My Dog Doesn't Like Me by Elizabeth Fensham Page A

parents – and big dogs need lots of exercise and plenty of discipline.’
    â€˜But I’ve nearly always stuck to the timetable,’ I said.
    â€˜Not as often as you trick yourself into believing,’ said Grandad. ‘Your mum is tired of finding half-filled cans of dog food lying around the kitchen benches, dog biscuits scattered on the floor, Ugly’s water bowl empty, or precious belongings chewed to bits because Ugly is still getting bored from not enough exercise.’
    â€˜I’m not as bad as all that,’ I said. I held my breath, waiting for what he was going to say next. But at the same time, I sort of guessed. My heart was pounding. My hands were sweaty.
    Grandad continued, ‘If things don’t change, your mum, dad and I are thinking that Ugly might be better off with a family who know something about looking after and training big dogs.’
    â€˜No!’ I yelled. ‘You can’t make Ugly an orphan. You can’t just chuck him out. And I’ve been trying to help. You know I have, Grandad.’

Chapter Seventeen
    I felt gutted. I had to fight for Ugly’s right to stay in our home. I truly didn’t know how I was going to save my dog. I felt like someone who was drowning because they were trying to rescue someone else who was drowning – hopeless.
    After I had begged Grandad not to make Ugly an orphan, he took a while to reply. I guess he was choosing his words carefully.
    â€˜You’ve certainly tried a bit harder to pull your weight with the feeding and walking and that, Ec. But it’s not so simple. This is a small house. It’s a squeeze fitting five humans into it, let alone a growing dog into the bargain.’
    Pleading hadn’t worked with Grandad. What shocked me was that he was for real. He really had been discussing Ugly’s fate with Mum and Dad. The three of them had made big decisions about Ugly and me without my permission. I couldn’t help it; my voice started wobbling like mad. ‘No, Grandad, no! I beg you! You can’t do this.’
    Ugly must have understood something. He started getting worked up. He was jumping around and barking. His tail whacked a cardboard box of Grandad’s tomatoes that was sitting on a little side table. Tumble went the box. Sprawl went the tomatoes. Jump, jump, twirl went Ugly. Squish , splat went the tomatoes. It looked like blood and guts all over the kitchen floor.
    â€˜See for yourself,’ said Grandad, waving his hand around at the mess. ‘The proof is in the pudding. My best tomatoes of the season. Gone!’
    Oh, cut out these idioms , I thought to myself.
    Yes, Grandad, your precious tomatoes are destroyed, but you can’t say Ugly’s accident proved what you’re saying is right. This mess wasn’t Ugly’s fault! It’s … it’s everyone’s fault. This last bit, I said in a blurt, except I changed it a bit.
    â€˜It’s not Ugly’s fault!’ I yelled. ‘It’s yours. And Mum and Dad’s. And Gretchen’s!’
    â€˜Steady on now!’ said Grandad in a loud voice. ‘You’re blaming everyone but yourself. If you keep doing that, you’ll never grow up. Show some character, Ec. Like I’ve said before: face up to yourself!’
    Ugly got really worked up and started jumping on Grandad. Maggie took Ugly by the collar and put him out the back door.
    She held her hands up, open-palmed towards Grandad and me, like the policewoman she must have once been; she looked as if she was in charge of crowd control at an AFL match. ‘Not in front of the dog, thank you. Set him an example.’
    Grandad and I were both panting as if we’d just had a punch-up. I should have been worried about Grandad having a heart attack, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I was actually thinking that maybe Ugly and I should run away – and do it properly. We have to stick