My Dog Doesn't Like Me Read Online Free PDF

said, ‘There’s not enough meat in there for two people, let alone five. Eccle should have bread and water, like
a convict.’
    â€˜We’ll make do,’ Mum said in a grumpy voice.
    â€˜You’re too soft on that boy. You were never like that with me. At least make him eat an egg,’ Gretchen whined.
    â€˜Give me an egg, then,’ I said. ‘See if I care.’
    â€˜Okay, you asked for it,’ said Mum.
    Mum had just put the casserole dish in the oven when we heard a long, loud yell from the back garden. Grandad had gone out to water his vegetables, but we could hear him marching up the steps. He burst into the kitchen.
    â€˜Eric!’ he bellowed. ‘Your dog has dug a flamin’ great hole in my carrot bed! If your mother ever wanted her lamb bone back, it’s now buried.’
    Before I could finish saying sorry, Grandad said, ‘And that’s not all! You’d better get out there and give the dog a good wash.’
    â€˜What’s happened?’ asked Dad.
    â€˜As well as destroying my carrots, he’s got into the compost pile, eaten those old fish heads we threw out the other day, and rolled in all that muck as well.’
    â€˜Out you go, Eric, and don’t come back till that dog smells as sweet as a newborn baby,’ ordered Dad.
    I’m not so sure a newborn baby smells sweet, but I wasn’t about to argue with Dad. By the time I was in the back garden with Ugly’s leash, a bucket, dog shampoo, and a towel, Ugly had escaped under the house. Grandad’s yells must have sent him hiding.
    I had to commando crawl under the house, attach Ugly’s leash to his collar, and drag him out. He smelt like something that had been dead for a year.
    Because Ugly hates being washed, I had to tie him to the lemon tree so he couldn’t run away. I hosed him, shampooed him, hosed him, shampooed him again (because he still stank), and then hosed him a third time. By the end, especially after Ugly had given himself a huge shake, I was as wet as Ugly was. I towelled him dry, and Mum let him inside for his dinner.
    When we sat down for dinner, I kept as quiet as possible. Ugly lay under the table, his nose resting on Mum’s feet and his bum up near my feet. Nothing had changed. He’d been happy to take a huge lamb bone from me, bury it in Grandad’s carrot patch, eat compost and roll in it, and then watch me get into trouble. Mum was still the one he loved.
    I was just dipping my toast finger into my boiled egg when Gretchen, who was sitting next to me, pulled a face and said, ‘Eccle, you smell disgusting!’
    â€˜Does he?’ asked Mum.
    â€˜He’s let off,’ said Gretchen.
    â€˜I have not!’
    â€˜Phew,’ said Dad, swatting at the air in front of his nose. ‘Something’s powerful in here.’
    â€˜Own up, Eccle. I know a fart when I smell one,’ said Gretchen, leaning away from me.
    â€˜Something’s rotten in the State of Denmark.’ Grandad got up to open a window.
    By now, I could smell it, too. I’ve been to the local rubbish tip with Dad and Grandad, and here, in this room, was a thick and putrid smell that reminded me of the tip in a heatwave.
    â€˜It’s you, Eccle!’ said Gretchen again. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’
    â€˜Abandon ship!’ called Grandad. He grabbed his dinner plate and left the room. Mum, Dad, and Gretchen did the same.
    â€˜It’s Eccle’s very own chemical warfare,’ said Gretchen as she slammed the door shut.
    I stayed behind, staring at my boiled egg in its eggcup. After a few moments, a fresh wave of stink swept around me. I lifted the tablecloth. The stink poured up at me. It was coming straight from Ugly’s bum. You can’t eat old fish heads and other rotting food and get away with it.
    I can’t say Ugly farted on purpose, but it’s just another example of how I get blamed for everything