Chewy and Chica Read Online Free Page B

There was something about the feel of the ball’s worn leather and the nice plunking sound it made as it dropped into each hand. Before he knew it, ideas would start to pop into his brain. That was how he had come up with his best science fair idea yet, the one about demonstrating that ants like sweet things better than sour things. The project had involved a Tootsie Roll Pop and a pickle, and it had been the hit of that year’s fair.
    Charles tossed his baseball back and forth.
    Sure enough, the technique worked once again.
    After only about five tosses, Charles knew just what to do. Lizzie had a whole shelf of books about dog training in her room. Because of the bet, she might not lend him one if he asked. But Lizzie was downstairs, sticking close to the back door with Chica in case her puppy had to pee again. All Charles had to do was sneak in there and borrow one of the books so he could learn about how to teach puppies not to bite and chew.
    It was the perfect solution. “C’mon, Chewy,” he said. He picked up the puppy, marveling all over again at how light he was. When Buddy was a few weeks old, you could pick him up that easily. Not anymore. But Chewy would always be tiny, no matter how grown up he was. “How can I keep you from chewing things in Lizzie’s room?” Charles asked his puppy. Chewy cocked his head and blinked his big brown eyes.
    Chewing? Me?
    Ha. The puppy looked so innocent, but Charles knew better. He had another brainstorm. He grabbed his backpack and helped Chewy into it. Then he zipped it up just enough that Chewy could see out but couldn’t
climb
out. Chewy’s adorable bug-eyed face stuck out the top. Charles kissed his puppy’s nose. “That ought to do it.” Charles put on the backpack and tiptoed into the hall, listening to make sure Lizzie really was downstairs. When he heard her laugh, probably at something Chica was doing, he knew the coast was clear.
    Anybody who walked into Lizzie’s room would know that she loved dogs. It wasn’t just the shelf full of books about dogs, or the “Dog Breeds of the World” poster over her bed, or the many, many pictures of cute puppies stuck up on herbulletin board. There was also the display of miniature dog models she had started to collect, every breed from Saint Bernard to Pekingese. And the stuffed dogs on her bed. And the dog magazines on her nightstand. Lizzie’s room was All Dogs, All the Time.
    Charles put his backpack down on the floor and made sure that Chewy could still see out. Then he knelt by the bookcase and scanned the titles:
Best Dog Tricks Ever. How to Be Your Dog’s Best Friend. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Owning a Dog
.
    None of the books seemed quite right. Charles did not want to teach Chewy tricks — at least, not until after he had taught him to stop chewing. As for being his puppy’s best friend, that was easy. Who needed a book for that? And even though Charles was not sure how to teach Chewy not to chew, he would not call himself a complete idiot.
    Then he spotted the perfect book:
Top 10 Puppy Problems and How to Solve Them
, by Mickey Milligan. He knew that name. Wasn’t that the dog trainer with long blond hair, the one who was always on TV and in magazines? Charles pulled out the book and flipped through it to look for Chewy’s problem. “Ah, here it is. Chewing and biting.” He snapped the book shut. “This is it, Chewy.” He smiled over at his backpack — but Chewy’s head wasn’t sticking out anymore. “Chewy?” Charles went over and opened the backpack. The puppy must have squirmed his way out. “Chewy!” Charles looked wildly around the room, hoping against hope that Chewy had not destroyed some precious belonging of Lizzie’s.
    He did not see the brown-and-white puppy anywhere.
    Charles grabbed the book and ran back down the hall to his room. “Chewy!” he cried. The goodnews was that Chewy was right there in Charles’s room. The tiny pup blinked up at Charles with those big brown