Pup Art #9 Read online

  “My snout sniffs, too,” I tell him. “Two super-sniffing snouts are better than one!”

  As I look around for Fifi, I see the lonely artist. Only he’s not lonely anymore. There are two-legs all around him.

  I watch as the not-so-lonely artist gives the paw print–covered cloth to a two-leg. The two-leg gives the artist a pile of paper.

  “I don’t sniff Fifi anywhere,” Pierre grumbles angrily.

  Oh right. Fifi. I was so busy watching the artist, I forgot all about her. “Maybe she . . .”

  I don’t get to finish my sentence. Because at just that minute, I spot the not-so-lonely artist. He’s coming toward Pierre and me.

  Wiggle, waggle, what’s happening? The artist is running in our direction, like two-legs always do when they’re angry. Only he’s smiling, like two-legs do when they’re happy.

  How can anyone be angry and happy at the same time?

  “Hey!” Pierre says suddenly. “Do you smell that?”

  I stick my snout in the air. Sniffety, sniff, sniff.

  I don’t smell Fifi. But I smell something . . . meaty! Where is that meat smell coming from?

  Pierre knows! He’s walking right toward the not-so-lonely artist.

  The artist is holding a piece of meat right in his paw. I think he wants to give it to us!

  Pierre walks over to the not-so-lonely artist. He takes a big bite of the meat.

  “Leave some for me!” I shout to Pierre.

  The artist holds his paw out in my direction. Sure enough, there’s some yummy, yum, yum meat in there.

  I take a big step toward him and . . . whoops!

  I just stepped in more ooey-gooey colors.

  I bet the artist is going to be mad at me. Which means I won’t get any meat.

  “I’m sorry,” I whimper, even though I know he doesn’t speak dog. I look up at him and cock my head to the side. I am trying to make him smile.

  Guess what? The artist smiles! And he gives me a piece of meat.

  I look over at Pierre. He is splashing in the puddles of ooey-gooey colors and making paw prints all over a cloth.

  “Pierre? Why are you doing that?” I ask him. “You’re going to make the artist angry.”

  “I don’t think so,” Pierre answers. “The more paw prints I make, the more meat he gives me. Watch!”

  Pierre dances on a piece of cloth. He leaves colored paw prints all over the place.

  The artist gives him another piece of meat.

  I want more meat, too! So I splash my paws into the ooey-gooey colors. Then I dance on a piece of cloth.

  The artist holds out some meat. Chomp! I grab it from his paw and gulp it down.

  A group of two-legs has gathered around. They are watching Pierre and me as we step in ooey-gooey colors and eat meat.

  I want more meat. So I step in the ooey-gooey colors again and make more paw prints.

  The artist gives me another big hunk of meat.

  Wow! I have trained the artist! I can get him to give me meat, any time I want. All I have to do is make paw prints on his cloths!

  “This is fun!” Pierre barks.

  “It sure is,” I agree. “I love—”

  Suddenly I hear something I do not love. The sound of Fifi’s bark!

  “Hey! Little stray! You can’t catch me!”

  That rotten poodle has come back to ruin all our fun!

  CHAPTER 10

  “You have dirty paws!” Fifi barks at Pierre and me.

  I don’t get it. Fifi has a funny color all over her fur. Pierre and I only have colors on our paws. So why is she making fun of us?

  “And you smell funny!” Fifi adds.

  I don’t get that, either. Pierre and I smell like dogs. She smells like flowers. Which is funny—for a dog, anyway.

  “No wonder you’re a stray, Pierre!” she barks, louder now. “What two-leg wants to be around a dog that smells like garbage? You’ll never find a two-leg of your own!”

  Pierre looks down at his colorful paws. His tail droops. Fifi has really hurt his feelings.

  Fifi is the meanest dog I have ever met. I can’t let her talk to my friend that way! Meat or no meat, I’m gonna get that dog!

  My paws take off after Fifi! But the poodle is fast. She zooms between the two-legs on the street.

  I’m fast, too. I’m right behind her!

  Suddenly, Fifi’s two-leg appears and snaps her leash onto her collar. She holds the leash tight and starts to drag the mean old poodle away.

  Now that Fifi is gone, I can go back to getting more meat.

  But when I get back to the artist, he’s not holding any meat. He’s holding Pierre!

  With a big smile, he lifts the French bulldog over his head.

  A group of two-legs clap their paws together. They make a really loud noise. But it’s not a scary noise. It’s a happy noise.

  Pierre is happy, too. His little tail is wagging wildly.

  “Pierre!” I bark up to him. “Where are you going?”

  “I found my two-leg!” Pierre barks back to me. “I’m going to be an artist’s dog! I’m going to help him make art!”

  The artist turns toward me. He starts to walk in my direction. He smiles and says something I do not understand.

  “Come on, Sparky,” Pierre says. “You can be an artist’s dog, too.”

  The artist is smiling. He likes having a dog of his very own.

  The two-legs who are holding cloths are smiling. They like the paw prints.

  Pierre is smiling, too. He likes making two-legs happy with art.

  I am glad everyone is happy. But I do not think I would be happy being an artist’s dog. I like being Josh’s dog. Josh and I make each other happy—and that’s very important.

  I know someone who is not happy right now. Fifi! She is still being dragged through the crowd by her two-leg. Fifi’s tail is not wagging.

  “Pierre is not a stray anymore,” I bark to her. “He’s an artist’s dog! And that’s important! Much more important than walking around Paris being mean to other dogs, which is what you do all day!”

  That makes Fifi mad. She growls. And shows me her teeth. She takes a step toward me.

  Her two-leg tries to hold her back, but Fifi is one strong poodle. She leaps in my direction and . . . splash!

  Fifi steps right in the middle of a giant puddle. She is a big, wet mess!

  I walk close to her and stick my snout near her fur.

  Sniffety, sniff, sniff.

  Fifi doesn’t smell like flowers anymore. Now she smells like wet dog!

  “Ha-ha!”

  “And just what do you think you’re laughing at, stray?” Fifi growls at me.

  “I’m not a stray!” I tell her. “I have a two-leg. His name is Josh.”

  “Oh yeah?” Fifi asks. She looks around. “So where is he?”

  I don’t know where Josh is. He went away in his metal machine with the four round paws. But I don’t want to tell Fifi that.

  Anyway, I know where he will be soon. He will be home. And I want to be there when he gets there.

  Wiggle, waggle, time to go!

  CHAPTER 11

  I race back to the flower garden where I buried my bone. I start digging. Diggety, dig, dig. Diggety, dig . . .

  There it is! My bone. My beautiful, meaty, magic bone. It’s right there. Just waiting to take me home.

  But wait a minute. What’s that over there by the park bench?

  It’s a piece of cloth. Not like an artist’s cloth. It doesn’t look like something to dance on. It looks like something to chew on.

  I pick up my new chew toy. Then I walk back and get ready to take a big bite of my bone.

  But I can’t bite my bone with a chew toy in my mouth.

  Th
inkety, think, think!

  I know what to do! I dangle the chew toy from my snout. Then I pick up my magic bone with my teeth.

  Chomp!

  Wiggle, waggle, whew. I feel dizzy—like my insides are spinning all around—but my outsides are standing still. Stars are twinkling in front of my eyes—even though it’s daytime! All around me I smell food—fried chicken, salmon, roast beef. But there isn’t any food in sight.

  Kaboom! Kaboom! Kaboom!

  The kabooming stops.

  I look around. There’s my tree. And my fence. And my flowers. I’m back in my own yard! It feels so good to be home!

  But I might want to go away again. So I better bury my bone to keep it safe. I don’t want Frankie or Samson, the dogs that live on the other sides of my fence, to find it. And I don’t want that mean old neighborhood cat, Queenie, to get her paws on it, either.

  I run over to the flowers and start to diggety, dig, dig. Dirt flies all over the place. I keep digging until I have the biggest hole ever.

  I drop my bone in the hole. Then I pushity, push, push all that dirt right back over it. My bone is safe.

  Just then, I hear a noise. It sounds like Josh’s metal machine with the four round paws. Josh is home! Wiggle, waggle, yippee!

  I grab my new cloth chew toy in my mouth. I run into the house and hurry toward the front door.

  Then I look down. My paws are covered in ooey-gooey colors.

  Quickly, I race up the stairs. I jump into the hard, cold dog bed. The one that gets wet. And I wait for Josh.

  “Sparky!” I hear Josh call my name.

  “I’m up here, Josh!” I bark back.

  Josh doesn’t speak dog, but I guess he figured out where I am, because I hear his paws on the stairs.

  Thump, bump. Thump, bump.

  “Sparky!” Josh says.

  “Josh!” I bark back. My tail wags. Josh smiles. Then he looks down at my paws. And he gives me a funny look.

  I wish I could tell Josh how my paws got ooey-gooey colors all over them. I wish I could tell him about Pierre. And the sweet soo-flay. And the scary stone gargoyles.

  But I can’t. Because I don’t speak two-leg. And Josh doesn’t speak dog.

  Josh fills a big bucket with water. He starts to pour it all over me. But this time I do not run away. I know I have to get my paws clean. Josh does not like paw prints the way Pierre’s artist does.

  Suddenly, Josh stops pouring. He looks at the floor. Then he bends down and picks up my new cloth chew toy. He gives me another funny look. And then . . .

  He puts my chew toy on top of his head.

  “No, Josh,” I bark. “A chew toy goes in your mouth. Not on your head.”

  But Josh doesn’t know what I am saying. So he just stands there. With a chew toy on his head.

  My two-leg sure is weird. But I love him, anyway!

  Fun Facts about Sparky’s Adventures in Paris

  Tuileries Gardens

  This beautiful public park was created in 1564. Originally, it was a garden for the royal family of France to enjoy when they stayed at the Tuileries Palace. But today the gardens are free to be enjoyed by everyone. And there is a lot to enjoy! In addition to trees, lawns, and flowers, the Tuileries Gardens are home to some of the most famous statues in the world. There are also lakes for boating, playgrounds, restaurants, and a carousel.

  Montmartre

  This busy neighborhood sits on top of a 427-foot hill in northern Paris. It is home to many artists who set up their easels along the streets. Some of them are there to paint the church or shops. Other artists spend their days painting portraits of the many tourists who visit the neighborhood.

  Le Cordon Bleu

  This cooking school opened in Paris back in 1895, and is well known as one of the best cooking schools in the world. Le Cordon Bleu means “the blue ribbon” in French. Since the school began, people have come from all over the world to study cooking at the Le Cordon Bleu. In fact, the school became so famous that today there are thirty Le Cordon Bleu cooking schools located all over the world, including in Australia, Canada, Japan, Korea, Peru, Spain, Thailand, and the United States. But Le Cordon Bleu in Paris is still the best known.

  The Eiffel Tower

  This giant iron tower was built in 1889 to welcome people to the World’s Fair in Paris. It stands 1,063 feet tall and weighs about 10,000 tons! The tower is officially named for Gustave Eiffel, whose company built the tower, but many French people have given it the nickname the “Iron Lady.” The Eiffel Tower is one of the most popular tourist attractions in the world. More than 250 million people have visited the tower since it was built.

  Notre-Dame Cathedral

  Construction on this famous church began over 850 years ago and took almost 200 years to finish! The cathedral is mostly made of stone, but more than 1,300 trees were cut down to provide the wood needed to finish the construction. This earned Notre-Dame the nickname “the forest.” The gargoyles that surround Notre-Dame Cathedral may be scary-looking, but they are actually very helpful. The gargoyles are really just fancy water spouts. They were built to move rainwater away from the roof and the sides of the building, to keep the cathedral from being damaged during rainstorms.

  About the Author

  Nancy Krulik is the author of more than 200 books for children and young adults, including three New York Times Best Sellers. She is best known for being the author and creator of several successful book series for children, including Katie Kazoo, Switcheroo; How I Survived Middle School; and George Brown, Class Clown. Nancy lives in Manhattan with her husband, composer Daniel Burwasser, and her crazy beagle mix, Josie, who manages to drag her along on many exciting adventures without ever leaving Central Park.

  About the Illustrator

  You could fill a whole attic with Seb’s drawings! His collection includes some very early pieces made when he was four—there is even a series of drawings he did at the movies in the dark! When he isn’t doodling, he likes to make toys and sculptures, as well as bows and arrows for his two boys, Oscar and Leo, and their numerous friends. Seb is French and lives in England.

  His website is www.sebastienbraun.com.

  Looking for more?

  Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.

  Discover your next great read!