The Fast and the Furriest Read Online Free PDF Page A

we watch a class or something? Thanks, Kevin.
    Another click and the note went off to the Paw Patch proprietors, possibly to the creepy pirate herself. Kevin then fell back in his chair and yawned. He looked over at Cromwell, curled into a tight ball of brown and white fur, snoring softly.
    “The things I do for you, Cromwell.”
    The clock read 2:37 a.m.
    Kevin sleepily wheeled himself to the bedroom door in his rolling desk chair, wishing he could glide all the way to the kitchen. Instead, he slowly stood upand walked downstairs, occasionally disturbing one of the old house’s floorboards. He flipped on the kitchen lights, poured a large serving of Peanut Butter S’more Crunch cereal into a bowl—he didn’t have the energy for the three-cereal blend—and then filled the bowl with chocolate milk.
    “Hello, my old friend,” he said, greeting the snack with a smile.
    Kevin snatched a serving spoon from a drawer, then carried the cereal back to his room, milk sloshing onto the floor as he climbed the stairs. He placed the bowl on his desk, lowered his face to the rim, and began to eat.
    “Mmmm.”
    As he wiped chocolate milk from the corners of his mouth, a small pinging noise caught his attention. Kevin looked up at his computer screen. An icon was blinking in the lower right corner. He brought up his in-box.
    From: [email protected]
    Sent: Saturday, June 12, 2:38 AM
    To: [email protected]
    Subject: Thank you for your interest in Paw Patch, Inc.
    Dear Mr. Cromwell,
    I salute you. Through either unfettered enthusiasm or subtle manipulation, you have led Kevin to PawPatch. A wise choice. You are a discerning pupil. Our summer session starts on Wednesday. You may visit us anytime. Full sessions are $200. I look forward to our meeting.
    Also, if you would be so kind, please inform Kevin that his interest in my program is not optional.
    Elka
        Kevin had stopped chewing. Milk dripped from his chin onto the desk.
    “Psyyy-cho,” he said quietly. “Who e-mails a
dog
in the middle of the night?”
    Kevin finished the cereal and pushed the empty bowl aside.
    Then again
, he thought,
who sends an e-mail on behalf of their dog in the middle of the night?
    Kevin shut down his computer and wheeled himself over to his bed. He pulled back the Bears comforter and crawled in.
    Cromwell produced a sequence of low, dreamy woofs and squirmed a bit.
    “We’ll check her out, though, Crom.” Kevin smiled at his dog. “
If
you’re still possessed.” Kevin yawned. “But it’s probably just a phase.”

6
    A fter the initial late-night e-mail exchange, Elka continued to write … but only to Cromwell. She asked that he—the dog—relay messages to Kevin.
    When the Wednesday in question arrived, Kevin buckled Cromwell into an old bike stroller and latched the contraption to his eighteen-speed. Kevin would have walked, but he was afraid he’d wear out Cromwell and render him completely unimpressive.
    After picking up Zach, he, Kevin, and Cromwell rode to a rather industrial-looking stretch of North Clark Street, stopping halfway so that Kevin could get a snow cone and Mr. Pibb. Zach purchased a lime Push Pop and a Yoo-hoo. They arrived at Paw Patch just after ten a.m., sticky from Popsicle residue. The building’s exterior didn’t exactly suggestthat there were happy, well-trained dogs within. It seemed more like a place where people sent their old machinery to be repaired. Or a place where prisoners were tortured. Either way, it didn’t scream “cute, cuddly dogs inside.”
    But it was definitely the right place. There were black letters affixed to the building’s metal door:
    PAW PATCH, INC .
E. BRANDT, PROPRIETOR
EST. 1985
    “Just as spooky as its owner, really,” said Zach. “Maybe she does have a peg leg.”
    Kevin gulped. He was unusually nervous. He removed Cromwell from the stroller and dropped him onto the sidewalk. Cromwell wagged his tail, sniffed the air, and barked.
    “Good boy,” said