Zeus, Dog of Chaos by Kristin O'Donnell Tubb

Zeus, Dog of Chaos by Kristin O'Donnell Tubb

Author:Kristin O'Donnell Tubb
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-04-13T00:00:00+00:00


★ 21 ★

Murderous Pigs

Days later, we study a poem in Language Arts labeled “The Pig” by a fellow named Roald Dahl. Pig is smart: he can do math and he knows things like how engines work and how airplanes fly. What Pig doesn’t know is this: Why are we all here? On Earth? What is life all about?

I nod along, listening to pig’s plight. Yes, pig! Yes! So much to learn but WHY? But then the pig gets all murdery and he loses me. Seriously—I fear this poem might give me nightmares for weeks. But mmmm. Bacon. (That’s mentioned in the poem, too. My stomach may have announced my love for cured pork products at that point.)

The rest of the classes are the same same same. But then comes band. Always new, always exciting. Always confusing, because band is the enemy! It cannot be enjoyable!

“We’re going to practice outside on the bleachers today, kids,” Mrs. Shadrick announces. “We have a pep rally next week, but we can’t practice in the gym. Plus, well, it’s a balmy fifty degrees out and I want to work on my tan.”

The kids all laugh, then bang and clatter toward the big metal door in the back of the room that leads outside.

On the way out, many of the students sneak me a pat or a pet, and it makes me all zippy, and Madden just smiles and says nothing. “Hey, Zeus!” “Hi, Z!” “Whoossa sweet boy?” My heart is full to bursting.

There is a huge, clangy metal structure outside, and the pupils overtake it like termites. It squeaks and squeals under their weight, and I think of Mr. Dahl’s murderous pig. I shudder.

“Madden, make sure that door is propped open, okay?” Mrs. S yells across the field to him. “We don’t want to get locked out!”

Madden jams a rubber stopper under the door and dashes to go find his spot on the bleachers.

I blink and peer back inside the quiet classroom.

There, lined up along the far wall: the FUND-RAISERS.

This is my chance! Destroy the fund-raisers, destroy the music.

I glance back at the musicians, but they’re all eyes on Mrs. S, tiptoeing into their songs. Their music sounds so different outside, like it’s climbing to the clouds.

I crouch.

I flatten myself, stiffen my tail.

This gives me camouflage. I have a hard time breaking down that label, camouflage, but it has moo in it, and cows are the most polite animals you’ll ever meet, so it has to be pretty good, right? Every dog has this camouflage superpower: crouch and tuck.

I sneeeeeeak inside.

My toenails echo on the cold, hard floor. I weave through the chairs and music stands.

I sniff the boxes—assorted meats and cheeses. It’s the best thing about humans, really: their ability to make food like this.

I make quick work of the cardboard, rapidly chewing boxes into pulpy mulch. The plastic is not as much fun; it tastes like chemicals and oil, and it becomes overly slick from my own slobber. But I gnaw it apart bit by bit and spit it out—patoo—and eventually hit: YES.



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