CHAPTER FOUR

 

Project Coco Fund = $0.00

 

THINK, ERIN! THINK!

If you were a dog, without a dime on you, where would you go? Where would you go?

I start running around Yorkville, asking people if they’ve seen a terrier. Most show concern and offer to help, but a few look at me as if I’m some kind of unfit mother. I am an unfit mother. I can’t even take care of three little dogs.

Louie must be so scared, wandering around lost in this big, busy city. What if he gets attacked by another dog or dog-napped? Without the fancy dog clothes, the dog-nappers might not think he’s worth much, but what if they figure out he’s purebred and lives in McMansionville?

I check the time. It’s almost three. I have an hour to find Louie and get the dogs back before my cover is blown.

Why did I agree to this? There had to be an easier way to make some money.

Oh, no—Betty!

She’s going to hate me! But she should’ve known this was a bad idea. I hope she doesn’t get fired because of this. Greta is fairly high-up at the accounting firm.

I sit down on a bench and try to think logically.

What are the facts? One hyperactive dog went missing at approximately 14:45 hours. He has short legs, so he couldn’t have gotten outside the city limits in less than a fifteen-minute period. Search area can be confined to the City of Toronto (unless dog-napped, then he could be anywhere).

Other known facts: enjoys chasing tail and wading in doggie pools.

Enjoys wading in doggie pools . . . maybe he went to the dog park? Is that possible? Could he know how to get there on his own?

There’s still time to make it to the dog park and back before I have to face the music. It’s worth a shot. I’ll do it for Betty, and for Louie, and for all dogs everywhere! As if on cue, Huey and Dewey both bark at that exact moment.

I get up from the bench and decide we’ll have to take the subway to save time. I’ve seen dogs on the subway, so I know they’re allowed. They don’t even need a token.

 

 

As the train pulls into the station, the chihuahua’s legs begin to shake. Poor thing, I bet he’s never ridden the subway before. He probably travels exclusively by hired car. He’s totally slumming it today.

Feeling a new sense of motherly-love, I pick up the two dogs and cradle them in my arms.

While on the train, the pug gets all the attention again. I feel bad for the chihuahua now that he’s the only one being ignored. I gently pat his head and tell him he’s a good boy.

When the train arrives at our stop, I get up and make my way towards the subway doors while still holding both of the dogs. As I do, I hear some muffled chuckles.

What’s so funny? Why is everyone looking at me?

I glance down and see what they’re laughing at. The chihuahua has determined this to be the perfect time to pee on my favourite jeans. Not only have I been peed on, but it looks as though I peed my pants.

Ugh. These dogs need some serious potty-training. But I don’t have time to worry about that now. I’ll deal with all of this one day in therapy. I have to find Louie!

I make my way to the park, using the map Greta gave me. My feet are killing me. Why, oh why, did I wear three-inch heels? Heels that haven’t been broken-in properly. Cheap heels that defy the laws of physics. I hobble the remaining way to the park.

The park is huge, and, of course, the wading pool is on the opposite end. I take off my heels and start running. I have to: I’m losing precious time. Whatever infectious disease I get will be treated later. It’s the price paid for vanity.

As I get closer to the wading pool, I see dogs everywhere: big dogs, little dogs, skinny dogs, fat dogs. And I can’t help thinking how much dogs are like people.

I spot a terrier, but he’s wearing a plaid kerchief around his neck, so unless Louie stole it, that’s not him. Maybe Greta wouldn’t notice. Or maybe I could buy her a new dog. Where does one buy a terrier?

I’m about to ask someone when I see another terrier, splashing in the wading pool, with a green-coloured leash trailing behind him.

LOUIE!

Thank you, God! Thank you, God!

Dropping my ankle booties, I run to the wading pool, holding on tightly to the other two dogs. I don’t want to lose one of them now that I’ve found Louie.

“Louie! LOUIE! Get over here!”

Louie looks over at me, and I swear he gives me a mischievous smile as he paddles to the center of the pool.

Damn dog. He’s not going to make this easy. But I’m calling his bluff; I’ve suffered enough for one day.

As I make my way into the pool, I hear a man shout, “Hey, lady! Dogs only! No humans allowed!”

I ignore him.

When I get to Louie, I try to grab his leash while still holding onto the other two dogs. But they're excited and think we’re playing a game. I lose hold of Dewey, who paddles over to Louie. It’s as if they haven’t seen each other in years the way they’re carrying on. Huey is wiggling in my arms like crazy, so I let him go.

I give up!

I walk out of the wading pool and head to a grassy area. On a positive note, it no longer looks as though I peed my pants because my jeans are now completely soaked. I lie on the grass to enjoy the warm afternoon sun and to dry out my pants.

Just as I’m beginning to nod off, I’m awoken by Louie, licking my hand. Soon, Huey and Dewey join him. (They must have mixed up the names in the Swedish version of DuckTales; Louie definitely should’ve been named Huey.)

“You little rascals!” I say, tickling their bellies. “Let’s go home!”

I quickly grab their leashes before they take this as a command and dash off again.

 

 

We make it back to Greta’s castle with a minute to spare.

“My babies! My babies!” she says as they jump all over her. “Thank you for bringing them back in one piece. I hope they were not too much trouble.” Greta smiles and hands me an envelope with my earnings.

“No trouble at all,” I say, smiling back.

“Well, then, if you are not busy two weeks from today, our regular dog walker is out of—”

“Sorry, I can’t. I have plans,” I say before she can finish. (I don’t have plans.)

I wave goodbye to the little guys as Greta closes the gigantic door.

Those were the two longest hours of my life. I open the envelope and count six, twenty-dollar bills.

But was it worth it?

I got pooped and peed on; one-half of my new ankle booties are damaged; I have a potential infectious disease from running barefoot in the park; I almost lost Betty her job (which she won’t ever find out about); and I’m convinced I suffered a minor heart attack from all of the day’s excitement.

So no. Although, conquering my fear of chihuahuas was a nice bonus. At least, it’s over, and I made some money to put towards Project Coco.

As I’m walking back across the impossible terrain of the circular driveway, I smell something bad.

It’s me. I smell like a wet dog.

Definitely not worth it.