Chapter 13

World’s Finest Chocolate

In the spring, Colin and Shannon had a school project selling boxes of the “World’s Finest Chocolate.” It was a contest to see who could sell the most bars for one dollar each. The money went to buy books the school needed. The more bars the kids sold, the more books the school could buy and the smarter the kids would be. Whoever sold the most bars got the first book.

Liz sent them out into the neighborhood, each with their own box. They came back in tears.

“Nobody wants this crummy chocolate,” they said holding up what looked like old green napkins.

“I only sold two dollars’ worth,” Shannon said.

“Yeah, and I only sold one,” complained Collin. “Shan had the best street.”

“Well,” Liz said slowly, “Maybe you need an escort.”

“We have to do this on our own, Mom, you can’t help us,” Shannon said with a sigh. “What would the other kids say if they saw you helping.”

“It wouldn’t be fair,” Colin said.

“That’s not what I mean. Take Tramp,” Mom said.

The two kids looked down at Tramp, who looked up at them, wagging his tail. “Great idea. Everyone loves Tramp,” Shannon said.

Liz said, “Since there’s only one Tramp, why don’t you go together?”

After school, the next day, they sold four bars at each house, even if the family’s own kid was out selling.

“Hi, Shannon. Hi, Colin. Bars again, huh? You know we’ve already bought… oh, is that your dog Tramp? He’s so cute. I guess we can use two… no, four more bars. Here’s four dollars.”

That was the story all that afternoon. Tramp just sat up on his hind legs, looking up at a lady that obviously didn’t need chocolate. For the first time, he saw the impact of having a four-legged companion. He could solve a problem. He felt closer to that detective side of his nature.

Tramp was feeling pretty good about helping the kids maybe win a book with their sudden success. He followed Shannon into her very big closet when they got home.

She put the box of unsold chocolate bars on the top shelf and smiled at him.

Tramp went to Colin’s room. His box of bars sat on his dresser.

The next morning, after the kids had gone to school—since they came home each day, they hadn’t been sold and Tramp knew they weren’t in any danger. With Liz out of the house and Emmett off at work, Tramp faced an empty house. He had his chance.

He nosed Colin’s chair across the room to the dresser, hopped up, then stood against the dresser and pushed the box to the edge with his nose and watched it topple to the floor.

He hopped down and ripped the white paper off one bar only to discover a shiny silver layer that he had to bite through before he got to the precious prize. With the sweet, smooth taste of the chocolate came the cold stiff sensation of swallowing bits of the silver stuff. He got through three big bars before the pain.

He headed for the kitchen, his head low to the ground, his stomach churning, and lay by the door, emitting a high pitched wail, hoping for somebody to come in the back door.

The wailing and open mouth could have meant any number of things. It was his chocolate covered paws and silver bits attached to his teeth that were the big clues.

The back door finally opened. Liz came in with big sacks of groceries in her arms.

“Tramp, what have you been into? Never mind, I know. ‘World’s Finest Chocolate.’ Don’t you know chocolate is poison to dogs and tin foil is even worse? It can kill you?” Liz said. She looked scared.

“Poison” Tramp didn’t quite understand, but “die” he did. There had been plenty of dead carp in his world. “I’ll never do it again,” he whined. “Just make it stop hurting, please.”

Tramp rolled onto his side and wrapped his paws around his nose. Liz gathered him up and took him to the car. Doc Oliver would know what to do.

“It’s serious,” the veterinarian said. Tramp was getting it now. “Poison? Die? Serious?” Scary words for a dog to hear. “Could be a blockage.”

Blockage? Now there were four. Blockage definitely didn’t sound good.

“We’ll have to use the stomach pump.” Six scary words. This sounded terrible. “X-ray first.”

Too many scary words to count.

The X-ray machine was big and made weird noises, but it didn’t hurt. In a few minutes, the Dr. Oliver was back. “Okay, the bits are small. They’ll come out easy. Stomach pump time,” were the last words the vet said.

 

An hour later, Tramp left Doc. Oliver’s feeling hungry—not for chocolate, not ever for chocolate again—exhausted, safer, wiser. He was learning, watching for clues. He was learning to pay attention to details.