Lulu Walks the Dogs Read online

  Brutus was happy to see her, so happy he knocked her flat down on the rug, slobbered all over her face, and thumped his tail. Brutus’s owner was proud. “Is that cute or what?”

  Lulu, who most definitely did not think it was cute, replied, “It’s what.” And then she stood up, wiped off, attached the leash to Brutus’s collar, and—she was running a little bit late—was out the door, heading to Pookie’s house.

  I mean, she was TRYING to head to Pookie’s house. Brutus was heading in a different direction. She pulled. He pulled. She pulled. He pulled. She pulled. He pulled harder, making Lulu bang into a tree.

  Which gave her, along with a bump on her knee, an idea.

  Lulu began to wrap the long leash around the trunk of the tree, wrapping it so tightly around and around and around the trunk that Brutus, two houses down, couldn’t pull her anymore or go any farther. Dog and girl had stopped moving, and—across the space between them—they were glaring at each other most ferociously.

  “We’re doing it my way, Brutus,” Lulu announced in her bossiest voice.

  “That won’t happen,” came the instant reply. But in case you’re thinking that Brutus was speaking, you can think again. The voice Lulu heard belonged—big surprise!—to Fleischman.

  Just the person she didn’t want to see.

  “You’re just the person I didn’t want to see,” said Lulu.

  “Dog biscuits,” Fleischman mysteriously replied.

  “Dog biscuits yourself,” said Lulu, and went back to staring ferociously at Brutus: girl and dog still standing still—girl under a tree, holding on to one end of the leash, and dog, two houses down, attached to the other end—in a situation grown-ups call an impasse. (A complicated word that means neither one’s going to do what the other one wants him to do.)

  “If you’re wanting Brutus to walk with you nicely to Pookie’s house,” said Fleischman, “you need a dog-biscuit trail for him to follow. And since I’m thinking you don’t have any dog biscuits in your pockets, we’ll use mine.”

  Fleischman walked over to Brutus and dropped a biscuit in front of his nose, which Brutus gladly and instantly gulped down. Then Fleischman turned around and walked back toward Lulu, dropping biscuit after biscuit on the ground, creating a tasty dog-biscuit trail that Brutus eagerly followed, gulping down biscuits. Soon thereafter, Fleischman and Brutus were standing next to Lulu under the tree.

  “And now if you’ll just unwind the leash from that tree trunk,” Fleischman told Lulu, “we can get going.”

  Lulu, with Brutus on the leash and Fleischman walking ahead of them dropping biscuits, arrived without further fuss at Pookie’s house. Lulu waited for Fleischman to leave. He didn’t. Instead he said, “If you let me hold Brutus’s leash while you go inside and pick up Pookie, we’ll save some time.”

  “We’re not saving time,” said Lulu. “I am saving time. So wait out here with Brutus, if you want to, but I’m warning you, Fleischman, don’t get any ideas.”

  “I’m not getting any ideas,” said Fleischman. “I’m just happy to help. Happy and pleased and proud and delighted and honored and . . .”

  “Quiet, Fleischman!” said Lulu in a voice that could shut up a city. “And stop being so happy.”

  Lulu was out of Pookie’s house in twenty seconds flat, promising Pookie’s mommy that she would be careful not to hurt the fuzzball’s feelings. Holding Pookie with one of her hands and Brutus’s leash with the other, Lulu was hurrying over to Cordelia’s when Pookie—finally!—opened her eyes and wiggled. And then kind of squeaked. Then wiggled and squeaked some more. Lulu understood that this was Pookie’s way of saying it was time to do what she was supposed to do. Which meant that Lulu needed to stop immediately and set down Pookie underneath a tree. Which she did and then said, in a not-too-patient voice, “Okay, let’s get this over with. Do what you’re supposed to do—right now.”

  “She won’t if you talk like that,” said a voice that belonged—do I have to tell you?—to Fleischman. “She needs to be coaxed.”

  “I am not a person who coaxes,” Lulu told Fleischman. Then, bending down, she repeated, “Pookie—right now!”

  Except that when she spoke, instead of the POOK part rhyming with DUKE, Lulu forgot and rhymed it with—uh-oh!—BOOK. Which turned out to be a mistake. A big mistake.

  Pookie, yelping, leaped up in the air, and instead of falling back down again, she attached herself—by her teeth—to Lulu’s jean jacket. Lulu tried pulling her off. Pookie hung on. Lulu tried pushing her off. Pookie hung on. Lulu tried shaking her off, but the once-lazy fuzzball wouldn’t let go, hanging on by her teeth and somehow yelping at the same time, which isn’t that easy.

  All of a sudden—out of the blue—Lulu began to hear music. What was this music? Where was it coming from? Well—what do you know!—there was Fleischman, who had taken his flute from his backpack and was toot-toot-tootling tunes into Pookie’s ear.

  “Fleischman!” yelled Lulu, still pulling and pushing and trying to shake off Pookie. “Cut out the concert!”

  “This isn’t a concert,” said Fleischman. “This is coaxing.”

  Lulu watched with amazement as the yelping Pookie stopped yelping and hanging on by her teeth to Lulu’s jacket. Instead, while Fleischman kept playing, Pookie let herself drop to the ground where, quietly squatting under the big leafy tree, she quickly did what she was supposed to do.

  (Why is everyone saying that Pookie “did what she was supposed to do”? From now on I am going to just say “pooped.”)

  Fleischman whipped out a pooper-scooper, cleaned up the little mess, picked up Pookie, and handed her to Lulu. “Don’t thank me,” he told her, even though Lulu hadn’t said a word. “Actually, I should be thanking you. I should be thanking you for letting me . . .”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Fleischman!” roared Lulu. “I really, really, really DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT. Now, out of my way, I’m seriously behind schedule.”

  I just this minute realized, even though I’ve already told you that Brutus is a great big, bad-breathed brute and that Pookie is a tiny, lazy, white fuzzball, I haven’t yet said that—along with loving to hide—Cordelia is a long, low, short-legged, hot-dog-looking dog whose animal name starts with d, except I can’t remember what comes after the d. Oh, and one more thing about Cordelia: She is very—and I mean VERY—vain.

  Lulu, filled with impatience, was standing on Mister and Missus’s porch—and she was late. Fleischman was waiting patiently under a tree. He was holding on to Pookie, who immediately fell asleep, and gently patting Brutus, who promptly pooped. Mister and Missus weren’t upset about Lulu’s being late, because they were busy looking for Cordelia. Who, even with Lulu’s help, could not be found. Fleischman watched Mister and Missus and Lulu calling “Cordelia, Cordelia,” as they poked and prodded the junk pile on the porch. And then, because it was getting too late and even though Lulu scowled a stay-out-of-this scowl, he joined them. Handing the two dogs to Lulu, Fleischman knelt by the pile of junk and started speaking softly in a language that nobody else on that front porch knew. Well, nobody but Cordelia, because as soon as he started talking, she came popping out of the pile and, yapping blissfully, went waddling over to Fleischman.

  “It’s Cordelia!” shouted Mister.

  “It’s Cordelia!” shouted Missus.

  “It’s time,” Lulu announced, “for me to go.” Quickly taking over, she attached Cordelia’s leash to Cordelia’s collar, and holding on to all three dogs—Pookie against her chest, the others on leashes—she turned to Fleischman, nodded, and said, “I’m leaving.”

  (That nod was maybe Lulu saying thank you. Or maybe not.)

  Fleischman, though not invited, was leaving with Lulu. But Mister and Missus first had two questions to ask. What kind of language did Fleischman speak to Cordelia? And what exactly did he say to her?

  “I spoke in German,” Fleischman explained, “because Cordelia’s a dachshund, and dachshunds are German. I also know how to talk to
French poodles in French.” Then he told Mister and Missus what he said to Cordelia to make her come out of hiding, but I really don’t feel like discussing that right now.

  Six and a half minutes later, evening up with Brutus and Pookie, Cordelia pooped.

  Lulu needed to get back home, or else she’d be late for school. But she also needed to bring the dogs back to their owners. “I can do that,” said Fleischman. “I don’t have school today. They’re giving me the day off because I’m so smart.”

  Lulu knew she should thank him, but she really, really, really wanted to stomp him. Wouldn’t you?

  Still, as Fleischman went off with Cordelia and Pookie and Brutus, and Lulu pulled up her socks and hurried home, she forgot about all the difficulties of the morning and thought about all the money she’d already earned. Which inspired her to sing a money song.

  (Lulu thinks it’s okay to use the name “Glor” to rhyme with “drawer” because, she says, Glor is a nickname for Gloria. I’m not so sure.)

  After school on Monday, Lulu remembered all the difficulties of the morning and decided she’d have to SPEND some money to make some. She went to the market and bought the cheapest dog biscuits she could find. She went to the toy store and bought, for only sixty-nine cents plus tax, a plastic toy flute. And then she went to the library and took out, from the language section, an easy-looking book called Beginner’s German. She figured it wouldn’t take much to learn what she needed to learn to make the dogs behave. She figured that she would do just fine without Fleischman.

  She didn’t. Brutus hated the taste of Lulu’s cheap dog biscuits. Pookie yelped when Lulu toot-toot-tootled the toy plastic flute in her ear. And Cordelia, who either did not understand or pretended to not understand Lulu’s German, kept right on hiding. In other words, Tuesday was just as bad as Monday. Fleischman, who was hanging around, asked Lulu if he could help her. Lulu sighed and said a grouchy, “Okay.”

  Lulu bought better dog biscuits, practiced harder on the flute, and memorized saying in German (though it made her want to throw up), “You are the bestest, most beautiful dog in the world.” But Wednesday was worse than Monday and Tuesday combined because Brutus wouldn’t start walking, and Pookie wouldn’t stop yelping, and Cordelia hid so well that she couldn’t be found, in addition to which Brutus missed and pooped all over Lulu’s foot—maybe on purpose. Fleischman, who was hanging around, asked if he could help. Lulu sighed and said a grouchy, “Okay.”

  On Thursday, after a morning TWICE as bad as Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday combined, Lulu told Fleischman she’d hire him as her assistant. She said she would pay him thirteen dollars a week.

  Thirteen dollars a week—is that fair? Let me figure this out. Lulu is getting twelve dollars and fifty cents a week for Cordelia, and another twelve dollars and fifty cents for Pookie, and a great big fifteen dollars a week for Brutus. Add all these up and she gets, every week . . . she gets, every single week . . . she gets, every single week—I’m close, I’m close, I’m almost there—she gets, every single week, forty whole dollars!

  And she wants to give Fleischman, who works just as hard, maybe harder, a measly thirteen dollars every week? That doesn’t seem one bit fair to me but—hold it!—listen to what Fleischman is saying.

  “I don’t want your money, Lulu. I am happy, delighted, thrilled to help you for free. It’s truly my pleasure to serve you, to . . .”

  “Fleischman, stop it right now!” Lulu roared. “Or I’m throwing up, right now, on your perfect sneakers.”

  Fleischman shrugged his shoulders and stopped it right now.

  On Friday and for the next two weeks, Lulu—along with Fleischman—walked the dogs. They each took turns making dog-biscuit trails for Brutus. They each took turns coaxing Pookie by tooting the flute. And they each took turns saying the most flattering things in German to Cordelia to persuade her to come out of her hiding place. And as long as Fleischman was there, the dogs behaved.

  Lulu didn’t have much to say to Fleischman. She didn’t want Fleischman saying much to her. But on their third Friday together, after the dogs were returned to their owners, Fleischman tapped Lulu’s elbow and said to her quietly, “We make a good team.”

  Big mistake.

  Lulu stopped walking and started scowling at Fleischman. She put her hands on her hips. She narrowed her eyes. “Fleischman,” she said to Fleischman, “I want you to listen, and listen carefully. We aren’t a team. We will NEVER be a team. I’m the dog-walking boss, and you are only my assistant. ¿Comprendez?”

  (Comprendez is Spanish for “Do you understand?” But why, you may very well ask, did she say it in Spanish? I really don’t feel like discussing that right now.)

  Fleischman nodded his head to show that yes, he understood. And then he turned and silently headed home.

  Lulu sang a money song as she hurried to Brutus’s house on Monday morning. Fleischman was usually waiting for her outside. Except today there wasn’t any Fleischman. Lulu gave him a minute. And then she gave him two minutes. And then she gave him three minutes—

  “Three strikes and you’re out,” Lulu said to no one in particular. After which she announced, “So what if Fleischman isn’t here. I’m going to walk these dogs all by myself. I know I can walk these dogs all by myself.” She took a deep breath and said out loud, sounding a lot more sure than maybe she was, “I’M READY TO WALK THESE DOGS ALL BY MYSELF.”

  And I have to admit that, for a little while, Lulu actually looked as if she were ready.

  Because:

  Brutus followed obediently as Lulu dropped biscuits and made him a dog-biscuit trail.

  Pookie listened politely as Lulu coaxingly tooted her flute, after which she (as in Pookie, not Lulu) pooped.

  And Cordelia, after Lucy said some gooey blah-blah-blahs to her in German, was persuaded to waddle out of her hiding place.

  But as soon as Mister and Missus waved good-bye to their Cordelia and closed the front door, the morning got worse than it ever had been before.

  Lulu, standing under a tree, said to the dogs, in one of her bossiest voices, “Okay, let’s move it—Brutus! Cordelia! Pookie!”—except she forgot, and rhymed the POOK part with BOOK. (This, as you may remember, hurts Pookie’s feelings. Which, as you may remember, you don’t want to do.)

  Pookie, leaping up high in the air, fastened her pointy teeth onto Lulu’s jean jacket, holding on tight and yelping at the same time, while Cordelia slipped out of her collar and went dashing back onto the porch, where she hid herself deep, deep down in the pile of junk. As all this was going on, big Brutus, who wasn’t as dumb as he looked, circled wildly around and around the tree trunk, wrapping his leash around it just as tightly as Lulu had done on their very first walk together. And Lulu, who had been leaning against the tree as she tried (and kept failing) to shake off Pookie, discovered—too late! too late!—that she had been totally tied, by Brutus’s leash, to the trunk!

  Totally, utterly, absolutely, embarrassingly, humiliatingly tied.

  She couldn’t move her arms. She couldn’t move her legs. She couldn’t chase after Cordelia or shake off Pookie. And she certainly couldn’t untangle herself from the leash, still attached at the other end to Brutus, who was standing just out of her reach, triumphantly woofing.

  (And if you find it hard to believe when I tell you that Brutus tied up Lulu on purpose, remember who’s in charge of this story—me!)

  Lulu wriggled and wriggled, but she couldn’t get herself loose. So, after a while, she stopped wriggling and began to think about what she could do to get loose. And after a longer while, she started wriggling some more. Until finally, after feeling that she had been tied forever to the trunk of that tree, Lulu saw—well, you know who she saw—Fleischman.

  Yup, there he was, good old Fleischman, strolling slowly down the street, playing “You Are My Sunshine” on his flute.

  Just the person Lulu did not want to see.

  Just the person Lulu needed to see.

  Just in
time to take another time-out.

  I think we ought to discuss what’s going on here.

  I don’t feel one bit sorry for Lulu—do you? You remember I said back in Chapter One that, since she met Mr. B, Lulu wasn’t as big a pain as she’d been. And not nearly as rude. But she sure was being extremely rude to Fleischman. Rude! Rude! Rude! And also ungrateful! For Fleischman helped her over and over, and said he was happy to help, and didn’t even want money from her for helping. And all Lulu did was boss him around and threaten that she would throw up on him, plus she wouldn’t be his friend, or even his teammate. Maybe she needs to keep staying tied to that tree until she says, “I’m sorry, Fleischman.”

  Wait, I think she just whispered, “I’m sorry, Fleischman.”

  Well, it turns out that Lulu didn’t exactly say, “I’m sorry, Fleischman.” What she actually said to him was, “Untie me, Fleischman,” followed ten or twenty seconds later by a growly sounding “please.”

  Fleischman stopped tooting and stood right in front of the very grumpy, very tied-up Lulu. “Teammates untie each other,” Fleischman told her. “But I’m not your teammate.”

  “An assistant unties his boss,” said Lulu, giving Fleischman one of her fiercer glares. “And, Fleischman, you’re my assistant—so untie me.”