Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“I’m so messed up—my whole life is a wreck!” I sobbed. “I hate it here—I want to go back!”
“You don’t mean that,” Taylor said, stroking my hair. “You can’t mean that!”
“Yes, I do!” I pulled back from her embrace and looked at her fiercely. “Let me tell you, if I disappear again—not that I’m going to, because he doesn’t love me anymore—but if I do, don’t come looking for me. Because if I get out of here again, I am never coming back to this shitty town and this shitty life and the horrible job at Great Aunt Maizy’s!”
“Is it really that bad?” Taylor asked sympathetically.
“Getting seven yappy little dogs in and out of their costumes and taking them on ‘walkies’ and back and forth to the vet and the groomer every day and picking up all their nasty little shit bombs, while they all bark so loudly I feel like I’m going deaf? What do you think?” I said darkly.
“Didn’t Princess Prissy finally have her puppies?” Taylor asked, trying to see the good side of thing. “That must be nice at least. Puppies are always so adorable.”
“Not these ones,” I told her. “Remember the father was a Bulldog and Prissy is a Pomeranian. These are hands down the ugliest puppies you’ve ever seen in your life. I mean, they’re sweet—don’t get me wrong, they’re still puppies, after all. But I don’t think anyone is going to be lining up to buy a Pom-Bull or a Bulleranian or whatever you want to call them anytime soon.” I sighed. “Which means that Aunt Maizy is just going to keep them, so she’s going to have fourteen dogs to take care of instead of just seven.”
“Oh, my!” Taylor’s eyes got wide. “That’s a lot of dogs.”
“You’re telling me,” I said grimly. “It’s a freaking pack. And who do you think is going to be responsible for potty training all of them? Aunt Maizy has already said it’s going to be my ‘special job.’ Not that she’s going to pay me any more for doing it.”
“Oh, Elli…” Taylor sighed and put an arm around my shoulders for a sisterly squeeze. “I know that things seem awful right now, but please don’t give up. Things are going to change for you soon—in a big way—I’m sure of it!”
As a matter of fact, my big sister was more right than she knew. But please remember, she didn’t say things would change for the better.
I gave her a hug and promised I wouldn’t give up and thanked her for being there for me. And that was the last time I saw her because the very next day is when that big thing she’d been predicting happened…
FIFTY-FIVE
ELLI
It happened on the golf course behind Great Aunt Maizy’s house, around the ninth hole, which was the one closest to her home.
Aunt Maizy had a big wooden privacy fence which separated her backyard from the golf course and also, incidentally, saved her back windows from being shattered by golf balls. She had told me often enough that before the fence had gone up, she was constantly hearing “Fore!” and then the tinkling of glass as yet another window was burst to smithereens. The fence had solved that problem and also given her “babies” a place to run and play and do other things, like poop.
Anyway, I often took her dogs out in the back yard to let them “make their presents” which was Aunt Maizy’s cutesy euphemism for pooping. Only, unbeknownst to me, it turned out that they had been digging under the fence. So while I was out there, trying to keep count of the “presents” so I could pick them up and get rid of them later, I just happened to see the back end of Mr. Piddlesworth as he wiggled under the fence and out into the golf course.
I knew I had to go get him at once. He was terrible about wanting to dig holes everywhere and if he ruined the beautiful smooth turf of the course with his increscent digging, Aunt Maizy would get complaints and I would get into big trouble.
Since I didn’t have anything else at hand, I took off my sneakers and stuffed them into the hole so none of the other dogs would escape before running around to the gate and going to find Mr. Piddlesworth.
Running barefoot over the smooth turf was no problem but catching the naughty little dog was. Mr. Piddlesworth had a head start on me and he was determined to use it to his best advantage. He kept dodging around sand traps and running past the carefully landscaped bushes and trees that were artfully displayed to beautify the golf course. And, of course, every once in a while he would stop and dig a little hole until I shouted at him and he stopped and ran on.