’ I told my pooch.

  Just then Mum came to find me and said, ‘Have you got Frank Gritter’s number?’

  ‘No!’ I said. My heart sank down into the floor beneath me. I thought Mum had forgotten about calling the Gritters. We didn’t need them now that we knew all about the classes.

  And anyway, why on earth would Mum think that I would keep the number of a
boy who PERMANENTLY stinks of socks? I know I should be nice about Frank because if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have Honey. And I did have his number when his dog Meatball had just had puppies, because then he was useful to me. But he is not at all useful to me now. I’m afraid that when someone stinks that badly of socks, it doesn’t matter if they are as cool and handsome as James Bond – the stench of sock-whiff will always be the first thing you notice. Anyway, James Bond would never have smelly socks. He would get a butler or someone in the Secret Services to wash them and possibly iron them for him. Then I thought, how could I even think about the ODIOUS Frank Gritter and the super-cool James Bond in the same sentence? They are about as unsimilar as a baboon and, er . . . well . . . James Bond himself.

  When Mum left, I got annoyed that Frank Gritter had gone like a worm into my thoughts again when I had been having a lovely time tickling Honey’s tummy and dreaming about winning Crufts. Plus, I had found that whenever Frank popped into my thoughts (which I should point out is not at all often) he has a habit of appearing and annoying me. Like he did the next day.

  I was in the playground, sitting on my favourite bench with Molly, and we were having one of our deep and intelligent chats about what had happened in the last episode of Love Me, Love My Dog, where a naughty spaniel had been trained not to jump up and from the kitchen surfaces, and I was getting all excited and fluttery inside thinking what it is possible to teach your dog to do. Then smelly sock-stencher Frank Gritter butted in like he always does and HOLLERED at me:

  ‘Mum says you’re going to those obedience classes at the leisure centre. Apparently your mum asked if I would go with you and take Meatball to keep Honey company. Can’t wait – I’d love to see someone teach you to be obedient, Summer Love! HAHAHAHAHA!’

  He is so unfunny he makes my teeth go on their edges with fury. But I know he likes to wind me up and see me explode with anger so I clenched my teeth to stop them going on their edges and flashed him a fake smile and said in my most CONDESCENDING manner, ‘Frank Gritter, I think you will find that obedience classes are for dogs, not mature and intelligent girls. You really should not poke your vast nose in where it is not wanted. And talking of noses, mine is beginning to objectify to your appalling sock stench, so will you please remove yourself to the furthest corner of the playground.’

  ‘OOOOOOOH!’ was the only thing Frank could think of saying in return, which goes to show that the old wives’ tale that boys are infinitely less maturer and generally more stupider than girls is absolutely one hundred and ten per cent correct, as if I didn’t know that anyway by Natural Instinct.

  I sat there with Molly on the bench and we just raised our eyebrows at one another and started talking about how bitten our nails were, which is our secret code for ‘Changing the Subject so that the Enemy gets Bored and LEAVES US ALONE’.

  Frank rolled his eyes and sneered and turned to one of his smelly footy mates and yelled a boy-sound along the lines of ‘Awigh, mate? Owsitgoin?’ before launching a football at his friend’s head.

  This is apparently how boys say hello to each other.

  ‘Phew, I can breathe again,’ said Molly taking huge dramatical gulps of air now that had gone. ‘Hey, it’s great about the obedience classes – we’ll have to find a way of getting rid of Frank though . . . So, what time do we have to be there?’

  I must have made a bit of an uncertain face at this point because I had been rather thrown by Frank bringing up the subject from deep Out Of The Blue like that, and I suddenly felt panicky about telling Molly she couldn’t come with me.

  I tried to bring the subject around to training being all about ONE girl and her dog. ‘Did you know, I discovered something very interesting on the obedience class website and it is this: one dog cannot have two masters. Isn’t that fascinating?’

  Molly did not seem to get the hint that was CONCEALED so carefully in my comment and she said, ‘Ah, but it can have two mistresses!’ and looked very pleased with herself.

  I tried again, ‘Of course, it can be quite difficult to be consistentical when you have two mistresses . . .’

  This had a bit more of an effect.

  Molly narrowed her eyes and said, ‘Are you saying that you don’t want me to come with you?’

  I had not expected such a direct response to my cunning and SUBTLE hinting and was a bit confused.

  ‘Er – no – no, of course I want you to come!’ I said.

  (Fiddlesticks! I had not meant to say that.)

  ‘Good, that’s settled then,’ said Molly. ‘So when do the classes start?’

  ‘Oh, er, I haven’t a clue. I haven’t enrolled or anything yet,’ I said quickly, suddenly having a brilliant idea. ‘In fact, I bet there are no spaces left. Actually, I kind of hope there aren’t as I don’t want to go with Frank Stinky-Features Gritter – do you?’

  Molly smiled. ‘You’ve got a point there, kiddo,’ she said in her fake American accent that she uses when she’s feeling . (It can be a bit annoying when she does her fake American accent, but in the Circumstances I decided not to be annoyed this time: at least she wasn’t narrowing her eyes at me any more.) ‘But don’t worry about Frank. I’m sure we can lose him somehow. It’ll be OK – trust me,’ she said in her normal voice.

  I smiled back, but I was only smiling with my mouth; it wasn’t an all-over-body smile such as a true Best Friend should give if she really wants her friend to come with her to obedience classes.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ I agreed. ‘It’ll be OK.’

  When did Life Get so Complicated?

  Personally I blame it all on Frank Gritter.

  5

  How to Get into Another Fine Mess

  After school I decided that what I needed was a walk in the park with my dog to Clear My Head. I have heard that is what people do when they have a problem that is going round in their brains.

  April and Nick had been spending the day together, so when I got home to fetch Honey, they said they would come to the park with me. I personally bet it was because Mum had asked them to. She is not that keen on me going anywhere on my own, even though I tell her that I am not on my own; I am with Honey.

  Anyway, we all arrived at the park and headed in the direction of the doggy bit where dogs are allowed off the lead.

  That is to say, Honey and I headed in the direction of the doggy bit. April was so busy doing a nauseating hair-flicking display for Nick’s benefit that it’s a miracle she could even see where she was going. Honestly, if the Olympics had a section for hair-flicking, April would win it hands down (or should I say ‘hands up’, as her hands are usually FLAILING in the air while she is doing it). At any rate, Honey and I decided to leave her to it and quickly overtook her and Nick. Luckily they were talking in low voices so that I couldn’t hear their totally unfascinating conversation, and then they started kissing. I knew this because I could hear the awful squelchy sound of their lips. It makes me truly SHUDDER to remember it. And as if all this wasn’t bad enough, April was also doing her ‘Oh, please stop telling me I’m so perfect’ giggle, which is the most irritating and sick-making noise in the whole of the universe – after the sound of Frank Gritter of course.

  You wouldn’t believe the monstrous nature of this boy’s burping ability. He can actually sing the whole of ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ in burps. And he is under the impression that this makes him some kind of a legend. What can I say? I will never understand boys. How April can have fallen in love with one, even if he is a grown-up, I will never know. I am sure Nick also sings in burps in private too. I am in fact positive that boys never grow out of this kind of DERANGED sense of humour.

  So there they were, kissing and whispering, and there I was, walking very fast in front of them so that I could DEMONSTRATE clearly to the World At Large that I was nothing whatsoever to do with this slobbery couple.

  Suddenly Honey yanked the lead out of my hand, before I could let her off it myself, and hurtled HARUM-SCARUM in the direction
of the little woody-type area for dogs.

  (I like the word ‘harum-scarum’. It is the only word to use to describe Honey’s behaviour at that time. She did everything in a harum-scarum manner, given half a chance. Even coming to say hello was done like this, with her tail thrashing around in all directions, not even just side to side or up and down, but round and round in circles like a propeller. It quite baffled me where she found the energy. But then, eating the entire contents of the fridge on top of her daily dog dinners might have had something to do with it, I suppose.)

  As I was at the End of my Wits with all the lead-pulling business, and not in the mood for being yanked into the air like a cartoon person, I just let her go.

  I had come to the park to Get things Out Of My System, after all, and it should be obvious to anyone that you cannot do that if you are being dragged along by a dog.

  However, I quickly realized that Honey was Up to No Good. She was rolling in something. And a dog rolling in something is never a good sign.

  ‘Honey!’ I cried.‘Come back! Honeeeeey!’

  But, as usual, she was not listening at all. I shot a FURTIVE glance in the direction of my sister and Nick. Their faces were too close together for them to notice that anything had happened. In fact, they couldn’t possibly have seen anything other than each other’s eyeballs and noses.