Brady slid onto the front seat of Desert Racer. For a few minutes he forgot about the dog show. He couldn’t believe his luck. Gramp must have forgotten all about locking the garage. Brady had seen trucks like Desert Racer on TV once. They crawled over boulders and skidded down gullies, their huge tires churning up the ground. Brady gripped the steering wheel. He could almost hear the crowd cheering and smell the dust.
In the distance, Cool It’s tennis ball thumped against the fence. Abra’s voice shouted, “Good dog, Cool it! Good dog!” Brady’s stomach tightened. With a sigh he opened the book on his lap.
He’d finished the first three chapters of Good Dog! Bad Dog! last night in bed. They were mostly about looking after your dog, feeding it a proper diet and brushing it every day. There was a lot to this dog thing. Mom had finally made him turn out his light at eleven o’clock.
He read chapter four at breakfast. It was called “Dog First Aid” and had a disgusting picture of someone giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a dog. Brady was so absorbed he barely heard Mom’s final instructions. “Remember to wear your bike helmet. Give Gramp his pills just before lunch. I’ll pick up pizza and bring it by for supper.”
When Brady got to Gramp’s house, he had washed Gramp’s breakfast dishes and played ten games of Hearts. Finally, exhausted by all his victories, Gramp had slumped back in his chair and fallen asleep. Brady had slipped out to the garage.
Brady wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting in Gramp’s truck. He fought back a growing sense of panic. Only two days left until the dog show and he was getting nowhere. He studied the title of chapter five and felt a tiny twinge of hope. “Keys to Communication.”
Brady read slowly. Dogs talk with their voices and their actions. Dogs who are friends greet each other in a typical manner. They sniff each other from head to tail. Sometimes a dog will hold its paw up, or stick its rump in the air and wag its tail. A happy dog smiles with its mouth open and its tongue lolling. This is dog talk.
Dog talk. Brady had never heard of that before. He leaned back against the seat and frowned.
Dog talk.
He reread the line, Dogs who are friends greet each other in a typical manner.
He thought hard. Maybe, just maybe, he’d been doing this all wrong. He’d been afraid of Grit, and Grit knew it.
“Inside, Grit is just a friendly old mutt,” said Brady in a loud voice. He said it ten more times.
He shut the book with a bang. Dog talk. He could try. He was desperate enough to try anything. He hurried back to the house. Water was running in the bathroom, and Gramp’s wobbly voice was singing “Home on the Range.” The coast was clear.
It didn’t take a lot of brains to figure out where Grit was. Brady crouched down on his hands and knees and crawled into the kitchen. Grit watched in surprise from under the table.
“Woof!” said Brady in a soft voice. “Woof!”
He inched closer to the table. “Inside, you are just a friendly old mutt,” he said. He crept in a slow circle around Grit. He took a deep breath and put his face next to Grit’s neck.
Nothing happened.
Brady’s shoulders relaxed. Now for part two. He sniffed.
Sniff, sniff, sniff.
Cautiously, he sniffed his way down to Grit’s tail. Grit twisted his neck to see what Brady was doing.
So far, so good. Grit was definitely interested. In fact, he looked astonished. Brady backed off a bit and lifted his arm. He curled his hand over like a paw.
“Woof! Woof!” he barked.
Dog talk.
Grit pricked his ears.
“Now!” muttered Brady. He stuck out his rear end and wiggled. He opened his mouth and hung his tongue out the side. He gave Grit one big happy dog grin.
Hoooo, howled Grit. His eyes rolled in his head. He scrabbled to his feet, nails screeching on the linoleum.
“Help!” screamed Brady, diving out of the way.
Gramp padded into the kitchen, wrapped in an orange bath towel. Water dripped in a pool around his feet.
Rrroooow! Grit dove between Gramp’s legs. He skidded on the wet floor and sailed on his rump through the doorway.
Hooooo. He gathered himself up and skittered down the hallway.
Brady stood up. His legs shook like Jell-O. He gave Gramp his best doggy smile. “It must be my dog breath,” he said weakly.
Then he bolted outside.