like a little white robot. Bruce found himself wondering if this was, in fact, a real dog, or if it might be one of those realistic battery-operated dogs that people sold in shopping malls.But no, Barkley had to be real. Mr. Murdock was not a playful enough man to take a toy dog for a walk. He kept glancing impatiently at his watch and mumbling things to Barkley that Bruce wasn’t close enough to hear. In fact, Bruce was starting to worry that he wasn’t close enough to get a picture if something newsworthy did occur.
He quickened his pace to close the distance between them just as Mr. Murdock took another right turn at the corner — and then
it happened!
Barkley went into squat position. The angle could not have been better. Bruce had not yet started to turn the corner himself, so he was not exactly behind Barkley, but kitty-cornered to him, and could aim his camera across a flower bed. He clicked the shutter over and over and then zoomed back to include Mr. Murdock in the picture as he urged the dog to hurry and then yanked the leash to jerk him away from the evidence.
Bruce continued clicking frame after frame, too exhilarated to think about stopping. All caution about his own safety had been thrown to the winds and he had no thought for anything except his assignment.
This must be what it is like,
he thought,
to be a war correspondent, standing on the edge of a battlefield, immune to the dangers all around you, intent only on getting your story.
He took a step forward to frame a shot with a spray of hydrangea. The dainty blue blossoms made an interesting contrast to the brown-and-white dog and the gray-and-white man.
Mr. Murdock gave the dog’s leash another hard yank, and then he raised his eyes and looked straight at Bruce. For a moment he stared at him blankly. Then his eyes began to bulge and his mouth flew open.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.
Bruce started running. He wished Red Rover were with him, because Red would have loved this. He had never run so fast before in his life.
Later, at Tim’s house, the four of them gathered around Tim’s computer as Bruce displayed one image after another.
“You sure took a lot of pictures,” Tim said. “I can’t believe you hung around that long.”
“Time stood still,” Bruce told him. “I was so caught up in it — tracking my subjects, lookingfor just the right angle. I know now for sure what I’m going to do for a living. I’m going to be a photojournalist.”
“The close-ups are great,” Debbie said. “You zoomed right in.”
“But just on the dog,” Andi said. “They’re all great pictures, but Mr. Murdock isn’t in them.”
Bruce continued to click through the pictures until they gasped in unison, “That’s the one!”
It was the final picture he had taken, framed with lacy blue flowers. Barkley had finished his business, and Mr. Murdock was jerking him forward. Bruce had snapped it at the exact moment Mr. Murdock spotted him. The man’s face was contorted with fury. His left hand held Barkley’s leash, and his right hand was aimed at Bruce as if he held a pistol. Neither hand held a pooper-scooper.
“That one’s perfect!” Andi said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The fourth issue of
The Bow-Wow News
sold out so quickly that Tim had to run a second printing. Everybody in town was discussing the story about Barkley. Then, to Andi’s astonishment, she began to be contacted by people wanting to buy advertising space. The first was the pet store, which wanted to advertise a line of pooper-scoopers that worked like battery-operated vacuum cleaners. Then an organization called Concerned Citizens for Clean Neighborhoods contacted her about placing a campaign ad for a member of their group who was running for the town council.
But the third call was far less pleasant. It was from Mr. Murdock, who was threatening a lawsuit for invasion of privacy. Andi, who was alone in the house at the time, picked up the receiver and
He quickened his pace to close the distance between them just as Mr. Murdock took another right turn at the corner — and then
it happened!
Barkley went into squat position. The angle could not have been better. Bruce had not yet started to turn the corner himself, so he was not exactly behind Barkley, but kitty-cornered to him, and could aim his camera across a flower bed. He clicked the shutter over and over and then zoomed back to include Mr. Murdock in the picture as he urged the dog to hurry and then yanked the leash to jerk him away from the evidence.
Bruce continued clicking frame after frame, too exhilarated to think about stopping. All caution about his own safety had been thrown to the winds and he had no thought for anything except his assignment.
This must be what it is like,
he thought,
to be a war correspondent, standing on the edge of a battlefield, immune to the dangers all around you, intent only on getting your story.
He took a step forward to frame a shot with a spray of hydrangea. The dainty blue blossoms made an interesting contrast to the brown-and-white dog and the gray-and-white man.
Mr. Murdock gave the dog’s leash another hard yank, and then he raised his eyes and looked straight at Bruce. For a moment he stared at him blankly. Then his eyes began to bulge and his mouth flew open.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.
Bruce started running. He wished Red Rover were with him, because Red would have loved this. He had never run so fast before in his life.
Later, at Tim’s house, the four of them gathered around Tim’s computer as Bruce displayed one image after another.
“You sure took a lot of pictures,” Tim said. “I can’t believe you hung around that long.”
“Time stood still,” Bruce told him. “I was so caught up in it — tracking my subjects, lookingfor just the right angle. I know now for sure what I’m going to do for a living. I’m going to be a photojournalist.”
“The close-ups are great,” Debbie said. “You zoomed right in.”
“But just on the dog,” Andi said. “They’re all great pictures, but Mr. Murdock isn’t in them.”
Bruce continued to click through the pictures until they gasped in unison, “That’s the one!”
It was the final picture he had taken, framed with lacy blue flowers. Barkley had finished his business, and Mr. Murdock was jerking him forward. Bruce had snapped it at the exact moment Mr. Murdock spotted him. The man’s face was contorted with fury. His left hand held Barkley’s leash, and his right hand was aimed at Bruce as if he held a pistol. Neither hand held a pooper-scooper.
“That one’s perfect!” Andi said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The fourth issue of
The Bow-Wow News
sold out so quickly that Tim had to run a second printing. Everybody in town was discussing the story about Barkley. Then, to Andi’s astonishment, she began to be contacted by people wanting to buy advertising space. The first was the pet store, which wanted to advertise a line of pooper-scoopers that worked like battery-operated vacuum cleaners. Then an organization called Concerned Citizens for Clean Neighborhoods contacted her about placing a campaign ad for a member of their group who was running for the town council.
But the third call was far less pleasant. It was from Mr. Murdock, who was threatening a lawsuit for invasion of privacy. Andi, who was alone in the house at the time, picked up the receiver and
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