Free A Nose for Adventure by Richard Scrimger Page B

thirty-nine,” I say in a loud voice.
    “Seven hundred and forty. Seven hundred and forty-one.”
    –
Enough with the counting! Anyone would think this was math class
.
    I stay down. Nothing happens for a couple of minutes. It seems silly to keep my eyes closed. I open them in time to see a dog trot around the corner, stop, and then come towards us, growling softly. A really big dog, brown and black, with proud shoulders and a heavy head. A boss dog. An emperor among dogs.
    Sally jumps away from Frieda and stands as tall as she can. Her tail, which has been moving back and forth like a fan, is still.
    –
Oh, no
, says Norbert.
    The boss dog trots forward. One of his ears is gone. His teeth are all there though. He shows them. Sally stands her ground, bristling and growling.
    –
Come on, now, girl
, says Norbert.
We don’t want another scene like the one with the poodle on the way here, do we?
    Sally growls. The boss dog growls. I don’t think they’re happy to see each other.
    “Do you think that big ugly dog will hurt Sally?” Frieda asks.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Shouldn’t we be doing something? Shouting? Getting between them?”
    “I don’t want to get between them,” I say.
    –
You know, anyone who invents a breath mint for dogs is going to make a ton of money
, Norbert comments.
Hey, there, big boy, how about backing out of range, if you get me. Ten feet or so would do the trick
.
    The dog puts his head on one side. Not coyly. More like he’s deciding when to jump.
    –
Now then, I wonder what your name would be
, says Norbert.
Could it be – Cuddles? Bubbles? No, too friendly. How about Marjoribanks? Featherstonaugh? No, too hard to spell. Oh, dear, I’m afraid we’re left with stereotypes. Rex? Not quite. Something a little more patrician. Maybe – no, wait, I’ve got it. Caesar. Down, Caesar!
says Norbert. The dog, who has been sniffing at Sally, takes a step back and sits down.
    –
Good dog. I guess Caesar is your name. A dumb name it is, too
, says Norbert.
    The dog growls.
    –
Caesar! That’s no name for a dog. It’s a name for a salad.
    The dog barks.
    –
Quiet, Caesar!
Norbert laughs.
Quiet, you little bowl of lettuce! Quiet, or I’ll pour some more dressing on you. And while we’re on the subject of personal appearance, has anyone ever spoken to you about drooling? It’s not required behavior, you know It’s optional. You don’t have to – hey!!
    He’s interrupted in mid-insult. Caesar jumps right past Sally, and keeps moving. I turn and see something out of a nursery rhyme. There’s a cat running down the alley away from us. And in the cat’s mouth is a rat. I don’t know if there’s any cheese in the rat’s mouth.
    Caesar moves fast towards the cat, who notices him at the last moment, jumps for the fence and, in her panic, drops the rat, who sits there in the middle of the alley. The dog stops in front of the rat, then decides he’d rather get the cat, so he leaps for the fence. He misses the cat, then takes off after the rat, who is disappearing quickly down the alley. Everybody’s safe.
    “What happened with the poodle on the way here?” I ask.
    –
You don’t want to know
, says Norbert.
    “If we’re going to get to my place,” says Frieda, “we’ll have to get to the street.”
    I help her to her feet. She sways like a poplar in a high wind.
    –
What happened to the wheelchair?
    “They took it,” I say. “And left us.”
    –
Those meanies!
says Norbert.
Wait until you tell the police!
    I catch Frieda’s eye. I know what she’s thinking. I’m thinking the same thing. No police. We don’t say anything about it. “Come on,” I say. Frieda puts her arm around my shoulders, and we hobble forward.
    It’s slow going. Sally runs ahead, turns around, stops. We hobble some more.
    –
Is this our best plan?
asks Norbert.
Because at this rate, by the time we get back to Frieda’s place, she’ll be old enough to vote
.
    We hobble on. I trip Frieda, and