When the Going Gets Ruff Read online

  Dedication

  To Laura

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Excerpt from Roxbury Park Dog Club #3: Top Dog

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Books by Daphne Maple

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  “I just heard about the greatest pet,” I said to my mom. We were sitting in the breakfast nook of our sunny kitchen eating English muffins; it was the perfect time to reveal my latest plan to convince my mom we needed a pet.

  Mom was taking a long sip of coffee but she looked at me over the rim of her mug and raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to go on.

  I took a deep breath. “A de-scented skunk,” I announced.

  My mom made a sputtering noise as she tried to keep from choking on her coffee.

  I hid my grin by taking a bite of English muffin. This was exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

  “A skunk?” Mom asked, her voice shrill. “People actually welcome skunks into their homes?” She glanced around at our immaculate kitchen, where everything was in its place and every surface was free of dust and crumbs. My mom was all about our house being clean, which was why she had shot down every request I’d ever made for a pet.

  But I was determined that this time would be different.

  “Yeah,” I said. “They’re very affectionate.”

  My mom shuddered at the thought of cuddling with a skunk.

  “And they’re clean,” I adding, laying it on thick.

  She shook her head. “There is no way we are getting a skunk.”

  “Okay,” I mumbled in my most disappointed voice, slumping down in my seat but casting a quick glance at my mom. Just as I’d hoped she looked concerned. Yeah, my mom had a ton of rules about cleaning and homework and screen time, but I knew how much she wanted me to be happy. Ever since she and my dad had split up when I was a baby it was just the two of us and I knew how hard she worked to get me things like American Girl dolls, and send me to summer camp and dance classes. But the thing I wanted more than anything was a pet, which was why I’d come up with this whole plan in the first place. It was never about a skunk, it was about a—

  “Well, then what about a hamster?” I asked, like the thought had just occurred to me. “Hamsters live in a cage and look cute.”

  “Their cages need wood shavings,” my mother said, frowning slightly at the thought of the dust wood shavings might create.

  “Actually now they have paper shavings that hardly make a mess at all,” I replied. I’d done my research.

  “What about the odor?” my mom asked, wrinkling her nose as though she could already smell a dirty hamster cage.

  “We could keep the cage in my room,” I said. “And I’d clean it every day so it would stay fresh.”

  My mom stood up and began to clear her place. “Hurry up with that English muffin, honey,” she said. “You don’t want to be late.”

  I was so eager to do what she asked that I stuffed the rest of my food in my mouth. Then I saw her wince. Whoops. Yes, I’d finished the muffin, but I’d forgotten to use good table manners, one of the many things that mattered to my mom. Honestly sometimes it was hard to get everything just how my mom wanted it. It didn’t help that she was perfect, from her neat clothes and our spotless house to her job as a successful lawyer. I got my less-than-perfect genes from my dad, who lived in Seattle. When I visited him during school vacations there were dishes piled in the sink, comfortable clutter on every surface, and we always chewed with our mouths open. Not that I’d want to live with my dad; I was happy here in Roxbury Park. But it might be nice if just once in a while my mom relaxed enough to leave a few crumbs on the counter or something.

  “Really, Mom, you wouldn’t even know the hamster was there,” I said as I rinsed off my dishes in the sink and piled them neatly in the dishwasher, trying to make up for the muffin thing.

  “A pet is a lot of work,” my mom said, filling a travel mug with coffee for her drive to work. She added a half teaspoon of sugar and then secured the lid.

  “I know, but I would do it all,” I said. “I’d use my allowance to buy hamster food, I’d change the water every day, I’d clean the cage, everything.”

  My mom glanced at the clock on the stove. “We’d better hurry or we’ll be late,” she said.

  For a moment I wondered if I should let it go and wait until later to push for the hamster. I didn’t want to make us late. But I’d come this far and the skunk decoy really seemed to have worked. I needed to see it through now, before my mom could come up with other reasons not to get the hamster.

  “Okay,” I said, following my mom down the hall to the foyer. I’d left my pink backpack in its designated spot on the bench by the door, next to the rack where we kept all our shoes. Inside the house we did socks and slippers only. “But Mom, what about the hamster? I really think I’m ready for a pet. I’m old enough to take care of it all on my own and I promise you won’t have to do a thing.”

  I held my breath as I waited for her to answer. Last week when my mom was in line to pay for our groceries I’d gone to the pet store next door. At the big hamster cage I’d picked out the one I wanted, a girl with feather-soft tan and white fur. I was going to name her Pippi, after my favorite book character. And now as I waited I imagined how great it would be, coming home to Pippi every day, watching her run on her wheel and snuggle down in her paper shavings every night.

  My mom was putting on a pair of black high heels. “Honey, no,” she said, the one word puncturing all my hopes.

  “But why?” I knew I was whining, which my mom hated, but I couldn’t help it. I could practically feel Pippi’s cuddly little body in my hands and I wasn’t ready to let that go without a fight.

  My mom pulled on the blue blazer that went with the suit she was wearing, then looked at me and sighed. “Sash, I know how much you want a pet,” she said. “But I don’t think you’re ready. A pet is a huge responsibility: it’s a living creature and it depends on you completely.”

  “I can handle it, I know I can,” I said quickly. I was positive I could, if only she would give me a chance.

  But my mom was shaking her head. “Last week you forgot to take out the trash and it made the whole kitchen smell,” she said.

  “Right, but that was just a one-time thing because I had that big math test to study for,” I explained.

  “And two weeks ago you forgot your essay for English class and I had to leave work to bring it in so you wouldn’t fail the assignment,” she went on.

  I opened my mouth to remind her that the real problem there was my insanely strict English teacher, Mrs. Benson, who never allowed late work. And I had gotten an A on the essay so you could argue that it had all worked out in the end.

  But clearly my mom wasn’t looking at it that way. “Then yesterday you forgot to take the lasagna out of the freezer and we had to go out to dinner because it wasn’t thawed in time.”

  I was about to say that we would never have problems like that if she’d just break down and get a microwave, something she refused to do because she said it changed the way food tasted. But my mom held up a hand. “And then there was this weekend when you forgot to tell me that you promised Dana we’d give her a ride to dance and she ended u
p missing the class.”

  Okay, that one was pretty bad.

  “Mom, everyone forgets things sometimes,” I said, trying to sound mature.

  My mother was nodding. “That they do, my love,” she said. “But some people forget things a lot. A whole lot. And those people aren’t ready for a pet. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.”

  This time my shoulders slumped for real. I couldn’t believe that me forgetting a few things—okay, maybe more than a few—meant no Pippi. But it was clear that my mom thought I was too scatterbrained to handle a pet. And it was equally clear that she considered the topic closed.

  “Now get a move on,” my mom said briskly. “Or you’ll be late.”

  Unfortunately that was when I remembered that I’d forgotten my sweater upstairs. I raced up to get it, then stuffed my feet into my pink sneakers and flew out the front door. If I ran I still had time to catch my best friends, Kim and Taylor. The three of us met on the corner of Spruce and Montgomery every morning so that we could walk to school together.

  But just as I jumped down the front steps, ready to sprint down the wide stone path to the sidewalk, my mom called me.

  I turned and she silently held up my backpack, which I’d left on the bench, pretty much proving her point that I was kind of absentminded.

  Whoops.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, running back up the steps to get the backpack.

  There was no way I was going to win the pet debate today. But as I raced down the sidewalk I was already planning my next argument, and this one wouldn’t fail.

  Because I wasn’t going to give up until I had a pet of my own.

  2

  I was panting when I reached the corner but Kim and Taylor were still there, heads bent together as they chatted. I loved seeing them so happy together. Not long ago, when Taylor moved here at the start of the school year, they weren’t quite as friendly. In fact they were downright unfriendly. Kim had been my best friend since kindergarten but then I met Taylor last summer when my mom and I were up at Lake George, and we totally hit it off. I was thrilled when she told me that her family was moving to Roxbury Park so her dad could work at my mom’s law firm. But Kim was pretty much the opposite of thrilled and Taylor wasn’t exactly excited about Kim either. After a few days I was starting to think they’d never hit it off. But then a group of dogs saved the day and we’ve been the three musketeers ever since.

  “Hey, Sasha,” Kim said, turning and smiling at me, her brown eyes warm.

  “How’d the skunk plan go?” Taylor asked, pushing one of her braids out of her eyes. Taylor had brown skin and her hair was done up in a hundred little braids decorated with gold beads that made a musical clinking when she moved her head.

  “Yeah, are you going to get Pippi?” Kim asked as we started off toward Roxbury Park Middle School.

  “No,” I said with a sigh.

  Kim squeezed my arm sympathetically.

  “The skunk decoy seemed so perfect,” Taylor said regretfully.

  My friends knew how much I wanted a pet and they’d helped me concoct my latest plan. Loving animals, especially dogs, was one of the many things we had in common. Actually a dog was the pet I wanted most of all, but my mom had said a firm no to that long ago, so now I was just trying to get her to agree to anything! And so far I was having no luck.

  “Yeah, I thought so too,” I said. “But my mom didn’t go for it.”

  “She does love a clean house,” Kim said.

  In the past that was why my mom had always vetoed a pet. Today was the first time she’d ever said that my forgetfulness was part of the problem too. I opened my mouth to tell my friends but then closed it. Knowing my mom thought I was irresponsible made me feel humiliated and pathetic, like a little kid who can’t handle tying her own shoes or making her own bed. And I didn’t feel ready to talk about that yet.

  “Don’t give up,” Taylor said. “You’ll figure out a pet she’ll agree to.”

  “And then you can name it Pippi,” Kim said comfortingly.

  Even if they didn’t know the whole story they always made me feel better.

  “And we have the shelter today,” Taylor added, cheering me up even more.

  One of the cool things about seventh grade was that everyone had to do some kind of after-school volunteer work and the three of us worked at pretty much the most awesome place around: the Roxbury Park Dog Shelter. It was my favorite part of the week, getting to hang out with dogs and my best friends.

  “You have your shelter clothes, right?” Kim asked with a grin.

  I rolled my eyes. My mom hated the thought of dog fur in our house so part of getting her to agree to let me work at the shelter (which took most of last summer) was my promise that I’d change clothes when I was there. My mom always washed my shelter clothes as soon as I got home and so far no dog fur had touched a single thing in our house. “Yes, but I almost forgot my backpack,” I said.

  My friends laughed and I tried to join in, only it was a little harder than usual. Now that I knew my mom thought my forgetfulness meant I wasn’t ready to have a pet, it wasn’t quite as funny as it had been before.

  “So are you guys ready for the new dog today?” Kim asked as we waited for the light to change on Main Street. The leaves were just starting to turn so the trees were lit up gold and crimson in the morning sun.

  “Sierra? She had a lot of energy when she came on Saturday,” Taylor said a bit uncertainly. Taylor’d had a secret when she signed up to work at the shelter: she was afraid of big dogs. I had no idea but Kim not only figured it out, she helped Taylor so that now she’s comfortable with all the dogs. And that’s how Taylor and Kim became friends.

  “Don’t worry,” Kim told Taylor. “She’ll settle down. She’ll fit into the club in no time.”

  The three of us had started the Roxbury Park Dog Club a few weeks ago. It was for dogs who needed a little extra playtime because their owners worked long hours. For a fee the dogs would come play at the shelter for the afternoon, kind of like a doggy after-school program. So far it was a big success and super fun. And it was always exciting when a new dog signed up. Taylor was definitely right about Sierra though—she was pretty rambunctious. When she’d come in for her first meeting with the shelter dogs she’d raced around wildly, starting a dog mob with half the shelter dogs streaking after her and the others cowering in the corners. But she was only two and still had some puppy habits, such as getting overstimulated in new settings. Like Kim I was sure she’d calm down once she got used to the routine.

  “Did Sierra’s family sign up for pickup service?” Taylor asked me. We all had roles in the club and I was in charge of taking new client calls, and managing our client list and the scheduling.

  “No, her owners thought it was best to drop her off themselves,” I said. We offered a pickup service where we’d get the dogs from home and bring them to the club, but the Finnegans were going to bring Sierra over themselves, at least for now.

  “Probably a good idea,” Taylor said with a shudder, no doubt remembering that dog mob.

  “She’ll do great once she settles in,” I said, patting Taylor’s arm. “And remember, if we have any problems, we can just pull out our secret weapon.”

  Taylor nodded, grinning, but Kim’s eyebrows scrunched together.

  “What’s our secret weapon?” she asked.

  “You,” I said, smiling. “Our resident dog whisperer.”

  “You guys are great with the dogs too,” Kim said quickly, her cheeks turning pink. She always had trouble taking compliments.

  “We are,” I said cheerfully. “But you’re the master.” She really was. Honestly sometimes it seemed like Kim spoke the secret language of dogs, always able to know just what they needed the second they needed it.

  “Agreed,” Taylor said. Every once in a while her Southern accent shone through, reminding us where she was from. “Do y’all think we’ll have a quiz in English today?”

  Mrs. Benson was ve
ry fond of pop quizzes.

  “I hope not,” I said. “I kind of skimmed the last few chapters.” We’d just started reading The Good Earth and so far I liked it, but last night I’d been too busy researching hamsters to read it carefully enough for one of Mrs. Benson’s quizzes.

  “I hope not either,” Kim said, biting her lip. Sometimes she struggled a little in school. Her parents made sure she spent her three free afternoons a week on homework, which Kim hated, of course, but it did help her get most assignments done on time. And she got to do her homework in her family’s awesome diner, the Rox, which had the best sweet potato fries in the world. Not to mention the best apple pie. Sometimes her older brother, Matt, helped her out too. I was a little jealous of both Taylor and Kim because they had siblings and I was an only child. But Taylor said being the youngest of four girls was the worst and Kim said her older brother constantly smelled like old socks, so maybe I was the lucky one.

  “She just gave us one yesterday,” I said as we started up the path to school. Kids were scattered over the lawn, talking in groups and moving slowly toward the big metal doors. “Hopefully she won’t give us two in a row.”

  Taylor raised her eyebrows. “This is Mrs. Benson we’re talking about,” she said. Then she raised her voice in a near-perfect imitation of our teacher. “You will meet the standards required of a seventh grade student and present work befitting that standard or else it’s off with your head!”

  I laughed and Kim gave a half smile, but she still looked worried.

  “I bet you’ll have time to look it over in homeroom,” I told her, deciding I’d do the same. No normal teacher would give two pop quizzes in a row, but like Taylor said, Mrs. Benson was no normal teacher.

  The five-minute bell rang as we walked up the steps and into the school.

  “Hey, guys,” our friend Rachel called as she passed, ducking around three boys playing keep-away with a fourth boy’s baseball cap.

  We waved at her and then at a group of girls in our social studies class who were headed in the other direction. Mornings at Roxbury Park Middle School were always a mob scene, but at least it was a friendly mob scene.