The Naughty Dog-by Abby Glasser

I remember the day—the day I got her. My memory falls upon the huge slobber of ice cream and the tiny candle for my eighth birthday. I closed my eyes and blew—my wish, I almost forgot!

I want to foster a cute dog from the Milo shelter. Before I knew it. . . it happened!

A week later, “Mommy, Daddy!”
“What?” asked my mom, puzzled.
“I want to go to Milo. Can we? Can we? Can we?”
My funny, tiny, frowning expression changed when I heard, “Sure!”
“Yaaaaaaa!!!!!”
“That’s a little hard on the ears,” my mom said.

At Milo, the lady picked a dog said, “This pup is an angel! Her name is Spinnacker.” I looked down to see a small, cute thing that would cause trouble for my family in the future. I played with a few other dogs, then left the shelter.

Now I’m pausing the story. My mom secretly adopted her (the dog named Spinnacker) about two months later, but told my dad that we were just fostering her. My dad got mad at the dog because she went to the bathroom all over the house. Deanne, my second grade teacher, really liked her, so we gave Spinnacker to her. Deanne renamed Spinnacker—she called her Ruby. But for some reason (I’m not telling you why, people have their reasons), she gave Ruby back.

When we got the dog back, we let dad pick the name, so he would like her better. He named her Penny. But about nine months later, “Arggg!!!” My dad stomped through the hall like an angry pirate. You get the point, my dog thinks she can go the bathroom and barf anywhere she wants. She’s so stubborn. It has been one year now. Even though my mom is really good at training dogs to be house-bred, Penny is different. She still goes to the bathroom in the house and makes my dad angry.