Dingus Page 8

  “I should have been more careful with the leash,” I said, making a partial confession.

  “Don’t worry, Henry,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  That made me feel even worse. Dad was being understanding about the whole thing, but I was only telling him half the truth.

  “I guess Rupert has to be somewhere,” I said. “We just have to figure out where that somewhere is.”

  “We’ll find him,” said Dad. “You’ll see.”

  I went over to the computer to check if Max had sent me another email from camp. I needed a break from thinking about Rupert.

  Thanks, Max, I thought to myself, seeing the new message in my inbox.

  from: Max

  to: Henry <9999Henry9999@jmail.com>

  subject: Dingus

  Hey Henry,

  This is the 3rd email I’ve written you.

  What’s wrong with you?

  Write me!

  I’m supposed to be playing computer chess right now but I’m getting tired of chess. I’ve only been here a few days and I’ve already played enough chess to last me for the whole summer.

  I got an email from my parents. They know there are girls at Kanakwa. They’ve known about it all along. And they know I’m on the vegetarian meal plan. They said they want me to explore things outside my comfort zone. What is that supposed to mean?

  They told me they won’t be coming up here for Parents’ Visiting Day. I don’t care. It means I get to go into town for lunch and a movie. I think I’m going to eat two all-beef hamburgers. Ha ha!

  This morning one of the girls at camp called me a dingus. She also said I smell like vegetarian chili farts.

  I have to admit, the vegetarian chili last night wasn’t bad, but I’ve been farting all morning. It’s wicked.

  I can’t wait until camp is over. I’m going to eat meat every day.

  I can hardly wait to come home.

  From your best friend,

  Max

  P.S. Don’t be a dingus. Write me back.

  His letter almost made me forget the whole business with Rupert.

  Almost.

  I was happy Max wanted to come home. But I wasn’t going to answer his email. Not yet. And I definitely wasn’t going to tell him that I missed him. I was still a bit mad at him. I told myself I’d write to him as soon as we found Rupert and everything got back to normal. That might be soon or it might be never.

  I looked for an online dictionary.

  ding·us

  'diNG-gəs

  1. A person or animal that displays stupidity or does something disappointing. A different and possibly more polite way to call a friend a fool or a goof.

  2. A dingus is NOT a stupid person. A dingus is someone who can make you laugh or upset you by doing stupid THINGS. A stupid person is an idiot. An idiot and a dingus are different. A dingus is more like a goof. A dingus is not to be confused with a doofus.

  What do you call someone who lets go of a leash and loses a dog? I wondered. A doofus or a dingus? Maybe Max and I still had something in common after all.

  38

  I sat at the computer for a good long time, thinking about the differences between a doofus and a dingus. I wanted to think about anything other than Rupert. The more I tried, though, the harder it got. I wanted to tell someone I’d let go of the leash on purpose, but I didn’t know who I could tell. I couldn’t tell my dad because he’d get angry. I couldn’t tell my mom because she’d tell my dad. I couldn’t tell Poppy because he was camping, and there was no way to get in touch with him. Besides, he’d freak out. I wasn’t going to tell Max because that would mean I’d have to write to him. Maybe I could tell Gretchen Thorn. Maybe she’d understand. She knew a lot about dogs. I could get her phone number from one of her posters. Or maybe that would be weird. But I felt like if I didn’t tell someone I was going to burst.

  I finally decided to write an email to Poppy. I wouldn’t send it, though. I just wanted to see if it would make me feel better to write it all down.

  Dear Poppy,

  I don’t know if you’ll ever read this email, but I know I have to write it. Right now you are camping with your friends. Mom is in Las Vegas. Dad and Sam and I are here at the apartment.

  I don’t know where Rupert is.

  We were in the park. I was holding Rupert’s leash. I said sit and he sat. I said stay and he stayed. Then I let go of his leash. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I wanted to prove to myself that he listens to me the way he listens to you. He listened for a second, but then he took off after a ball. He ran away. Now he’s gone.

  I didn’t tell Dad that I let go of the leash on purpose. I said it was an accident. I also kind of blamed Sam. He kept saying “Go, Rupert, go” after Rupert took off. I told him that’s why Rupert kept running. Sam is taking it pretty bad.

  I want to tell someone that it’s all my fault. That’s why I’m writing. I’m telling you. I hope we find Rupert and then maybe none of this will matter. I don’t want everyone to be mad at me.

  But I’m afraid we won’t find Rupert and I’ll have to keep this secret for the rest of my life.

  I’m sorry. I made a mistake. A big mistake. I don’t know how to fix it.

  Do you know what a dingus is? I hope you still love me, even if I am one.

  I’m sorry.

  Your grandson,

  Henry

  I made sure to press Save and not Send.

  At least I got that right.

  39

  I was still sitting at the computer when I heard Sam. It sounded like he was screaming. I ran into my parents’ room and found him in his crib, sleeping. It was the same thing that had happened in the tent at Poppy’s.

  “Home!” he screamed. “Home!”

  “Sam!” I called out. “Sam! You’re dreaming. It’s okay.”

  Sam opened his eyes and scratched his head. He wiped the drool from his chin. He looked at me.

  “Poppy home,” he said quietly. “Poppy home.”

  “Poppy’s not at home,” said Dad, who had also come running. “Poppy’s camping. Remember?”

  “Woopah?” said Sam. “Woopah home.”

  Sam had been saying the same annoying thing all day. It occurred to me that he might be trying to tell us something important. Last summer, when I’d dropped the leash by accident, Poppy had said he knew Rupert was smart enough to come back to him. Maybe, when Rupert took off, he went looking for Poppy. And didn’t Gretchen Thorn tell me that Rupert would find his way home? All along, I had been thinking of our place as Rupert’s home. But this wasn’t Rupert’s home at all. Maybe Rupert went back to his real home at Poppy’s.

  “THAT’S IT!” I said. “Rupert’s at home! He’s probably been at home the whole time. He’s probably looking for Poppy!”

  “What?” said Dad.

  “Sam has been trying to tell us all along!” I explained. “Rupert’s at home!”

  I lifted Sam out of his crib and hugged him tight. “You are a freaking genius!”

  “What? You think Rupert’s at Poppy’s?” said Dad. “I guess it makes sense. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you aren’t as smart as Sam,” I said. “Me neither.”

  I started doing a little happy dance with Sam, spinning around the room.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered in his ear. “I’m so sorry. It was never your fault. You’re not a baby. You’re a genius. You figured out where Rupert is all by yourself. Now let’s go get him!”

  “Tham big boy!” said Sam, jumping up and down in my arms.

  “Come on!” said Dad. “We’ve got a dog to find.”

  Dad says Sam is smarter than any of us. Poppy says Rupert is smarter than all of us. Maybe they’re both rig
ht. Maybe Sam was smart enough to know that Rupert would go home. Maybe Rupert was smart enough to actually go home. We were about to find out.

  We were out the door in a flash.

  “Go, Mondo, go!” shrieked Sam, waving Mondo in the air.

  We sped through the park and past the spot where we last saw Rupert. We turned down Poppy’s street. We passed Max’s house.

  I could see the chestnut tree in Poppy’s front yard. I could see the flowers in the garden. I could see the wooden chair by his front door …

  But I couldn’t see Rupert.

  40

  “Rupert?” I called, feeling desperate and hopeful at the same time.

  “Woopah!” yelled Sam.

  Dad kept up the pace, pushing Sam in the stroller.

  “Let’s go, Sam!” he said. “Go, Sam, go!”

  “Go, Mondo, go!” said Sam, waving Mondo in the air.

  I was sure I’d find Rupert sitting in the front yard, waiting for us. I had pictured the perfect ending to the story. But Rupert wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere.

  Dad brought the stroller to a sudden stop. Mondo flew out of Sam’s hands.

  “Mondo!” shouted Sam. “Mondo!”

  That’s when we heard it.

  “AAAAARRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOO …”

  I looked at Dad.

  Dad looked at Sam.

  It was unmistakable.

  “AAAAARRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOO …”

  “Rupert?”

  “WOOPAH!”

  Rupert came bounding out of the backyard, his leash dragging behind him and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. His tail wagged. He was happy to see us.

  Rupert bounded right past me, right past Sam and right past Dad. He stopped at the spot where Mondo lay on the sidewalk. Rupert took Mondo in his mouth, gave him a good shake and then dropped him on Sam’s lap.

  I grabbed the leash.

  “Good Woopah!” shrieked Sam, bouncing up and down and clapping.

  Rupert licked Sam.

  Sam kissed Rupert smack on the lips.

  MMMMMWWWWWWAAAAAAAHHHHH!

  “Rupert!” said Dad, relieved. “Are we glad to see you!”

  “Rupert,” I said, hugging him. “I’m so glad we found you. I’m so glad you came home.”

  “Woopah good dog,” said Sam. “Woopah home.”

  “Sam,” I said, turning to Sam. “You really are smarter than any of us.”

  “Tham good boy!” said Sam proudly.

  I noticed Gretchen Thorn walking down the sidewalk, coming toward us. She really was everywhere! This time, though, she didn’t just have Dijon. She had a bulldog, too.

  “That’s four!” I said.

  “What?” she said.

  “You know,” I said. “This is the fourth time I’ve seen you this summer. And it’s the third time I’ve seen you today.”

  “I didn’t know you were counting,” she said.

  “Yeah, well,” I said. “You started it.”

  “I see you found your friend,” she said, smiling.

  “You were right,” I said. “He found his own way home.”

  “Wicked,” she said.

  The dogs all did a little sniffing.

  “Who’s the new dog?” I asked.

  “This is Winston,” said Gretchen. “He’s Mr. Buntrock’s English bulldog. I’m going to be one of his dog-walkers. He’s a lot stronger than Dijon. And he doesn’t like standing around, so I have to keep moving. This whole dog-walking thing isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Later gator.”

  “What?”

  “Later gator,” she said, walking away.

  Dad took Rupert’s leash from me. I pushed Sam’s stroller. Sam held on to Mondo. I smiled. So did Dad. So did Sam. Rupert barked.

  Everything was okay.

  41

  “Remember the reward on the poster?” I said to my dad as we rode up in the elevator to our apartment. I knew I might be pushing my luck, but after finding Rupert I was feeling kind of lucky.

  “What about it?” he said.

  “Who’s getting it?”

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  “Me or Sam? I’m just wondering.”

  “YOU or SAM?” he said, making a face. “The reward money wasn’t meant for either of you. It was meant to give people in the neighborhood a reason to keep their eyes open for Rupert.”

  “Are you serious?” I said, hardly able to believe that Dad would try to wiggle his way out of paying the reward.

  “Listen,” he said, as we got off the elevator and walked down the hall. “Sam is the one who figured out Rupert was at Poppy’s. You’re the one who figured out what Sam was trying to tell us. We all went and found Rupert together.”

  “So?” I said. “Should we share it between Sam and me?”

  “We’ll see,” he said.

  “What does that mean?” I said.

  “It means we’ll see,” said Dad, opening the apartment door.

  The sound of Rupert’s nails clicking on the floor was like music to my ears. He went straight to his bowl. I filled it up with fresh water, and he slurped and splashed until all the water was gone. Then I filled it up again.

  “You must be hungry, too,” I said.

  I got some of his food and filled his other bowl. I also got one of his treats. Rupert took it and brought it into the hallway.

  “Woopah good boy,” said Sam, watching Rupert chew away on his treat.

  “Rupert is a dingus,” I said.

  Rupert was acting like nothing had happened. He probably didn’t care that we’d been freaking out and worrying about him. He just wanted his treat. I thought about what it would be like to have my own dog. It would be better than dog-sitting. I’d have a new best friend. I could teach my dog to do tricks. I could teach it to never run away. I could go for walks with my dog the way Gretchen Thorn goes for walks with Dijon.

  “Woopahdinkth!” said Sam.

  “Do you want a dog, Sam?” I asked.

  “Doggy!” said Sam.

  “What would you call it?” I asked.

  “Dinkth!” said Sam.

  “Dingus?”

  “Dinkth.”

  Dad came into the hallway and watched us watching Rupert.

  “I think I know what our reward should be,” I said. “It’s not money.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I took a breath, smiled my best smile and told him about how every kid needs a best friend.

  42

  We weren’t getting a dog. That’s what Dad said. I have to admit, it wasn’t a big surprise. We aren’t the kind of family that gets a dog. We’re the kind of family that dog-sits. It’s sad but it’s true. It costs lots of money to have a dog. Dad said we could ask Poppy to borrow Rupert whenever we want.

  “What about a goldfish?” suggested Dad. “You can each have your own.”

  “Fith! Fith!” said Sam. “One fith, two fith.”

  “What can you do with a fish?” I asked. “A fish doesn’t come when you call it. It can’t do tricks. It can’t do anything. It looks embarrassed because all it can do is swim around in its bowl.”

  “Embarrassed?” said my dad. “Why would a fish be embarrassed? I don’t think fish have feelings.”

  “Exactly!” I said. “Fish don’t have feelings. Why would I want a pet that has no feelings?”

  “If you don’t want a goldfish, then maybe we can think of something else,” Dad said.

  At least we were talking about a reward. That was something. Something was better than nothing.

  And then I thought of the perfect thing.

  “Maybe our reward should be another movie night,” I said. “That wouldn’t cost any money. We could do it right this time. We wouldn’t come home in
the middle of the night. We’d stay in the tent the whole night long. And we’d have waffles in the morning.”

  “That’s a great idea!” said Dad. “Mom and I can stay in the house with Poppy and Rupert. You and Sam can stay in the tent by yourselves.”

  “Maybe Max can come, too!” I said. “Can he, Dad?”

  “I don’t see why not,” he said.

  “Is that a yes?” I asked.

  “It’s a maybe,” he said.

  That sounded like a YES to me.

  I was ready to write to Max.

  from: Henry <9999Henry9999@jmail.com>

  to: Max

  subject: Dear Dingus

  Dear Dingus,

  Do you want to go camping with me and Sam in Poppy’s backyard when you get back from your camp? We did it last night. We watched cartoons outside with Poppy’s old movie projector. We had hot dogs and root beer and marshmallows. It was wicked!

  Sorry I didn’t write sooner. I’ve been busy. Me and my dad and Sam did bottle rockets like we did at school.

  Sorry your camp is co-ed. What’s the deal with Gretchen Thorn? I keep seeing her everywhere. She’s always walking her little wiener dog. Today I saw her with this bulldog called Winston. Guess who Winston belongs to? Mr. Buntrock! Gretchen said she’s going to be his dog-walker. I wouldn’t mind being a dog-walker.

  Dad and Sam and I are dog-sitting Rupert. He ran away for a bit earlier today but then we found him.

  Sorry you’re on the vegetarian meal plan.

  When are you going to town to watch the movie? What movie are you going to see? Are you finally going to see The Revenge of Gravity Man? Are you really going to eat two hamburgers? You might regret it. Just saying.

  When are you coming home?

  Later gator,

  Your Friend,

  Dingus

  P.S. Being a dingus isn’t really a bad thing. I think it pretty much describes both of us. You’re a dingus. I’m a dingus. We’re like the Dingus brothers.

  43

  I was rereading my email to Max when Dad came over and said, “Do you want to go out for dinner?”