Minerva Clark Goes to the Dogs Read Online Free PDF

time.
    â€œExcellent,” said Chelsea, sighing and suddenly relaxed, as though our problems were automatically solved, just because her parents weren’t around.
    I thought Chelsea would take me up to her room. I know if she came to my house I would have taken her up to my room, but instead she led me to another matchy room, with rows of bookcases and a flat-screen TV and white shag carpeting and more white sofas. This wasthe equivalent of our TV room, I guessed, where the only available place to sit was Cat Pee Couch, or else the leaking blue beanbag chair.
    â€œYou can use that computer.” She waved her hand toward a small wooden desk in the corner, a flat-screen monitor and sleek keyboard positioned in the center. Even Mark Clark, whose business was computers, didn’t have such a nice setup.
    She left me there while she went to change. I could hear her flip-flops slapping up first one flight of stairs, then another, then another. From the kitchen I could hear Agata singing.
    The computer was already on. I Googled Sylvia Soto and found an accountant in Orlando, a psychologist in Buena Park, California, and a social worker in El Paso. I didn’t think any of these were our Sylvia Soto. Our Sylvia didn’t sound much older than my brothers, and certainly not old enough to be a psychologist or those other jobs. Nor did whitepages.com have anyone resembling Sylvia Soto. For $9.95 one company would do a background search, but you needed a credit card, which I didn’t have. Just as I was thinking Chelsea might have one, there was a sudden ferocious scrabbling sound.
    The instant I recognized it as dog toenails scrabbling across wood floors, a pair of ginger and white corgis with pointed ears and foxy faces roared into the room,leaping over the arms of the white sofa, wrestling and nipping at each other’s heels. I could see why people say that corgis are big dogs in little-dog bodies.
    â€œHey hey HEY!” said Chelsea, clapping her hands to try to get them off the couch. She’d changed into a new small skirt and long-sleeved T-shirt. “Get off the couch. Bad dogs! Agata, where’s Frank?”
    Silence from the kitchen.
    Chelsea sat on the couch and the two dogs piled on top of her, each trying to find the best spot on her lap from which to lick her neck. They were hilarious, funnier even than Jupiter, and if you know anything about ferrets, you’ll know that for pure funniness, ferrets are about the funniest creatures around.
    â€œAgata!” Chelsea sighed and shoved the dogs onto the floor. They scrambled right back up.
    From the other room, yet another one appeared. He had more white on his coat than the others. He trotted over to me, turned, and sat down with his back facing me, the better to give him a good pet.
    â€œIs this Frank?” I asked. I reached down and scratched him behind his ears.
    Chelsea let out a sharp laugh. I recognized it as the same laugh that used to come out of her when she and the other Chelsea in our class (the lactose-intolerant Chelsea, not this one), used to make fun of me. I reached down to pet the dog-that-was-not-Frank. I scratchedhim behind the ears. Every time I stopped, he backed himself up until he was sitting on my foot.
    â€œFrank is our dog sitter. Really, he’s more of like our dog nanny, except unlike a real nanny he only works about an hour in the morning and an hour at night. Winkin’ and Blinkin’ are champion show dogs. Their sire even won second place at the Westminster Dog Show one year. They need exercise and special care and stuff. That’s Ned you’ve got over there. He’s kind of a loser dog, not at all up to the breed standard. Doesn’t have enough orange in his coat, or something. You’d have to ask my mom. She’s a total freak over these dumb dogs. Did you find the phone number?”
    â€œNope.” I told her about needing a credit card for the background search. I patted my