Elvis and the Underdogs (7 page)

Needless to say, the twins got into big trouble. First, my mom put them on dishwashing duty for a month. But on the first day they broke my dad's favorite coffee mug, so that was over pretty quick. Then she grounded them for two weekends in a row but quickly realized if they weren't playing football on the weekends with their friends and getting all tired out, the coffee cup wouldn't be the only thing broken. The twins were not the type of kids who would do well caged up. Finally, my mom got creative. She dyed and painted all their sports equipment purple. That's right—the basketballs, the footballs, their lacrosse sticks, even the tennis balls. She also dyed their underwear and athletic cups. She said they'd see exactly what it felt like to get teased when they were in the locker room. What my mom didn't know was that they are both so popular that it's highly unlikely that even purple underwear would get them teased at school. They'd probably just start a new fashion trend with their purple football pants.

Being a little brother, I'm used to the twins torturing me. Honestly, it doesn't even bother me all that much. I know they're just kidding around. When Billy comes after me at school, I know his goal is to make me miserable, but the twins are really just trying to be funny. My brothers aren't big on words, and this is their way of showing me they care. At least, that's what my dad told me when my mom sent him in to talk to me.

The night before my new dog arrived, I was so excited I couldn't sleep. He was trained in Tennessee at a special farm. Service dogs have lots of skills, and they help a lot of different people. There are service dogs for people who are blind or deaf, for people who have seizures, for people unable to walk. Dr. Helen told us that some dogs are trained to know when a person is about to have a heart attack. When I asked how you train a dog to learn that, Dr. Helen told me she had no idea, but that dogs are the most attuned to human emotions out of all the other animals in the world. I guess there are animals that are smarter than dogs, like orangutans and chimps, but when it comes to empathy, dogs are the best.

Dr. Helen described the farm like a college for dogs. A lot of dogs go, but only a few ever graduate. Some dogs train for more than two years. The father of one of her former patients used to train dogs for the army, but now he's one of the head trainers at the farm. His name is Action Jaxin, and she said he's famous in the dog training world. His daughter Lola Beth was born premature like me and weighed even less than I did. I guess it's a good thing Dr. Helen has saved so many of her patients' lives, because they are all very grateful and would do anything for her, like let me skip the waiting list and get my dog right away.

As long and boring as those fourteen days were, the day the dog arrived was even longer. I camped out at the bay window in our living room from eight in the morning on. It's the best view of the street in front of our house, and it's really cozy, because Mom made a supersoft and thick pillow cushion for it, and she even put in a cup holder. I'm serious, she really did put one in, right into the cushion. Mom says that having a house full of boys means you have to be a little more creative if you want to have nice things.

Anyway, I waited, and waited, and waited until eventually I got all warm and toasty sitting in the sun and fell asleep with my face pressed up against the glass. The only good thing I can say about this giant ugly helmet is that it was like having a pillow built into your head. And when I say only, I definitely mean only.

I woke up to the sound of the doorbell. Bolting off the cushion, I ran to the door. It took me a minute to realize why the delivery guys were looking at me funny. Duh, I had the helmet on. I also had an indentation from the window across my cheek. I unbuckled my helmet and threw it to the side.

“Mom! Mom! My dog's here!! He's finally, finally here!!”

One of the delivery guys wheeled in a crate so massive I couldn't see my new dog yet. My mom came downstairs to sign the paperwork, took one look at the size of the crate, and immediately started freaking out.

“Wait a second. What's in there? A dog, or a pony? Why is the crate so big? How do we even know there's a dog in there? Do you transport other animals? The last thing I need is to open that crate and have a tiger come out and maul my son.”

The delivery guys were obviously tired from their long drive, and they ignored my mom. They told her it was definitely a dog, because they walked it an hour ago. And size was not their department. Their job was done as soon as she signed the paper.

I sprang into action at this point, by grabbing the pen and clipboard from the guy and thrusting it into my mom's hands.

“Mom, sign the paper. C'mon! Sign the paper. These guys are tired. They've been driving for days. They want to go home and see their wives and kids.”

My mom laughed and signed the paper. The guys took their clipboard and left. Okay, I will now admit that I was a little surprised at the size of the crate too. It was huge. Like almost four feet tall.

I unlocked the crate, and the door swung open. Two dark eyes stared out at me. I slowly backed away from the crate, and as I did, the biggest, blackest dog I've ever seen walked out of the crate. He was huge. His head was huge, way bigger than my head. All I could manage to say was “Whoa.” But I didn't have to say anything, because my mom started saying everything for me.

“What the—Oh my goodness—Look at the size of his—I've never seen such a big—There has to be a mistake because that dog is—I knew I shouldn't have signed that paper before I—I should go call someone. There must be a mistake. Benji, whatever you do, do not let that horse-size dog pee on my white carpet.” And then she ran to the kitchen to go make a phone call.

Meanwhile, the dog walked around our living room, smelling the furniture, smelling the carpet, circling the couch. Finally he came right up to me and opened his mouth. Then the biggest tongue I've ever seen up close and personal (as opposed to on the Discovery Channel or Animal Planet Channel) came out of his mouth and licked my face. The tongue was so big, it almost knocked me over.

I put my good hand in front of his nose, which is what I read online that you're supposed to do when you first meet a new dog. It's so the dog can get used to my smell and know that I'm friendly. Only then can you move to pet his head. His fur was silky smooth and thick.

“Hi, doggy. My name is Benji. What's your name, huh?”

The dog opened his mouth again. I thought he was going to lick the other half of my face, but instead he said, “Very nice to meet you, Benji. My name is Parker Elvis Pembroke IV. You may call me Parker Elvis Pembroke. Or Mr. Pembroke, if you prefer. So . . . this place is much smaller than I imagined.”

Okay, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, did I just read that correctly? Did he say the dog talked? Well, I'm here to tell you that you did read correctly, and yes, the dog did talk, and that's exactly what he said, word for word. But if you're surprised, you should be, because when it happened, I was just as surprised as you are. So much so that I didn't even know what to say. My first thought was that the twins were playing a joke on me, and my second thought was that perhaps I was having some weird allergic reaction to the dog, and my third thought was that I'd imagined the whole thing, because I'm a pretty smart kid and I know that
dogs do not talk!

I would have totally gone with number three, but then the dog, or rather Parker Elvis Pembroke IV, cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, did you hear what I said? I said this place is much smaller than I imagined. Do”—pause—“you”—pause—“know”—pause—“how”—pause—“to”—pause—“talk, young man?”

I found this really weird, because the dog was talking like
I
was the weird one.

“Yes, I can talk. I'm a human, and we're supposed to talk. But are you talking? Because you're a dog, and I didn't think you could talk. I'm kind of surprised by all of this. You are talking, right? Or am I having an episode? And if I'm having an episode, I don't know how good a job you're doing helping me. I feel like it's warm in here, are you warm? You have lots of hair, so maybe you're warm all the time, but I think . . .”

And then I fainted. I woke up a second later, lying on the couch with the dog licking my face. I took a deep breath. Okay, maybe I got a little overexcited that the dog had finally arrived, and I just fainted like how I always faint, and then I had a dream that the dog talked, and then I woke up.

This is when the dog opened his mouth and said, “Are you okay, young man? It appears you fainted.”

So much for this being a crazy dream.

“I'm okay. I faint all the time. It's kind of no big deal around here.”

“But why did you faint? Was it something I said? Are you ill? May I fetch you anything?”

“Yes, in fact it was something you said. I mean, not what you said, but that you said anything at all. Dogs don't normally talk. I guess you're the first dog I've ever had, so I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure I would have heard if dogs could talk.”

“Well, I can't speak for all dogs. But I can talk. Well, let me rephrase that. All dogs can talk to one another. And I can certainly talk to anyone, but most people don't understand me when I do, so I guess that makes you special.”

There was that word again, “special.” What I wouldn't give to just be regular.

“So did someone tell you my house would be bigger than it is?”

“No one told me
your
house would be bigger than this, because I don't even know you. We just met. What I am merely trying to explain is that I read many books about this place so as to be prepared for my stay, and it looks very different from what I imagined in my head. So are we in the East Wing? Or the West Wing? Perhaps we are in the house staff quarters? Did I need to come through the delivery entrance for security purposes? I suppose that would be normal protocol upon entry here. I know: Are you a child of one of the employees?”

Now I was totally lost. I mean, it's confusing enough to have a dog talking to you, but then to have him talk to you and have no clue what exactly he's talking about is off-the-charts confusing.

“East wing? We don't really have an east wing. Or a west wing, for that matter. We do have an upstairs and a partially finished basement. But there is one creaky step on the way down, and I keep asking my dad whether it's about to give way. He keeps saying that it's just creaky, but I have my suspicions. And you're so big, I'd hate it if my dad was wrong and you crashed right through the step.”

Now he was confused too, because he tilted his head to one side and gave me that funny dog confused look. After another second, he tilted it to the other side. I couldn't help but wonder whether he was thinking which arm of mine would taste better as an appetizer. As soon as he started speaking, I could tell he was a little cranky. He really spoke his words very clearly for a dog. In fact, he sounded like those boring Shakespeare movies that my dad watches on the BBC or a butler on a TV show.

“Is this, or is this not, sixteen hundred Pennsylvania Avenue?”

Sixteen hundred Pennsylvania Avenue? Sixteen hundred Pennsylvania Avenue? Why was that address so familiar? Then it clicked.

“Isn't that the address of the White House?”

“Precisely.”

“You mean like the White House where the president of the United States lives?” I laughed.

“That's exactly what I mean. Why are you laughing? I don't find this situation amusing enough to warrant laughter at all. Perhaps I could speak with your superior officer? Your supervisor? Or perhaps your trainer?”

“I don't have a trainer. Do you mean my mom? I can get her if you want me to, but I think she's calling the place where we got you, because you're bigger than you're supposed to be. We were expecting a regular-sized dog as opposed to a supersized one. You're the biggest dog I've ever seen in my entire life. Not that I've seen that many dogs up close, mind you. I have allergies.” And as if on cue, I sneezed. “Hey, how much do you weigh?”

“My weight is none of your business. How would you feel if I asked you how much you weigh?”

“I have no problem with you asking me. I'd tell you I weigh about fifty pounds, give or take a few pounds.”

“I weigh more than that. Maybe even three to four times as much, but I have big bones, and my breed is what you would call a large breed. I'm a Newfoundland, and male Newfoundland dogs run anywhere between one hundred fifty and two hundred pounds. I am not fat, I am regal. Well, technically, regal means of royal lineage, and I'm not claiming that per se, but I was using the term in a more casual way.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, no one here is calling anyone fat. I don't think you're fat at all.”

As I said all this, I thought, Just my luck, I have a talking dog who isn't very friendly, who has a head that weighs the same as my entire body, and who also happens to be sensitive about his weight.

“You are correct, and I apologize. I've had a terribly long and trying two days. I was stuck in a dark crate in the back of an SUV, and the drivers, don't even get me started on their terrible taste in music. I kept hoping they would turn the station to NPR, but instead they listened to heavy metal and sports radio. Anyway, moving on, am I in Washington, DC, at the White House or not?”

“Not. You are in Wyncote, Pennsylvania. Forty-one thirty-seven Fernbrook Lane is the exact address.”

“Do you even know the president?”

“I know who he is. But seriously, do I look like a kid who knows the president personally?”

“Why do you keep answering my questions with more questions of your own? Like I've said, I've been in a dark crate in the back of a van for the last two days, so there's no way I would know anything more than you. I mean, about my current whereabouts. Though I'm quite sure I know more about everything else than you.”