Revenge of the Lawn Gnomes Read Online Free PDF Page A

he said. “You really
fooled us all.”
    “Maybe your son should be an actor,” Mr. McCall said, scratching his head.
    “He didn’t fool me,” Mindy bragged. “That one was lame. Really lame.”
    What had happened? Had I imagined that open mouth?
    Mr. McCall turned to Buster. “Listen, Jeffrey,” he started. “I’m serious
about that dog of yours. If he comes into my garden again…”
    “If Buster goes over there again, I promise we’ll tie him up,” Dad replied.
    “Aw, Dad,” I said. “You know Buster hates to be tied up. He hates it!”
    “Sorry, kids,” Dad said, turning to go inside. “That’s it. Buster gets one
more chance.”
    I bent down to pet Buster’s head. “Only one more chance, boy,” I whispered in
his ear. “Did you hear that? You only get one more chance.”
     
    I woke up the next morning and squinted at the clock radio on my night table.
Eight A.M. Tuesday. The second day of summer vacation. Excellent!
    I threw on my purple-and-white Vikings jersey and my gym shorts and ran
downstairs. Time to mow the lawn.
    Dad and I had an agreement. If I mowed the lawn once a week all summer, Dad
would buy me a new bike.
    I knew exactly which model I wanted, too. Twenty-one gears and really fat
tires. The coolest mountain bike ever. I’d be able to fly over boulders!
    I let myself out the front door and raised my face to the warm morning sun.
It felt pretty good. The grass shimmered, still covered with dew.
    “Joe!” I heard a loud bellow.
    Mr. McCall’s bellow. “Get over here!”
    Mr. McCall leaned over his vegetable patch. An angry red vein throbbed in his
forehead.
    Oh, no, I thought as I edged toward him. What now?
    “I’ve had it,” he roared. “If you don’t tie that dog up, I’m calling the
police! I mean it!”
    Mr. McCall pointed to the ground. One of his casaba melons lay in the dirt,
broken into jagged pieces. Melon seeds were scattered everywhere. And most of
the orange fruit had been eaten away.
    I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I didn’t know what to say. Lucky
for me, Dad showed up just in time. He was on his way to work.
    “Is my son giving you some gardening advice, Bill?” he asked.
    “No jokes today!” Mr. McCall snapped. He scooped up the broken pieces of
melon and shoved them in my dad’s face. “See what your wild dog has done! Now I
have only four melons left!”
    Dad turned to me. His expression grew stern. “I warned you, Joe! I told you
to keep the dog in our yard.”
    “But Buster didn’t do this,” I protested. “He doesn’t even like melons!”
    Buster skulked around behind the flamingos. His ears drooped flat against his
head. His tail hung low between his legs. He looked really guilty.
    “Well, who else could have done it?” Mr. McCall demanded.
    Dad shook his head. “Joe, I want you to tie Buster up in the back. Now!”
    I saw that I had no choice. No way I could argue.
    “Okay, Dad,” I mumbled. I shuffled across the lawn and grabbed Buster’s
collar. I hauled him to the corner of the back yard and sat him next to his red
cedar doghouse. “Stay!” I commanded.
    I rummaged through the garage until I found a long piece of rope. Then I tied
Buster to the tall oak tree next to his doghouse.
    Buster whimpered. He really hates being tied up.
    “I’m sorry, boy,” I whispered. “I know you didn’t eat that melon.”
    Buster pricked up his ears as Dad came around back to make sure I had tied
the dog up. “It’s just as well that Buster is tied up today,” he said. “The painters are starting on the house this afternoon. Buster would only be in
their way.”
    “Painters?” I asked in surprise. Nobody told me that painters were coming. I
hate the smell of paint!
    Dad nodded. “They’re going to paint over that faded yellow,” he said,
pointing to the house. “We’re having the house painted white with black trim.”
    “Dad, about Buster…” I started.
    Dad held up a hand to silence me. “I have to get