How to Scare the Pants Off Your Pets by Henry Winkler

Author:Henry Winkler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2012-12-04T16:00:00+00:00

When Billy got home from Daisy’s Fur ’N Feathers shop, he was petless and idealess. His once great plan for helping the Hoove by getting him an animal to take care of and learn from had fizzled out like three-day-old ginger ale.

“What’s wrong, honey?” his mom asked as he walked in the kitchen door. “You look so dejected.”

“I can’t seem to figure out how to help a friend of mine.”

“Why don’t you invite him over for dinner? We’re having spicy meatballs with red mushroom sauce. That cheers everyone up.”

“Almost everyone. Spicy meatballs give him gas.”

Breeze, who was sitting at the kitchen table doing her homework, looked up and made a gagging sound. “Just tell this gas tank, whoever he is, not to come within one hundred yards of this house. You boys and your gas obsession. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m going to my bedroom until dinner,” Billy said, heading out of the kitchen. “I don’t need to stay here and have the digestion of my entire gender criticized.”

“Now that you have fresh new paint on your walls,” Billy’s mom called after him, “this would be a good time to get your things organized. Oh, and by the way, do you know someone named Hoover?”

Billy stopped dead in his tracks.

“Why do you ask?”

“I found this envelope on the back porch. It’s addressed to someone named Hoover.”

“That’s for me,” Billy said, running to the counter and snatching the envelope. “It’s my new nickname. Some of the guys on the baseball team call me that.”

“Why?”

“Uh … because it rhymes with … uh … mover. Yeah, that’s it. Hoover the Mover.”

Breeze gave Billy a suspicious look. “Call me crazy,” she said, “but of all the words to describe you, mover would be, like, last on my list.”

“Well I have many sides that you don’t have a clue about,” Billy said. “Live and learn.”

Before any more questions could arise, he galloped down the hall to his bedroom. He found the Hoove in his closet, lying on his back on the top shelf where Billy kept his sweatshirts and sweaters.

“Don’t you knock before entering somebody’s personal space?” the Hoove said without even glancing over at Billy.

“I know you’re feeling bad about Kung Fu,” Billy said. “But if it’s any consolation, that fish turned out to be a major mama’s boy. He only perked up when he saw Daisy. Some fighting fish he is. All show and no bite.”

“Yeah. He’s got the look, but he doesn’t walk the walk. Or maybe I should say ‘swim the swim … fin the fin.’”

“I get it, I get it. Oh, by the way, a letter came for you,” Billy said, handing the envelope over. The Hoove ripped it open and orange sparks flew from it, shooting up to the ceiling like fireworks with such force that the blast blew the Hoove right out of the closet and into the middle of the room. When the smoke cleared, the Hoove and Billy stood there amazed as a huge can of soup the size of a large-screen television materialized in the air.

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