My Dog Doesn't Like Me by Elizabeth Fensham

for a minute and then jumped up on me.
    â€˜Down!’ said the big woman when Ugly jumped up. She was standing next to me, but she held her hand in front of Ugly’s face like a traffic policeman and stepped close to him – what Gretchen would describe as invading Ugly’s personal space.
    â€˜Sit!’ said the lady in a strong, low voice.
    Ugly stepped back and sat.
    â€˜Good boy. Good, Ugly,’ said the lady, patting his head and slipping him what looked like a small bit of dog biscuit.
    â€˜Meet Maggie Buchan,’ said Grandad. ‘She’s my old school friend Charlie Buchan’s younger sister, and she’s over from Western Australia to visit her granddaughter for a few weeks.’
    â€˜Oh,’ I said, wondering what the big deal was.
    â€˜Maggie trains dogs,’ Grandad added.
    â€˜And dog owners,’ said Maggie in a stern voice.
    â€˜She’s never failed,’ said Grandad. ‘Maggie’s my present to you. Concentrate and learn all you can about dog training.’
    â€˜I hear today’s Ugly’s last chance,’ said Maggie.
    Hearing about my troubles from a stranger was embarrassing. What would she think about all this stuff about me giving Ugly three chances? From an outsider’s view, I might look kind of crazy. Giving a dog a last chance? It seemed mean.
    I stared down at my feet. ‘I s’pose.’
    â€˜Nothing more frustrating and unpleasant than a disobedient dog,’ said Maggie in a kind way.
    She understood! I looked at her to check if she was kidding me. ‘And a dog that didn’t like me until just recently,’ I said.
    â€˜Ah, yes,’ said Maggie. ‘But you’ll have to face something, Eric.’
    â€˜Face what?’ I asked.
    â€˜ You are the main part of the problem.’
    â€˜Me?’
    â€˜Yes, face the facts, Ec,’ added Grandad.
    How harsh can you get? Me? The problem? How dare she! Someone, okay – a dog – has shown for ages that he couldn’t care less about me, and I’m to blame? And face the facts? What a tough thing for Grandad to say.
    But I’m not a wuss. I’ve suffered great hardship: been forced to run away, had my Parthenon model chewed up, found stinky poo under my bed, been dragged into life-threatening situations on dog walks, been ignored and been laughed at. A person can only take so much. Maggie is just a bigger, older, fatter version of Gretchen.
    Did I tell that to Maggie? No way. But she must have seen my face.
    â€˜Stormy weather today?’ she said, peering at me.
    I think I might have inherited Gretchen’s cranky-strawberry-mouth look. You can’t talk well when your mouth is the shape of a squashed strawberry.
    â€˜Dunno watcha mean,’ I mumbled. I knew I was being rude to a visitor. I wouldn’t have blamed Grandad for giving me what he calls a ‘clip over the ear’, but he didn’t do that.
    He just said, ‘It’s your last chance, lad. Listen up to Maggie or you’re done for.’
    Heck no. Everyone was getting it wrong. It was Ugly’s last chance. When would grown-ups get it right? And I said that. ‘It’s Ugly’s last chance, not mine.’
    Then came the shock of my life. I’m still shaky as I write this down.
    Grandad said, ‘Well Eccle, it’s actually both your last chances. You see, your mum is tired. I mean worn out with the long hours she has to do at work. She was telling me last night that although you have improved your work ethic, she still can’t give Ugly what he needs. Gretchen’s no help. Your dad is also run off his feet at work. That leaves you and me. And you know that since my hip operation I just can’t do what I used to do. The poor mutt is neglected, and he’s getting out of control. He’s growing bigger than we expected him to be – a risk, I suppose, when we didn’t get to see his