My Dog Doesn't Like Me

by Elizabeth Fensham

Overview

A heartwarming book that teaches the importance of responsibility and love for a pet
 
Eric was given a dog for his eighth birthday—that was nearly a year ago. The dog, named Ugly (because he is just that), settles into Eric’s family but is not attached to Eric in any way. In fact, Ugly prefers everyone else in the family! Eric has several crazy ideas to make Ugly love him, but Ugly is not swayed. Eric slowly comes to realize that in order to win over Ugly, he has to put in time, effort, and most importantly, show him love and affection. A life lesson wrapped up in a beautifully told story that will resonate with kids and parents—and pet lovers.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780702252761
Publisher:	University of Queensland Press
Publication date:	08/01/2014
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	132
File size:	661 KB
Age Range:	9 - 12 Years

About the Author

Elizabeth Fensham has worked as an English teacher for many years. She is the author of Bill Rules; Goodbye Jamie Boyd; Helicopter Man, which won CBCA Book of the Year: Younger Readers; The Invisible Hero, which won the 2012 Speech Pathology Book of the Year Award; Matty Forever; and Miss McAllister’s Ghost, winner of the 2009 Age Book of the Year.

Read an Excerpt

My Dog Doesn't Like Me

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By Elizabeth Fensham

University of Queensland Press

Copyright © 2014 Elizabeth Fensham
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7022-5276-1

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CHAPTER 1

Running away is a very difficult thing to do if you are going to do it properly. To be warm and safe, there's lots to organise. Before I knew it, my school backpack was quite full, and I had only packed a book, my coat and a chocolate bar. I still needed to take:

• a blanket;

• a torch;

• a water bottle;

• some sensible, healthy food;

• my whistle;

• two extra books to read in case I never saw a library again in my whole life;

• some paper and a pen;

• my tin of pocket money.

How was I going to carry all that?

In the end, I snuck out to Dad's shed and grabbed the wheelbarrow. When Mum was in the bathroom, I crept into the kitchen and raided the pantry and fridge. I put on my backpack and dragged the rest of my stuff out to the wheelbarrow.

Unfortunately, my horrible big sister, Gretchen, spotted me. She laughed in a teasy way and said, 'I'll help you run away, Eccle! Here give us it.' She tried to take the wheelbarrow from me, but it tipped over. Everything fell out. Then she stooped down to put all my things back in.

'Better give us your new address,' said Gretchen in a nasty, cheerful voice.

I didn't answer. I started pushing the barrow up the driveway and along the footpath. I was heading for the little park two doors down. Our neighbour, Mrs Manchester, was drinking a cup of tea on her front porch. Her ginger cat, Penelope, was draped over her lap like a rug. 'Off for an exciting adventure, Eric?' she called out to me.

How was I supposed to reply to that?

Mrs Manchester must have thought I was like a three-year-old playing make-believe. As I turned to reply to the old lady, I noticed Gretchen had followed behind like a spy. She called out to Mrs Manchester, 'Eccle is running away from home!'

'Oh, dear me,' said Mrs Manchester. 'Your parents will be very worried.'

I didn't wait to hear more. In a fury, I put my head down and pushed that wheelbarrow so hard and fast that I was trotting like a pony. Gretchen's cruel tongue gave me a spurt of energy. When I got to the playground, I stopped and sat on a bench. I was panting, and my heart was thumping – out of anger and sadness.

Ugly had brought me to this. I was homeless because of a dog. Tonight, he'd be safe and warm. Maybe he'd even take over my bedroom. Where would I be? I might even be in danger. That scared me – stranger danger. How would I stay safe?

I looked around. It was a summer evening. The sun was sinking lower and lower in the sky. Spooky fingers of shadow were sliding across the grass towards me. In the sunshine, I felt I could cope. But what would I do in the dark? Was I going to stay on the bench all night, or find somewhere else? By now, Gretchen the spy had turned and gone home. No-one cared. I was alone in the world.

I started to realise that running away was very boring. I sat and sat on that hard, wooden bench for a whole half an hour. I ate my chocolate bar. Then a mum with a baby in a pram and a noisy little boy walked into the park. The mum looked tired; she sat on another bench and texted someone on a mobile while her noisy boy mucked about on the swings, the slippery-dip and other kids' play equipment.

After the mum and kids left, a bashed-up looking car stopped and three teenagers got out. They played on the equipment, too, and were just as loud as the little boy had been. No-one spoke to me, but I didn't mind. I didn't want anyone asking questions. I pretended to read my book, but I was too upset to concentrate. That shows how sad I was, because I usually love reading.

After that, it got almost dark. I started imagining all the things that could happen to me. In the middle of my imagining, I noticed a creepy-looking man.

He had a cap pulled down over his eyes, and he wore a black baggy coat. He was hanging about the edge of the park.

Sometimes he'd walk out of sight. Then he'd come back again. My heart started leaping about in my chest; it was going in all directions, like a terrified wild bird trapped in a room. What a stupid, dangerous thing I was doing – being all by myself.

People's backyard fences were left, right, and behind me. Should I climb one of them and ask for help? What if I climbed into someone's place and they thought I was a robber? What if the people were baddies? I was stuck. How I wished I was safely at home reading a good book in my bedroom. Reading an adventure about a boy running away is much more fun than actually running away, I realised.

I reached down and picked up a heavy stick to protect myself from the scary man. Next, I took my whistle out of the wheelbarrow and got ready to blow like mad. But then I noticed the man's bent back and the way he shuffled and limped a bit.

It was Grandad! He was keeping an eye on me. Someone cared.

That's when I decided to go home – but not with Grandad. That would be giving in to all the rest of the family and to Ugly, who didn't care. I stood up and re-arranged my things in the wheelbarrow, trying to look busy. Grandad shuffled further down the street, towards home. I quietly followed, keeping a distance.

After Grandad went inside the house, I waited a few moments. Leaving most of my things in the wheelbarrow, I slipped through the open front door. I crept down the hallway. Second door on the right and I was back inside my bedroom. I sat on my bed, enjoying feeling safe and warm, until Dad appeared and invited me to the kitchen for a family chat.

Most of what was said can wait for later, but in the end, I was sent back to my room for being rude to Gretchen. Now, I wouldn't mind being sent to my room if I'd been rude to Mum or Dad or Grandad, but Gretchen? It's like the victim is in prison and the bad guy is free. Boy, was I mad.

I was stuck in my room for so long (actually for the rest of the night). At first, I was too upset to do anything – not playing games or even reading, which I really love. That left me with nothing much to look at except for the curtains Mum had made me with the dog pictures all over them, which made me even sadder. The curtains reminded me of my eighth birthday, more than a year ago.

It was while I was stuck in my room feeling all clogged up with miserableness that I became an author. I thought I might start writing down my sad and angry story. It's been over a week now since I became an author. After I finish writing each bit, it feels good to get everything off my chest.

CHAPTER 2

My dog doesn't like me. It's a fact. When I got back from running away, I explained this to my family.

'Codswollop,' Grandad grumbled, and he stomped out of the kitchen and down the back steps to his vegie garden.

My big sister, Gretchen, muttered, 'You are such a loser,' and kept on filing her fingernails.

Dad said, 'What a load of rubbish!' He walked away and sat at his computer to do his accounts.

Mum bent down, patted the dog, and said, 'Poor bloke.'

The dog looked deep into Mum's eyes, as he always does. He knows how to get round her. But I'm telling you the truth. My dog truly, ruly doesn't like me. He won't give me the time of day. I'm not sure what 'time of day' even means, but I know he wouldn't give it to me. I just don't exist for him.

I know because that silly dog just won't spend any time with me. He loves Mum; he follows her around like a bad smell. Grandad says that about Gretchen's boyfriend, Shane. It exactly describes my dog, Ugly. For one thing, if Mum stands up, he gets up off the floor. If Mum walks to one room, he plods after her. I swear, if Mum twirled and whirled in little circles, Ugly would turn in circles too.

And as for 'like a bad smell', that's my dog all over – especially when it's been raining and his fur is wet and pongy like sheep's wool. Mum is what you call house-proud and likes things clean and neat, but Ugly is allowed to plod through the house and leave his big, round doggy footprints on the floors. And what if I did that? I'd get yelled at.

I said that to Mum, as an example of how she's made Ugly her favourite.

She said, 'Don't be silly. You know better. And you can take your shoes off or wipe your feet, but a dog can't.'

'He can so, too,' I said. 'If he is as intelligent as you reckon, then he could learn to wipe his paws.'

Before Mum could admit I might be right, Gretchen said, 'You're jealous, Eccle!'

'Am not,' I said.

Gretchen laughed in a nasty way and said, 'My little brother is jealous of a dog!'

I could feel the tears prickling my eyes, but I didn't want Gretchen to see. 'I'm not little. I'm more than nine now. And I'm not jealous, and you're the sister of a dog.'

I didn't get time to explain, because Dad had me by the back of the collar. He was almost lifting me off the ground, and then he half-carried me, like a dripping wet rag – my feet tiptoeing across the floor – to my bedroom.

'Don't ever use language like that again, Eric!' he said.

I only get called by my proper name, Eric, when someone's cross with me. (Eccle or Ec is what I called myself when I was two years old because I couldn't pronounce Eric.) So this time, I knew Dad was really angry.

'That's the second time in just a few hours that you've been unacceptably rude,' Dad said. 'First to your mother and now to your sister. It stops now!'

As I've already explained, I was totally miserable stuck there in my bedroom. Tears were leaking from my eyes, although I was trying to stop them. Until the moment I decided to start writing a book, I even thought about running away again. No-one takes me seriously.

Even as I was being marched out of the kitchen, I noticed that Ugly – who was lying with his snout across Mum's feet as she sat at the table – lifted his head and twitched one ear for only a moment. Then he dropped his head back onto Mum's shoes, as if to say, 'Is that what the fuss is about? Just that kid being difficult again?'

I'm not jealous of my dog. I'm just disappointed in him, and I have good reason. Actually, I'm not just disappointed in him. If he doesn't like me, then I don't like him either!

CHAPTER 3

When I said my dog doesn't like me, you might not have noticed that important little word 'my'. Ugly is supposed to be mine. He was my present for my eighth birthday.

I had always wanted a dog. Mum and Dad decided it was a good idea for me to have one for a few reasons. Firstly, having a big, bossy sister who is ten years older than me means I can sometimes be a bit lonely. And although no-one said it to me, I think my family felt I needed to get out and exercise a bit more.

'With big feet like yours, you'll eventually grow into them,' Grandad says, but the rest of my family say I'm 'on the chubby side'. Walking a dog seems to be one way people keep fit. But all of the walks Ugly and I take are disastrous. He goes flat out on his leash, dragging me along so that my feet nearly fly off the ground.

But back to my birthday. Turning eight felt good. I've always liked the shape of an eight – like a racetrack. And the idea of a dog for my present seemed fantastic. In the Bright family, we have a birthday breakfast. You have whatever your favourite food is, and you get to open your pressies after that. I had pancakes, berries, and ice-cream, and then I ripped into my pressies. They all had a dog theme.

First were Mum and Dad's presents. Mum had sewn me some new bedroom curtains and a cushion cover made with amazing material that had pictures of different dog breeds all over it. Dad gave me a red tartan dog collar with a matching red leash, and a padded dog bed up on legs, with raised sides to keep out nasty breezes.

Grandad gave me two bowls (one for water and the other for food) and a book called Lassie, which is about a really faithful, clever dog.

Gretchen gave me a bag of dog biscuits and some worming tablets. She said, 'You could do with some worming tablets, too, Eccle.'

I felt a bit hurt. Gretchen rolled her eyes and said, 'Just joking!' – words she often throws at me after she says something mean.

Mum said, 'Ease up, Gretchen. It's your brother's birthday.'

Gretchen's mouth went the shape of a squashed strawberry. She leant back in her chair and crossed her arms. Because it was my birthday and because I was now eight years old, I tried to be grownup, so I shrugged and smiled. But I know that it's unfair to say mean things and then pretend it was a joke.

Anyway, after Gretchen's 'joke', Dad got us all talking about what sort of dog I could choose and where we'd find one. We all agreed that the dog should be medium-sized. We'd get him or her from the Dog Shelter, which is an orphanage for dogs. I liked the idea of rescuing an unwanted orphan.

I took the dog collar and leash to school to show the class.

Travis Petropoulous said, 'Those are weird birthday presents.' But most of the kids were happy and excited for me.

My birthday ended really well. I came home from school with the two friends I'd been allowed to invite – Hugh Cravenforth and my ex-fiancée, Millicent Dunn. (Milly and I were engaged for a week in our first year of school, but that got boring. She wanted flowers and a ring – all that sort of stuff. Now we're just good friends.) Mum had arrived home early from work and had baked me a cake in the shape of a smiling dog with its tail sticking happily up in the air.

Before we got stuck into cake and sausage rolls, and 'wore it all over our faces' as Grandad called it, Mum took a photo of us. It's now sitting in a frame on my dressing table. I'm standing in the middle, between my friends. I'm proudly holding the leash and the tartan dog collar. My hair is wet and freshly combed, but straw-coloured bits are already sticking out. I can see I had more of a tummy back then. Hugh is on my left. He has dark, curly hair, and he's tall and bony – big knees and elbows. Milly is on my other side. She has her light-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail with a big blue ribbon. She has the friendliest smile, with a wide gap between her two front teeth.

After the party food, Grandad invited us down to the back garden to help him build a dog kennel. The kennel was a real surprise. Grandad had bought all of the wood and nails. There was even a plan he had torn out of a weekly magazine. Grandad said we'd build a big kennel so it could fit just about any size of dog. Being good with handwriting, Hugh painted a little sign to go over the doorway – DOG HOUSE. Milly and I held the wood together while Grandad sawed and nailed. He did a brilliant job considering he'd had a hip replacement only three months before.

Building that kennel was one of the best times I've ever spent with my grandfather. He isn't a talkative man. In fact, he sounds a bit grumpy even when he's being nice. If someone is unlucky enough to ring our house and Grandad answers the phone, he has a strange way of saying a member of our family isn't home. For example, if someone asks to speak to Dad, he'll more than likely say, 'No. He went to Timbuktu and hasn't been seen since.' There'll be silence at the other end of the phone.

But when Grandad was working with us on the kennel, he asked us questions about school and our teachers, and he even told us about his schooldays way out in the bush, 'Where the crows fly backwards to keep the dust out of their eyes'. At Grandad's country school, you'd get about five grades in the one classroom. And even more amazing was how the kids in primary school all over Australia were given teeny-weeny glass bottles of milk, the size of a small jam jar, for play-lunch so that Aussie kids would grow up with strong bones. The milk was free from the government.

By the time it was coming on dark, the kennel was half built, which was good progress. Then Dad got home, Mum called us in for spaghetti (my favourite dinner), and Gretchen got off the internet in time to eat with us.

During dinner, Dad announced we were going to the Dog Shelter the next day. I was over the moon. I was going to get my doggy birthday present.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from My Dog Doesn't Like Me by Elizabeth Fensham. Copyright © 2014 Elizabeth Fensham. Excerpted by permission of University of Queensland Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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