Marty
“Tom,” my mother called, “come here! My friend Kelly is going to Newport and Marty, her dog, is coming to stay with us for the week and they will be here any minute.”
I haven’t
seen Kelly in years now. I knew that she had a dog though. The blazing hot sun
was beating down on my back like a hammer whacking a nail. I couldn’t help but
notice a maroon Jeep Grand Cherokee rolling into the driveway. Kelly shuffled
out of the car and let Marty out. He charged straight into my arms and started
to lick and smell me. “Awwwwwww,” I babied.
My mom
opened the squeaky white front door and Marty ran into the house faster than a
speeding bullet! Meanwhile, my 11 pound white bichon dog, Jack, growled with
anger because Marty chased Jack trying to smell him. My annoying
siblings crowded Marty like he had just been born. Jack ran behind the couch to
hide from his so called “pal.”
Mom then
fed the dogs. Marty eats special homemade wet food along with his kibble. As
Marty addressed his food, Jack stared at Marty drilling holes into his black
button eyes. As Marty began to eat his food, Jack managed to shove Marty away
and Jack started eating Marty’s food. Especially the wet food.
Once they
were done, my eye was drawn to the gleaming pink/orange/red/yellow sun coming
down like a plane landing. I picked up my clarinet and started to play a song
while Marty fell asleep on my lap. I knew he was tired. I stopped to get a
glass of water. Thus, Marty woke up as fast as a light could turn on.
Meanwhile, the vexatious dog ran to the bag of dog treats and ate every single
one in the bag. I hustled upstairs and put Marty in bed. I thought, what else
could happen? I sure was wrong though. I heard so much noise that I couldn't hear my clarinet music. I marched upstairs and saw that Marty had been eating
my Fritos, which were hidden in my pillowcase. As I cleaned up his mess, I knew
that there was only one person to blame. “Jack, you are in big trouble mister,”
I yelled with ferocity.
“What
happened?” Mom asked.
“Er…………uh…..Marty
made a mess in my room,” I answered. “I admit that I keep a bag of Fritos in my
room, and Marty found them. Then he tore up the bag and ate them. The leftovers
are everywhere. I blamed Jack because he ate Marty’s food in the first place,”
I explained.
Once I
was done explaining to my mom, I gave Marty a bath. I put some soap onto a
washcloth and scrubbed him down. He obviously did not like the feeling of being
covered in wet, bubbly soap, and because of that he started jumping up and down
and splashed water everywhere. I gazed at the walls and mirrors soaked with
shiny reflective bubbles. I totally felt like jumping out of my skin.
“Yaaaaaaah!” I yelled, causing Marty to get scared and run away. I started for
the hallway and I slipped and fell flat on my back. It was so sore that I felt
as if I was laying on a bed of needles. Soap, water, and bubbles ran down my
t-shirt like waves on the beach. I managed to get myself back on my feet and
cleaned up the bathroom. I knew that this was the final straw.
I trudged
downstairs and my mom did not look happy. “This dog went to the bathroom in the
house!” she yelled.
“Well
congratulations mom, the job is all yours,” I teased. The rest of the week went
with less commotion. Of all the things that Marty did, I realized one thing: it
could have been worse.
