Notes From a Liar and Her Dog Read Online Free PDF

account of she had three dogs and landlords don’t like to rent to you if you have pets. But my dad wanted her really bad, so on one of his trips to Toledo, he found her a cute house to rent where the landlord said it was okay to have three dogs. Only problem was by moving day, Irene didn’t have three dogs. She had four.
    Apparently a teacup Yorkie terrier followed Irene home from the park and Irene had not been able to find his owner. So my father called the landlord in Toledo to see if he would allow four dogs, but the guy said forget it, four are too many.
    By then, my father needed Irene even worse than before because the office was supposed to open in two weeks, so he promised he’d find a home for the tiny Yorkie dog Irene called Pistachio. That night Pistachio came to our house on a “strictly temporary basis,” and the next day my mom put up Free Dog signs with our phone number on little pull tabs. Shortly after that all those signs “mysteriously disappeared.” I must have missed some, though, because one lady did call. Luckily, I answered the phone, and by the time I got through telling her all of Pistachio’s bad habits—thosehe has and those he might someday develop—she said, “No, thank you.”
    Then my mom got mad at my dad. She said she was going to take
that dog
to the pound. But my dad said he promised Irene he wouldn’t do that. Then I swore for the hundredth time I would clean up after Pistachio and keep him out of my mom’s sight. She wouldn’t even know we had a dog. But my mom said no. Every day I’d ask and every day she’d say no. After a few weeks I finally figured out my mom didn’t have any idea what to do with Pistachio and if I just kept quiet, he could stay.
    The problem is she won’t spend money on him. She buys dog food, but that’s it. This is why when I take him to the vet, I get a temporary case of dyslexia. I put all the right numbers and all the right letters on the forms, I just mix up the order quite a bit. I have to. The last time the vet cost $128. Who has that kind of money?
    This time I’m going to need her to pay, though, because she’s going to have to drive me. None of the vet clinics in Sarah’s Road are open on Sunday nights, which is the stupidest thing in the world. How are dogs supposed to know to get sick during business hours? There is only one vet clinic open all night, but it’s an hour’s drive away. My dad isn’t home right now, neither are Harrison and Mr. Emerson. I try to think of what I can say to my mom to get her to take Tashi to the vet.
    I walk downstairs with Pistachio tucked in the crook of my arm. My mom is watching some kind of interior decorator show with Kate. They get all excitedwhen somebody has an old Egyptian urn they think is worth $5 and it turns out to be worth $50,000. “Hah, I knew it. Did you know it? I knew it,” they tell the TV.
    “Mom?”
    My mom turns away from the screen. “Antonia, you know perfectly well that dog is not allowed in the living room.”
    I step back off the rug onto the linoleum in the en-tranceway.
    “Mom, would you come out to the kitchen? I need you to look at Pistachio.” My mother sighs. She picks up her empty glass and follows me through the push door.
    “Mom, he’s really sick. We have to do something!”
    My mother sets her glass on the counter and gets a bottle of lemon seltzer out of the refrigerator. “Antonia, he’s a dog. What am I supposed to tell you?”
    “Yeah, and he’s sick. Can’t you see?”
    She groans, pours her seltzer, and stands with her glass in her hand. We both look at Pistachio.
    “His nose is hot. He’s hot all over. He’s not eating. Look, here’s a Milk-Bone.” I put him down on the floor. “He loves Milk-Bones. But he won’t even sniff it. He doesn’t even get up when I come in now. He’s not like this normally, Mom. He’s not!”
    Elizabeth floats in and pulls open the refrigerator. She gets some apple juice and pours it in her favorite pink