Dog Sense by Sneed B. Collard III

Author:Sneed B. Collard III
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000, JUV002070, JUV032050
ISBN: 9781561456710
Publisher: Peachtree Publishing Company
Published: 2012-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The next morning a chill fills Grandpa’s house. Fall is here, I think, forcing myself from my cocoon of a bed. I dress, eat a quick bowl of cereal, and head outside. Overnight a leaf blizzard has struck and Grandpa has already informed me that I’m the clean-up crew.

I’ve never actually raked leaves before. In California we had one sycamore that lost its leaves every year, but it wasn’t really enough to worry about. This morning, though, fallen leaves come up almost to my shins. I go to the shed and find a pair of gloves and a rake and dig in. I discover I kind of like doing it. I may not be able to control anything else in my life, but I can at least rake those leaves into submission. Besides, Streak has a great time diving into the leaf piles and tossing them into the air with his nose.

Raking also gives me a chance to think—and I’ve got a lot to figure out. I still haven’t thought of a good topic for my paper on Animal Farm. I mean, the book isn’t all that complicated:

1. People boss animals around.

2. Animals kick people off farm.

3. Pigs boss other animals around.

4. Pigs take place of people.

5. Everything’s just as lousy as before.

What can I add to that? I don’t know how Luke, Catherine, and the other kids come up with things to say about books.

“Well,” I tell myself, adding to a big leaf pile near the front door, “the paper’s not due for a week. I’ll think of something.”

Of course, I’ve got an even bigger problem than the paper—Brad. I kind of wish Streak had won the contest yesterday, but I’m glad he didn’t, too. It probably would have made Brad madder than ever. On the other hand, I’m not sure that finishing second will make any difference.

I pause with the rake in my hand and straighten up. Maybe, I think, Streak and I earned his respect with our performance yesterday and he’ll quit using me as a spittoon.

Then I mutter, “Yeah, dream on,” and continue dragging the rake across the lawn.

Even after all the leaves are piled neatly around Grandpa’s house, I’m still no closer to a solution. No matter how I look at it, I come up with only two options: either Brad is going to pound me to pulp sooner, or he’s going to do it later.

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