Chapter 11 BUTTERBEAN WAS IN A FUNK. She was sprawled on her back on the living room floor, with her ears fanned out around her head and her paws sticking up in the air. Her tongue was lolling out to one side. There may have been some drool involved. She hadn't moved for hours. "Butterbean?" Oscar the mynah bird hopped down his perch and cocked his head. Butterbean didn't respond. "Is she dead?" Marco whispered from the rat cage. "OF COURSE SHE'S NOT DEAD!" Polo said from the top of the water bottle. "Don't be ridiculous!" She looked at Oscar. "She's not, is she?" "Of course not," Oscar said. (He was pretty sure he saw her breathing.) "Then do something!" Polo said. "Don't worry. I can fix this," Oscar said quietly. "Butterbean?" He paused. He needed to choose his words carefully. He had to say exactly the right thing. And he knew just what that was. "Have you considered..." Walt, the black cat, stopped grooming her leg and raised an eyebrow. Oscar cleared his throat. "Have you considered... getting a hobby?" "PFFFT." Butterbean blew a puff of spitty air out of her mouth in disgust. "Hobbies." "Good job, Einstein," Walt said, rolling her eyes. "Hobbies. That's what you went with?" "What? It's a good idea!" Oscar sputtered. "It's not like there were any other suggestions." "At least she's alive. That's something," Marco said. "Yeah!" Polo said. "Not that we were worried or anything." "Of course not," Marco said. "That would be silly." "I told you watching that documentary was a mistake," Walt said, shooting Oscar a look. "Well, yes, I see that NOW," Oscar huffed. The documentary had come on a few days earlier and had been about famous dogs in history. Rescue dogs, war hero dogs, police dogs, actor dogs, all kinds of famous and heroic dogs. None of them had been short wiener dogs like Butterbean. None of them had been house pets. "I don't need a hobby ," Butterbean grumbled. She still didn't move. "Hobbies aren't bad, Butterbean," Polo said, fiddling with the sparkly button she always wore around her neck. "Hobbies are fun, right, Marco?" She nudged Marco hard in the side. "Um, right! Hobbies are great!" Marco agreed. "I have lots of hobbies! Let's see, there's seed collecting, and running on the wheel, and, um, well... seed collecting..." He shot an agonized look at Polo. "Seed collecting is a big one," Polo said lamely. She made an apologetic face at Oscar. "I'm not collecting seeds," Butterbean said. "No one is suggesting you collect seeds," Oscar said, looking around the room for ideas. "I see you haven't chewed the nose off your new sheep toy yet. Why not do that?" "Pffft!" Butterbean blew air out again. "Nose chewing is for HOUSE PETS. Real dogs don't chew off noses. Real dogs have JOBS." "Oh, here we go," Walt said, examining her paw. "Real dogs are HEROES," Butterbean wailed. "I'm nothing but a HOUSE PET." "Oh good, this again," Walt said with a sniff. The "house pet" rant had started on day two and had been a recurring theme ever since. "We're all house pets, Butterbean," Oscar sighed. He was getting tired of making the same points over and over again. "Yeah, well, it's not the same. You're a BIRD. They don't do documentaries about famous BIRDS. You're not supposed to be heroic." Butterbean snorted softly. Oscar tried not to take it personally. He was sure there were plenty of heroic-bird documentaries, and he was equally sure that if there were, he was more than qualified for a segment in one. He was a very impressive bird, if he did say so himself. "But, Butterbean, you're not just a house pet!" Polo said, jumping down from the water bottle. "You're a therapist, remember?" Butterbean had recently run a small but successful therapy practice out of the basement of the Strathmore Building. (She specialized in raccoons.) "Yeah! And we're secret spies, remember?" Marco chimed in. "And GHOST HUNTERS!" Polo cheered. "And don't forget our International Crime Syndicate!" Marco added. (It had been a busy few months.) Marco was very proud of being a member of the Strathmore Seven. He thought it added a certain something special to his résumé. "None of those TV dogs were part of a heisting team." Butterbean sat up abruptly, a spit string hanging from her lip swinging wildly. "Have I saved anyone who fell down a well? No, I have not. Do I wear a little barrel around my neck? No, I do not. Have I starred in a live-action motion picture? No, I have not." She harrumphed and flopped back down. "But, Butterbean--" Oscar started. "No! No buts," she sputtered. "There's nothing to heist anymore! And there are no ghosts to hunt. And nothing to spy on!" Butterbean turned over, the long string of spit swinging as she did. (Oscar averted his eyes. Nobody needed to see that.) "How can I be a secret spy if there's nothing to spy on?" "You can spy on me," Oscar said. "I don't mind." "That's not the same!" Butterbean felt a howl welling up in her chest. She had no choice. She had to let it loose. Marco and Polo covered their ears. "Butterbean, what on earth!" Mrs. Food, their human, hurried into the living room from the office. "What's all this ruckus about? Are you injured?" She walked over and put her hand on Butterbean's head. "She's fine," Walt said, rolling her eyes. "She's being a drama queen." Mrs. Food turned Butterbean's head from side to side as she examined her. "Hmm, you seem okay. Would a treat make you feel better?" Mrs. Food asked, discreetly wiping the spit string from Butterbean's mouth. "Maybe?" Butterbean said softly. "Oh brother," Walt muttered. "WELL IT CAN'T HURT," Butterbean huffed as Mrs. Food went into the kitchen. "I'm UPSET. I'm having a... What did you call it, Oscar? The other day?" "An identity crisis," Oscar said. "RIGHT. I'm having an IDENTITY CRISIS. That can only be fixed by TREATS." Butterbean flopped onto her tummy and waited for Mrs. Food to come back. "Butterbean, you've got to snap out of it," Walt said. "You can't keep doing this." "You do this kind of a lot," Polo said. "You get depressed when we're between cases," Marco added. "OH!" He looked up at Oscar. "We need a new case!" Oscar frowned. "I don't know if I'd say--" "Here you go," Mrs. Food interrupted, bustling in from the kitchen. "Now you need to stop whining. I'm planning a top secret surprise for Madison, and I don't want you spoiling it." "A surprise?" Butterbean perked up. "Top secret?" Polo said. "A TOP SECRET SURPRISE?" Marco smacked his fist in his hand. "What is it?" "It's TOP SECRET." Polo clasped her hands in front of her. "Did you hear that? Top. Secret." She shot Oscar a look. "Maybe this is a case for us?" "And who knows, maybe if you're a good doggie, I'll let you know what it is." Mrs. Food bent down and patted Butterbean on the head. "BE A GOOD DOGGIE!" Polo shrieked. "WE NEED TO KNOW!" Marco yelled. "This sounds like a perfect case for a top-notch investigator like you," Walt said, shooting a conspiratorial glance at Oscar. "Exactly." Oscar shot a conspiratorial glance back at Walt. "I guess?" Butterbean said doubtfully. "It sounds like she's going to tell me anyway, though." "Even so," Oscar said. "It's worth a try." Butterbean nodded and looked up at Mrs. Food. She was just putting on her grade A, top-notch, high-powered puppy dog face when the door to the apartment slammed open so hard that Oscar almost fell off his perch. "I'm home!" Madison yelled. She was the medium-sized girl who lived with Mrs. Food while her aunt was deployed overseas. "I'm right here, no need to yell," Mrs. Food said, patting Butterbean on the head one last time as she stood up. "Another time," she whispered to Butterbean. "NOOO!" Marco wailed. "We were so close!" "Close to what?" the white cat asked, appearing from behind the sofa. "Oh, I'm sorry, is it home-from-school-yelling time?" The white cat was a fellow resident of the Strathmore Building who lived on the fifth floor. She was also a frequent visitor to Mrs. Food's apartment, not that Mrs. Food or Madison knew that. "Hide! You can't let them see you!" Polo hissed. The white cat rolled her eyes. "Relax. It's not like they'd notice I was here. These are the most unobservant humans I've ever met." But she stepped back behind the couch anyway. "So. What's the scoop? Any new tasty morsels of drama?" The white cat's eyes gleamed in the darkness. "Butterbean's depressed, and Mrs. Food has a secret surprise for Madison. That's all." Polo shrugged. "So, you know, the usual," Marco said. "How was school?" Mrs. Food asked, taking Madison's jacket and hanging it up in the closet. "Anything exciting happen?" "Not really," Madison said, heading to the kitchen and peering into the refrigerator. "That girl Cindy got braces. She has tiny rubber bands on them, in a bunch of different colors. That's about it." "Sounds festive," Mrs. Food said. "Yeah, they look pretty cool." Madison put a carton of milk out on the counter. "Well, maybe something exciting will happen when you least expect it," Mrs. Food said, her eyes gleaming. Oscar and Walt exchanged glances. Something was definitely up. Madison didn't seem to notice, though. "Yeah, I guess. Ugh, and that Animal Control guy is back! I hate how he's always hanging around. What the heck is that about?" Mrs. Food frowned. "I don't know. It is strange." The Animal Control Man had been hanging around outside the Strathmore Building for the past week or so, shooting suspicious looks at Butterbean and all the other dogs who passed by. It had been the talk of the building. He was making all the animals nervous, even the ones who didn't go outside. "Well, I don't like it," Madison said, setting down her glass with a thud. "Just make sure Butterbean's wearing her collar when she goes out, and he shouldn't give you any trouble," Mrs. Food said. "She's licensed and up to date on her shots." "I know, I'm just saying," Madison said, taking a swig of her milk. "It's creepy." "We'll just avoid him," Mrs. Food said, patting Madison on the hand. "No more talk of the Animal Control Man." "Oh good, you know about him?" A rat face poked out from behind the white cat. "The Animal Control Man?" "Wallace? Stay there!" Oscar said, one eye on Mrs. Food and Madison. They were still in the kitchen, but they could move at any time. "It's not safe to come out." "Mrs. Food and Madison are right there!" Polo said, waving her arms. Wallace was a wild rat who had lived in various apartments in the Strathmore Building. (Current residence, Mrs. Power Walker's apartment on seven.) He was over at Mrs. Food's apartment almost every day, though. "Sorry, but it's an emergency!" Wallace panted, bending over to catch his breath. "There's trouble. Outside." "Is it the loading dock rats?" Polo asked. "No, it's--" "Are the raccoons back?" Marco interrupted. Wallace shook his head. "No. It's... there's a dog. Outside. A puppy? Anyway, that Animal Control guy is there. He's got that puppy CORNERED." "WHAT?" Butterbean sat bolt upright. She shot a look at Oscar. "CORNERED?" "Cornered's not good." Walt narrowed her eyes. She'd been in the shelter as a kitten, and there was still bad blood between her and the Animal Control guys. "Oscar, we have to do something! We have to!" Butterbean yelped. "I don't know what we can do, Bean." Oscar shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure we can help." "But a PUPPY!" Butterbean insisted. "Uh-oh, I think somebody might need a walk," Mrs. Food said, watching Butterbean from the kitchen. Madison looked up at the clock. "Is it time already?" "YES!" Butterbean jumped to her feet. "A WALK! I can go outside! I can help! I can go for a WALK!" "No, Bean--" Oscar started. "Oscar, I'll be like those documentary dogs!" Butterbean raced to the door and back. "Rescuing a puppy!" Oscar shook his head. "But it's probably too late, Bean. The Animal Control Man is already there." He looked at the other animals. "Right?" The last thing he wanted was for Butterbean to end up feeling worse than she already did. "Yeah, but... but she can try, right?" Polo said slowly. "I mean, it's a PUPPY." "A little bitty thing," Marco said. "And it needs help!" "I could try SOMETHING." Butterbean raced to the door again and danced in place. "Better take her out, Madison," Mrs. Food said with a grin. "She looks pretty desperate." "I haven't even finished my milk!" Madison groaned. "You're right, Oscar. It's probably hopeless," Walt said, her face dark. "But I think she has to try." She flexed her claws. "Go for the eyes, at least." (Going for the eyes was Walt's signature move.) "She'll be like a SUPERHERO," Polo said. "EXACTLY, a SUPERHERO!" Marco cheered. Oscar sighed. He hoped they weren't making a mistake. "Okay. But be careful. Don't leave Madison's side. Animal Control is nothing to mess around with." "I'll be careful," Butterbean said, pawing at the door. "Madison, LET'S GO!" "Do you have a plan?" Polo asked. "I do NOT!" Butterbean said happily. "I will have to FIGURE IT OUT!" "Fine! Sheesh!" Madison dragged herself over to the door and clipped on Butterbean's leash. "You better really need to go, though." "Oh, I do!" Butterbean barked. "I have got some RESCUING to do! Excerpted from The Great Puppypalooza by Emily Ecton All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
