Clique Clack Crack
Italian Greyhounds, puppies, dogs, adventures, thoughts, issues
Who knew that it would come to this?
“Louie, you look like you just caught the car you were chasing,” Mea said. She was trotting beside me as we went down the high school hallway. The lockers that lined the wall were a dull gray, reflecting my mood. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I have something on my mind, that’s all,” I had to stop to itch my ear with my back paw. It was true. There have been some developments as of late and I didn’t know how to react. “Remember when I said I was a member of the Beefy Snack Club? It was just a ruse but now it’s become much more. Dogs, even puppies, are asking me to join.”
“How is that bad?,” Abby interjected, jealously eyeing Mea. She still holds Mea at paw’s length, even after all this time. “Louie, you’re an inspiration, a leader, a pack leader! It’s what we’ve always dreamed! You can’t give this up now that it’s here!”
“But isn’t this how divisions are created?,” I groaned. “Wouldn’t the Beefy Snack Club be seen as a clique, a bit of a secret society. Kind of like the Skull and Bones?”
“Where’s the bone?,” Gregio yelped as he galloped up the hallway. “Who said bone? I want a bone. I want it, want it, want it!”
By this time, a small crowd had formed and I was in the middle of it. All my friends were looking at me and I kind of felt dizzy, like when I get excited and run in circles. But it was more like the migraine when I pick up a scent and can’t find its origin.
“Alright, doggone it!,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll do it but we’re going to do this the right way or not at all!”
My friends all howled their approval. By this time, the bell had ringed and everyone scurried to class. You could see which dogs hadn’t been maintaining their nails because they slipped across the marble as they ran to class.
After our Agility 101 class with Mrs. Schnoot, word had begun to spread quickly. Everyone was crowding around me to jockey for inclusion in the Club. As I moved towards my next class, I noticed a large pack of dogs walking down the hall. It was headed by none other than my nemesis, Max, the large Italian Greyhound.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Louie,” growled Max as he neared. The other pack dogs chuckled in unison. “Who gave you the right to form the Beefy Snack Club without my permission?”
I thought about it for a minute before replying.
“The Constitution of the United States of America?”
“A wise dog, huh?” Max huffed, stepping closer to me so our noses were almost touching. “I run things around here and I say if you can form a club or not. I tell you what you can do!”
I have to admit, my enthusiasm for forming a club was waning a bit under the burden of its responsibilities. However, after being subjected to Max’s breath, this confrontation had spiked my interest. The thinking and trappings of an idealist, I thought.
“What’s the matter, Max?,” I taunted. “Are you afraid of a little competition?”
“I ain’t afraid of nuthin’!,” he growled. Max backed up on his back haunches, as if he was getting to lunge. Before he leapt, Mr. Bluehorn, the Pomeranian Vice Principal, jumped in between us.
“That’ll be enough!,” he shouted. “Why am I not surprised to see you here, Louie? And Max, what have I told you about fighting in school?”
“Ah Mr. Bluehorn, I was just showing my pal Louie here some new wrestling moves,” Max sheepishly replied. “Why you got to be so serious all the time?”
“I don’t want to see this again, you understand?,” Mr. Bluehorn said as he shook a paw at us in warning.
Max and I mumbled our acquiescence. Before we parted, Max snarled at me.
“We already got enough clubs here and we don’t need anymore,” he snorted. “Mark my words, keep your nose out of this!”
As I watched him trot away, I began to think that if forming a club could at least get under Max’s fur, who else would get rubbed the wrong way? Is this the beginning of unraveling the mysteries at Milk Bone Pickens High or am I just scratching the surface?
That reminds me. I need to cut my nails.