Dog Days Read online

  Dog Days

  Becky Citra

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  Copyright © 2003 Becky Citra

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced

  or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or

  mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any

  information storage and retrieval system now known or to be

  invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Citra, Becky

  Dog days / Becky Citra.

  “An Orca young reader”

  ISBN 1-55143-256-0

  I. Title.

  PS8555.I87D63 2003 jC813’.54 C2002-911517-5

  PZ7.C499Do 2003

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2002115955

  Summary: Brady must overcome his fear of dogs if he wants to

  make friends in a new town.

  Free teachers’ guide available.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support of

  its publishing programs provided by the following agencies:

  the Department of Canadian Heritage, the Canada Council

  for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.

  Cover design by Christine Toller

  Cover & interior illustrations by Helen Flook

  Printed and bound in Canada

  IN CANADA IN THE UNITED STATES

  Orca Book Publishers Orca Book Publishers

  1030 North Park Street PO BOX 468

  Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA

  V8T 1C6 98240-0468

  05 04 03 • 5 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter one

  “We are now approaching the planet Jupiter.”

  Brady piloted his model of the Starship Enterprize across Gramp’s living room. He dodged between an ancient windup record player and an old dusty saddle.

  The model was an early birthday present from Mom. He’d stayed up late three nights building it. Brady bit his lip. It was one of the best things he’d ever made, and there was no one to see it.

  Footsteps slapped in the hall. Brady landed the Starship gently on a faded velvet armchair. Gramp shuffled into the living room. His slippers looked like bear paws. Wild horses galloped across his pajamas. He was carrying a large box wrapped in newspaper.

  Mom came through the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She shot Brady a warning look. Brady knew what it meant. Pretend you like the present. His heart thumped. Gramp always gave him weird presents. Last year it was a horseshoe. Mom had told him to hang it over his door for good luck. Well, it sure hadn’t worked.

  For a second, Brady let himself think about last year’s birthday. He and Mom had been living in the city, far away from Gramp. The horseshoe had come in the mail in a box covered with masking tape. Brady and his best friends, Thomas and Jason, had rolled their eyes and laughed. Then Mom had treated them to the pool and the arcade and a movie. It had been a great birthday. He’d planned to do exactly the same thing this year.

  That was before Gramp got his problem. That’s what Mom called it. Gramp’s problem. Anger bubbled up inside Brady again.

  “He’s afraid to go out of the house,” Mom had explained patiently. “It’s sort of an old person’s thing.”

  “Mr. Tadley goes out, and he’s old,” Brady had pointed out. Mr. Tadley lived in the apartment next to Mom and Brady. He rode a motorcycle and gave Brady a loonie when they rode up in the elevator.

  Mom’s forehead had wrinkled. That was a bad sign. Brady should have seen trouble coming. But it was hard to worry about a grandfather he had never even met, a grandfather who lived thousands of miles away in a little town on the other side of the country.

  Then Mom had ruined his life.

  “Moving? We’re moving?” Brady’s stomach had plunged to his feet.

  Cold with shock, he had listened to Mom’s arguments. She had a great new job opportunity. They could see Gramp every day. It would be super to get out of the city. They’d try it for a year and then decide.

  “We could even think about getting a dog,” she had suggested. “Kids in small towns have dogs. It could help you get over your nervousness.”

  Brady had shot her an icy look. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not nervous of dogs. I just don’t like them.”

  Just because Brady crossed the street when a dog approached and once said he approved of the No Dogs rule in their apartment building, Mom thought he was afraid of dogs. She blamed it on what she called his bad experience. When he was three years old, a friend’s Saint Bernard had cornered him in a bathroom and he’d been trapped for two hours before anyone noticed. Brady sighed. Everyone acted like it was against the law if you didn’t think dogs were the greatest thing in the world.

  Beside him, Gramp coughed. Brady shifted his thoughts back to the box. Gramp’s bright eyes bored into him. He tore the newspaper off in long strips and crumpled it into a wad. Cautiously he lifted the lid of the box.

  “Boots,” he said in disbelief.

  The boots had high heels, pointy toes and scrolly designs on the sides. Dust lined the creases in the leather, and something crusty and brown stuck to the soles.

  “My old boots, when I was a boy!” said Gramp. He stared defiantly at Brady. “That’s horse manure!”

  Brady shuddered. Gramp used to be a cowboy. He’d ridden wild horses. He’d been a champion roper in the rodeos. Ever since they moved here, Brady had heard the stories. That didn’t mean Brady wanted to be a cowboy too. He had a sickening feeling Mom would try to make him wear this stuff.

  “They look like girl’s boots,” he muttered.

  Mom frowned.

  Brady sighed. “Thanks anyway, Gramp.”

  “Ha!” said Gramp. He shot Brady a long hard look. Then he sidled towards the card table by the window. Brady’s chest tightened. He knew what was coming next.

  Every afternoon Mom and Brady rode their bikes the six blocks from their new house to Gramp’s house to check on him and make his supper. Brady always got stuck playing cards with Gramp. The trouble was, Brady was the world’s worst card player. He mixed up spades and clubs. And he couldn’t shuffle.

  “I’m going upstairs to read comics,” he said quickly. He caught Mom’s eye. “Just for a little while.”

  Gramp collected old Marvel comics. He stored them in cardboard boxes in a little room at the top of the house. Brady had discovered them a week ago.

  The stairs in Gramp’s house were narrow and dark. Ooomph. Brady tripped over something heavy lurking in the shadows. A low growl rumbled in the darkness.

  Brady’s heart jumped into his throat. “Hey, look out, Grit!”

  Grit was Gramp’s dog. His name was short for True Grit. In dog years, Grit was as old as Gramp. He had black-and-white fur, a rusty patch between his ears and washy eyes. On the wall in Gramp’s living room was a photograph of Grit in a gold frame, a much younger looking Grit, with a glossy coat and bright eyes, clutching a Frisbee in his mouth and with a red ribbon hanging around his neck.

  “Frisbee-catching champion,” Gramp had boasted when he caught Brady looking at the picture. He’d rummaged around on a shelf and produced a blue- and-red Frisbee. He rubbed off the dust with his sleeve. “This was his favorite.”

  For just a second, Brady had pictured himself th
rowing the Frisbee for the big black dog. He’d take him down to that park near their new house. A group of guys hung out there with a bunch of dogs, throwing sticks for the dogs and tossing a ball around. Brady had been watching them for almost three weeks. He’d biked past lots of time slowly, but he couldn’t get up the nerve to say hi.

  “Six years in a row,” Gramp said, giving Brady a sly look.

  Brady had shrugged and pretended not to be interested. The one time he had tried to pat Grit, the dog had growled and showed his teeth, which only confirmed what Brady already knew. It was safer to leave dogs alone.

  Brady lifted his foot to step over Grit’s head. Carefully.

  Grit growled again, a deep menacing growl.

  Brady gulped. “What? Do you think you own the stairs?” He tried to sound brave. Dogs can smell your fear. But his voice squeaked on the word “stairs.”

  Grit lowered his head and closed his eyes. Brady chewed his lip. Grit was a pro at trying to fake you out. He’d wait until you thought he was sleeping and then SNAP!

  Brady thought about Gramp skulking around downstairs with the deck of cards. He thought about shuffling. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath and leaped over the dog.

  Rrrrumph, grumbled Grit, his eyes yellow slits.

  “Ha!” shouted Brady from the safety of the top stair. “You should do something about your dog breath!”

  Brady went into the room at the end of the hall. It had a low slanted ceiling and one window. Cardboard boxes covered the floor. Brady had poked through most of them, digging through old books, dusty blue and green bottles, dog show ribbons, pieces of horse harnesses, boots, odd-shaped pieces of metal, tools, wood scraps, batteries and even a box crammed with decks of playing cards.

  Mom and Gramp argued about Gramp’s junk almost every day. Secretly, Brady thought it was the only good thing about coming here. In the back of his mind, he was thinking about building a space station. Lots of Gramp’s stuff would be great for that.

  The comic books filled three boxes. He had cleared a place on the floor for reading. Now he stretched out on his stomach and flipped through a thick Super man comic. He tried to read slowly. If he was careful, he could make Gramp’s comics last for the rest of this boring summer.

  The most boring summer in his whole life.

  Probably the most boring summer in the century.

  The most boring summer in the millennium. A sudden lump filled Brady’s throat. He and Jason and Thomas liked to say things like that. They could go on forever, until they drove everyone around them crazy.

  Brady flopped onto his back and closed his eyes. He thought about the guys in the park. Three boys who looked like they’d be in grade five, like him, had been there this morning. It had been hot already by ten o’clock, and the dogs were swimming after sticks in the creek. Brady had stopped in a shady spot and watched.

  Brady remembered what Mom had said. Kids in small towns have dogs. He sighed. They should have moved to Jupiter. He was pretty sure there were no dogs there.

  After a while he got up and went to the window. He pushed it open and leaned on the sill.

  At the bottom of Gramp’s yard was an old garage, half buried in thistles, used tires and garden tools. Gramp kept it locked with a rusty padlock. Brady had peered through the small window on the side lots of times, but it was cracked and thick with dust.

  The garage was probably full of neat old junk that he could use for his space station. Brady sighed. He would love one look inside the garage, just one look.

  He ran his finger along the dust on the windowsill. A movement caught his eye. An orange cat stalked across the moss-covered roof of the garage. The cat jumped to the ground. It arched its back and melted through a thin black crack along the edge of the door.

  Brady blinked. He leaned farther out the window.

  Either the cat was Houdini or… Gramp had left the garage door open.

  Suddenly, this birthday was getting a little bit better. Brady took a big breath. If he tiptoed, he could sneak outside without anyone noticing. He turned to leave the room.

  A low growl sent prickles up his spine. In the shadowy hallway, a pair of white fangs gleamed.

  Grit was blocking the doorway.

  chapter two

  Grrrrrr, rumbled Grit.

  The back of Brady’s neck prickled. He slid his eyes away from Grit and stuck his head out the window. It opened onto a narrow strip of shingled roof. A metal drainpipe stuck up at the end: his escape route.

  Brady licked his lips. Guys did things like that in books. Not in real life.

  He peeked over his shoulder. Grit stared at him, his yellow eyes unblinking. A thin thread of saliva hung from the corner of his mouth. He yawned, showing a mouthful of deadly looking teeth. With a grunt, he flopped down on his stomach. His eyes never left Brady.

  Brady made up his mind. He scrambled through the window and squatted on the shingles. He kept one arm hooked over the windowsill. It was as hot as a furnace on the roof.

  The houses on Gramp’s street were close together. They had neatly mowed lawns and picket fences. All but Gramp’s. A rusty barbed wire fence surrounded Gramp’s yard. The grass was long and brownish. Gramp called it his hayfield. Mom said if Gramp didn’t let her cut it soon, the man from City Hall would complain.

  Brady looked at the grass with interest. The City Hall man was probably due any day now. Too bad. The hayfield was one of the few things he and Gramp agreed on. It was a great place for building forts or pretending you were an explorer. You could get lost in Gramp’s hayfield for days.

  Laundry fluttered on the clothes-line at the yellow house next door. A woman opened an upstairs window and shook out a cloth. The people had been away since the beginning of the summer, but they must have got back last night.

  Brady took a deep breath and inched along the roof. A shingle broke loose and clattered over the edge. He gulped and fixed his eyes on the piece of drainpipe sticking up at the end. He’d be okay if he didn’t look straight down.

  Brady looked. Just one peek. Down. Way down. Into the tall grass of Gramp’s hayfield. A wave of dizziness swept over him. The hayfield swirled into a brown blur. His stomach lurched. He pressed up against the side of the house, closed his eyes and counted to ten.

  A heavy thud interrupted his counting. He opened his eyes and looked back. Grit’s two front paws rested on the windowsill. His eyes blinked in the bright sun. When he saw Brady, a low growl rumbled in his throat.

  With a yelp, Brady scuttled on his hands and knees the rest of the way. He grabbed the top of the drainpipe with both hands. His heart thumping wildly, he slid his legs over the edge and wrapped them around the drainpipe.

  Roooo, howled Grit.

  Brady closed his eyes again. The drainpipe slipped through his sweaty hands. Halfway down he heard a ripping sound. He felt himself swing out into the air. He landed with a thump on his back.

  For one whole minute Brady thought he was dead. Then he wiggled his toes. He wiggled his fingers. Slowly he sat up. He pushed the piece of broken drainpipe off his legs.

  He had made it! Brady glanced nervously at the house. The vacuum cleaner roared from the living room. A wide grin spread across his face. He raced through the long grass to the old garage.

  The garage door creaked when he pulled it. For a second Brady froze. He looked back at the house again. Then he slipped inside.

  Pale light filtered through the dusty window, but he couldn’t see much. Just a big black shape in the shadows. Brady opened the door wider, letting in a shaft of sunlight. It gleamed on shining chrome and metallic red paint.

  “Wow,” said Brady softly.

  A monster truck sat high up in the air on huge tires. A big black “67” was painted boldly on the door. Golden lightning bolts zigzagged along the sides. Across the hood, in red-and-orange letters that looked like flames, flashed the words Desert Racer.

  Desert Racer. Wow. A truck like this could go anywhere. Brady’s heart thumped. How
could Gramp have kept this a secret?

  Brady opened the door and slid onto the seat. The truck was open at the front with no windshield. He gripped the steering wheel and pressed his back into the seat. Hot wind blew against his face. The crowd roared.

  Brady licked his lips. He’d give anything, anything, for a ride in Desert Racer.

  A shadow fell across his face. A voice said, “Hey! Cool truck.”

  Brady spun sideways. A witch stood in the doorway. Brady blinked. The witch stepped inside. She was just a girl, a girl with a black hat and green hair.

  The girl smiled. “I’m Abra. I live next door. We heard you were coming.”

  “Oh,” said Brady. He stared at her. She looked weird.

  “Does your grandfather ever drive this thing?”

  “Of course,” said Brady stiffly. He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t have a clue. “But no one except Gramp and me are supposed to know about it,” he added quickly, “so don’t go telling people.”

  Abra shrugged. “Sure.”

  Brady climbed out of the truck. He had a wild hope that Gramp would leave the garage door open from now on. He could sit in Desert Racer whenever he came to visit.

  “Come on,” he said to Abra.

  Brady closed the door carefully behind them. The open padlock dangled on the latch. For a second Brady considered slipping it into his pocket. But Gramp might get suspicious.

  “Aren’t you going to lock it?” said Abra.

  “No.”

  Abra flicked a piece of her green hair. “How come you were on the roof?”

  Brady looked startled. She asked a lot of questions. He said in a low voice, “I was locked in the attic. Without oxygen. And an alien was guarding the staircase!”

  Abra tilted her head and gave him a long hard look. Her eyes were green, like her hair. Brady sighed. It was just his luck that a girl lived next door. A weird girl.

  On Jupiter there were probably no girls. And no dogs.

  And then Brady froze. A movement in the middle of Gramp’s hayfield had caught his eye. The day was hot and windless, but the tall grass was moving.