Philip and the Angel (9781452416144) Read online

  Chapter Four

  Behind Angel’s house lay an open, grassy backyard, some bushes, and the backyard of the house on the next street over. The stray dog Angel saw must run around between all of the backyards, Philip thought. Philip stood next to the tree separating Angel’s yard from her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Beebe’s, yard. He inspected all of the windows in Angel’s house, hoping to see her at one, but she wasn’t there. What should he do now? The dog could be anywhere.

  “Woof,” went Philip. “Woof. Woof.” Philip listened for an answer but got none. Philip barked in a louder voice. “Woof! Woof! Woof!”

  “Well, hello little doggie.” Mrs. Beebe, an older gray-haired woman, who lived alone, stood on her back porch staring at him. She had a blue bandanna on her hair and gardening tools in one hand. “Would the doggie like to be petted?”

  Philip felt ridiculous. It was the first time he’d ever been caught barking like a dog.

  “I was just . . . trying something,” Philip stammered.

  “Was the doggie asking for a bone?” the old woman cackled.

  “No, no. I was . . . I gotta go.” Philip hurried across the backyard and went out to the sidewalk. Was the doggie asking for a bone? Philip repeated. He felt so stupid. With Mrs. Beebe digging in her garden, he wouldn’t be able to get the dog even if it showed up. He decided to hide the food he’d taken and try again tomorrow.

  But the next day, Sunday, his parents took him to the mall to get new sneakers for the summer. Then they went to the Chinese restaurant, Hong Fat’s Wok, to eat. After dinner, he settled down to do his homework for Monday. He thought he might try to sneak out for a while afterwards, but his mother called him into the laundry room. When he got there, he saw she had those lines above her nose again.

  “Philip, what is this . . .? Ugh! What is this . . . stuff in your pants pocket?”

  The runaway meatball! He’d forgotten he’d stuffed it into his pocket yesterday.

  “It looks like ground meat. Did you put meat in your pocket?”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot. I put a meatball in my pocket. In case I got hungry. You know. Like later, after my sandwich.”

  “You put a meatball into your pocket?” his mother repeated in astonishment.

  “Just one.”

  “Just one,” his mother repeated. “Philip, would you like to put your hand into this pocket and take out what you put in there?”

  Philip looked at the mess on his mother’s fingers.

  “No, thank you,” he said softly.

  “This is . . . how could you . . .?” Philip’s mother silently shook her head and Philip walked away. It didn’t seem like a good time to ask to go out.

  The next day after school Philip walked by Angel’s house. Emery had to go home to walk his dog. He didn’t want to talk to Emery anyway after spending half his lunch period trying to make up a story to explain to Emery why he only ate the bread and not the meat from his ham sandwich. Angel was nowhere in sight, so Philip walked around her house and into the wide space of backyards. There, as if by magic, stood the dog Angel had described, sniffing in an open garbage can, three houses down. Philip tossed his school bag off his shoulder and scuffled around inside until he found his supply of meat and the short rope and noose he’d prepared. He walked slowly toward the dog. When he got one house away from the rooting dog, the dog looked his way.

  “Meat,” Philip whispered. “Meatballs, turkey and ham. Want some?”

  The dog twisted its head and studied Philip. Philip tossed one of the meatballs gently toward the dog. The dog watched the meatball roll to a stop. It took the few steps needed to reach the meatball, then bent down and sniffed at it. Slurp! The meatball disappeared. The dog looked expectantly at Philip.

  “Come here.” Philip held the other meatball between his fingers. The dog walked over and sniffed it. Slurp! Gone. It disappeared so fast into the dog’s mouth that Philip checked his fingers to make sure he still had five.

  “I have more,” Philip told the dog. He rolled up a slice of turkey and broke it in two. The dog ate one piece, then the other. Philip put a bunch of rolled-up turkey and ham on the grass. As the dog inspected each one before slurping it up, Philip got his noose and rope ready. After the dog ate the third from last piece of ham, it looked up at Philip, and Philip slipped the noose over the dog’s head.

  “Arolwll!” the dog whelped.

  “Whoa!” screamed Philip.

  The dog began running around the backyard trying to get the rope off its head. Philip held on, tripped, and slid across the grass on his knees, then his stomach, then his back.

  “Wait, wait. Here’s more meat,” Philip yelled at the dog. The dog stopped and shook its head, but the noose stayed in place. Philip got up. The dog took off again and jumped over a short fence. Philip went with him and leaped desperately but caught his knee on the top of the fence and his pants ripped.

  “Wait a minute, you dumb dog. Hold it!”

  The dog ran through Mrs. Beebe’s newly watered garden. Philip slipped on the grass and went down among the daffodils. He could feel the wet dirt moosh through his jeans. The dog gave a strong yank, and Philip’s right ear splashed into the mud.

  Philip struggled to his feet. One of his sneakers had come off and his white sock had already turned brown with mud and started to slide off his foot.

  The dog started running again, but running away from Philip’s house, back through Mrs. Beebe’s yard. Philip gave a fed-up yank on his rope. The dog went, “Rolwp!” and stopped.

  “Come this way, dumb dog.” Philip pulled the dog toward the opening between Mrs. Beebe’s house and the garage next to it. The dog saw the direction Philip suggested and ran through the space. Philip felt another strong yank on his rope, and off he went behind the speeding dog. A nail stuck out of the garage and Philip’s shirt went rrriiipppp. He purposely slid to the ground and tried to pull the dog to a stop, but he was already on the cement leading up to the garage.

  “Owww!” Philip barked as he slid along on his knees.

  “Rorrff,” the dog barked back.

  Philip got up and stared at the dog, which now sat quietly in the driveway looking back at him.

  “Will you calm down?” Philip growled at him.

  “Grrrrrr,” the dog replied and started running. Philip ran, too.

  “Wait, wait, wait. This is where I live,” Philip called as the dog tore past his house and down the street. Philip managed to stop the dog and turn it around, but the dog kept on running.

  “No, no, no, here,” cried Philip as he and the dog charged past his house a second time. Philip again turned the heavily panting dog, and finally convinced it to try the path leading to his front door. Halfway there the dog sat down and panted some more.

  Philip panted, too. “You think you’re tired! Come on. We’re almost there.” Philip pulled one way and the dog pulled the other, but little by little Philip forced the stubborn dog to his front door. He opened the door and dragged the dog inside.

  “Philip!” His mother stood ten feet away from him, her mouth wide open.

  Philip could feel the wet mud on the right side of his face. He looked down. His sock hung halfway off his foot like a long, muddy tongue. Both knees of his jeans were torn open, and he knew his knees were scraped and bloody. Grass stains spotted his jeans, and his ripped shirt hung off his right shoulder.

  “Mom,” Philip huffed and puffed, “this cute little dog . . . just followed me home.” Philip took three deep breaths. “Can I keep him?”

  Chapter Five

  “Look how cute he is, Mom. I’ll call him Shep.”

  “Philip, don’t take the rope off . . No, don’t!”

  The dog lurched free, barked, and flew straight up the stairs to the second floor.

  “Philip, don’t let that dog run around the house,” his mother screamed. “Go get it.”

  Philip dropped the rope and started for the stairs, but he stepped on his floppy sock and stumbled.

  “Fix
your sock,” his mother ordered.

  Philip ripped his sock off and charged up the stairs. Halfway up, Philip stopped. The dog stood at the top of the stairs, its tongue hanging out, staring at him.

  “Rorff.” The dog leaped down the stairs, knocking Philip in a circle. He clung to the banister until he regained his balance and took off after the dog again.

  His mother screamed, and Philip watched the dog disappear into the kitchen.

  “Philip, open the front door and chase it out! Hurry, hurry!”

  Philip threw the front door open then ran into the kitchen. The dog stood on the kitchen table with a giant piece of meat in its mouth, looking as proud as if he’d caught the winning touchdown in a football game.

  “Hey, put that down,” Philip ordered.

  The dog leaped from the table and charged out of the kitchen. Before Philip could react, he heard his mother scream again.

  “That’s our dinner! Philip! Philip!”

  “I’m coming, Mom.”

  The dog ran in circles around the living room before covering the length of the sofa in two giant steps and bumping an end table, making the table lamp wobble dangerously. Philip ran to catch the lamp in case it fell, but it managed to settle down on its own. By now the dog had run around the hallway twice. Philip’s mother waved it toward the door.

  “Shoo. Shoo.”

  Philip ran to help her. “Go, go!” he shouted. “Out! Rahhhhhhhh!”

  Philip’s final scream sent the dog tearing out the door and back into the neighborhood, the Felton’s roast beef dinner still in its mouth. Philip stood on his doorstep and watched his new pet speed between two houses a little way off and disappear.

  “Come back,” he yelled. “Shep! Shep.”

  Suddenly, he grew conscious of the silence behind him. He turned slowly. He had never seen a look on his mother’s face like the look she wore now. He went inside and followed his mother’s weary steps into the living room. There were muddy paw prints across the sofa. His mother went to the wobbly lamp and put it back in the center of the table. She turned and walked out of the living room toward the kitchen. Philip followed her. An empty plate with a small puddle of brown juice on it sat on the kitchen table. A half-gallon container lay on its side on the floor amid a white sea of spilt milk.

  “Let’s look upstairs,” his mother said, in a voice so quiet it frightened Philip more than if she’d started screaming.

  Philip followed behind as his mother climbed the stairs. They poked their heads into each of the three bedrooms. They looked untouched, but on the floor of the bathroom they noticed a small, yellow puddle.

  Philip’s mother stared at the puddle and then at him.

  “At least it knew to use the bathroom,” said Philip in a small voice.

  “Philip Felton. I want you to go to the kitchen closet and bring me the mop. I am going to have you clean up every little bit of mess that dog made, and then your father and I are going to sit down with you . . .”

  They both heard a distant voice say, “Whooaaa! Honey?”

  “Upstairs,” Philip’s mother called. Philip wondered how she could talk with her teeth clamped so tightly together.

  They stood silently and listened to Mr. Felton’s steps approach. Philip’s father entered the bathroom and sniffed.

  “What happened in the kitchen? And what smells?”

  Philip’s mother pointed.

  “What’s that? What happened?”

  “Philip brought a dog home. A wild dog. A crazy dog. A mentally deranged dog. A dog that belongs in an insane asylum. It ran all over the house, put mud on the sofa, nearly broke our one-hundred-and-fifty dollar lamp, stole the roast we were going to have for dinner, and peed on our bathroom floor. That’s what happened.”

  Philip’s father looked his way.

  Philip gave him a weak smile. “It was a little cute dog, and he followed me home. I didn’t know it was crazy. It didn’t look crazy. It looked like a regular dog.”

  His father didn’t respond.

  “I’m sorry,” Philip said quietly.

  His mother left the bathroom saying, “I’ll get the mop. You talk to him.”

  They listened to Mrs. Felton’s steps fade away.

  “Let’s go into your room. I’m afraid your mother may break the mop over your head if you’re here when she gets back.”

  Philip followed his father down the hallway.

  “What happened?” Mr. Felton asked as soon as Philip seated himself on his bed.

  Philip shrugged. “Emery’s got a dog and I wanted a pet, too. This little dog followed me home, but when we got inside, he went crazy and ran all over the place. I guess he felt nervous.” Philip looked up as his father let out a deep breath. “I was going to call him Shep.”

  “Flipper, I can’t think what to say to you that you can’t imagine yourself. You have to ask before you do anything like that.”

  “It’s always no to a pet.”

  “Well, if no’s the answer, no’s the answer. You can’t take it upon yourself to change it.”

  Philip didn’t answer.

  “Stay in here until I come and get you. I’m going to help your mother clean up.”

  “She said I should.”

  “Well, I will. You wait here.”

  Philip watched his father close the bedroom door behind him. He thought of Angel. Her plan worked. Mostly. Shep’s the one who messed it up. If he just acted normal . . . but he didn’t. Philip lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. In the distance he could vaguely hear his parents’ voices. He didn’t want to know what they were saying to each other.

  Chapter Six

  “You almost had a dog?” Emery said as he and Philip walked home from school on Tuesday.

  “Almost.” Philip told him the story. “He stole our dinner, put muddy footprints all over the sofa, almost broke a lamp, and peed on the bathroom floor.”

  “I guess you’ll never get a dog now,” said Emery in a sorry voice.

  “How’s Hansel?”

  “He’s fun. My mom lets him sleep in my bed, but he keeps licking my face in the morning when it gets light. My mother doesn’t have to wake me up any more.”

  Philip wished something would lick his face every morning.

  “Well, I gotta go walk Hansel. Want me to come and get you when I’m done?”

  “Yeah.” It was a beautiful day—so beautiful it had been hard to pay attention in school.

  “Want to ride our bikes to the park?” Emery called before he turned up his walk.

  “Sure.”

  Philip thought of Emery entering his house and of Hansel being so happy to see him and running up to him. Emery would pet Hansel and play with him for a few minutes before putting on the collar and leash and taking him for a walk. Even dealing with the plastic bag didn’t seem like too much trouble if he could only be doing what Emery was doing now. He sighed and looked around. He passed by Angel’s house as a car pulled into her driveway. Angel’s mother got out of the car on one side, and Angel got out on the other.

  “Wait for me to come around,” Angel’s mother called to her.

  “Hi, Angel,” said Philip.

  Angel smiled and waved. “I’m okay, Mom.” She beckoned Philip closer. “Did it work?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s a long story.”

  “Want to come in for a minute? Mom, this is Philip. Okay if he comes in a little while?”

  “Well, not too long, honey. You know what the doctor said.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  The woman took Angel by the elbow and started walking toward the front door.

  “Mom, I can walk, for Pete’s sake. Go and take care of the groceries.”

  “All right. All right,” the woman answered.

  Philip followed Angel into her living room.

  “Would you like something? Apple juice?” Angel’s mother asked, a plastic grocery bag in each hand.

  Philip looked at Angel.

  Angel nodded a
nd sat wearily on the sofa. The woman disappeared. “Two doctors’ visits this week. So, did the dog show up?”

  Philip sat on a chair and told Angel his story. Angel started smiling in the middle of the story, giggled twice near the end, and laughed for a long time when the story ended.

  “Well,” she finally managed, “I know the dog is glad he met you and your mother even if your mother isn't glad she met him. You gave him your dinner?”

  “We didn’t give it to him. He grabbed it in his mouth and ran out with it.”

  Angel’s mother brought the apple juice and left the children alone.

  Angel laughed quietly. Philip guessed it was kind of funny, but thinking about it didn’t make him laugh. His mother hadn’t said much to him since then. She only talked to him to give him orders. This morning when she said good-bye before he left for school, she’d said, “And don’t bring anything home from school. Just yourself.” And going out the door in the morning his father asked him whether everything was all right. Philip had nodded but thought, Except I don’t have a pet.

  “So you got any other plans?” Philip asked. “Your first plan would have worked good, but the dog . . .”

  Angel took a drink of juice. She moved around on the sofa.

  Philip noticed a funny look go across her face while she squirmed.

  “You could always mention the dog after your parents calm down. Tell them you saw the poor dog again, and it looked so skinny and helpless and tell them how much you’d take care of it. You’d know what to say.”

  Philip shook his head. “Impossible. The dog is out. Every dog in the world is out. Every pet in the world is out.”

  “Too bad. I wish I could have him. Shep’s not a bad name.” Angel’s mother called and Angel made a face. “You have to go now. I have to get back in bed.”

  “Bed? Now?”

  Angel shrugged. “Doctor’s orders.”