Watchdog and the Coyotes

by Bill Wallace

Overview

Some dogs have a bark bigger than their bite. But Sweetie, The Great Dane, can't afford to bark — or bite.
After three little nips and three masters, the next stop is the pound. So when the burglar comes calling, he waves his tail. When coyotes come prowling, he tries to make peace — as they howl in scorn. They promise they'll return — to eat his food, his friends, Red the Irish Setter, Poky the Beagle, and Sweetie for dessert!
If Sweetie can't protect them they'll all perish! How can he outfox twelve hungry coyotes?

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780671890759
Publisher:	Aladdin
Publication date:	09/01/1995
Edition description:	Reissue
Pages:	112
Product dimensions:	5.12(w) x 7.50(h) x 0.30(d)
Lexile:	600L (what's this?)
Age Range:	8 - 12 Years

About the Author

Bill Wallace grew up in Oklahoma. Along with riding their horses, he and his friends enjoyed campouts and fishing trips. Toasting marshmallows, telling ghost stories to scare one another, and catching fish was always fun. One of the most memorable trips took place on the far side of Lake Lawtonka, at the base of Mt. Scott. He and his best friend, Gary, spent the day shooting shad with bow and arrows, cutting bank poles, and getting ready to go when their dads got home from work.

Although there was no "monster" in Lake Lawtonka, one night there was a "sneak attack" by a rather large catfish tail. Checking the bank poles was not nearly as fun or "free" after that point, but it was the inspiration for this story. Bill Wallace has won nineteen children's state awards and been awarded the Arrell Gibson Lifetime Achievement Award for Children's Literature from the Oklahoma Center for the Book.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 2

I m going straight to the pound," I whined. "This is it. There's nothing else left. I'm a goner."

I paced up and down by the fence along my side yard. I didn't know what the pound was like, but I remember Scotty whining and crying when his master was about to take him there. I remember that I never saw him again. Whatever the pound was, it was bad.

"This is it," I whimpered. "He's gone in to get my collar, and when he comes back out..."

My tail tucked under my belly. My floppy ears drooped so low they almost dragged on the ground.

"What are you whining about?"

I jerked. The growl from the other side of the fence startled me. My droopy ears perked up.

"Who's there?"

"What are you whining about?" the voice repeated. It was Red, the Irish setter who lived in the yard next to mine.

I'd never seen Red because of the wooden fence. In fact, this was the first time he'd ever talked to me in the whole two months since he had moved next door with his family. I'd tried to talk with him before, but he only snarled at me through the cracks between the fence boards.

It was good to hear another voice. Besides, I was in so much trouble that I really needed someone to talk to, even if it was someone who only growled.

I squinted, trying to see through one of the cracks.

"I messed up," I told the fence. "I messed up bad, and I don't even know how it happened."

Red hair and one white eyeball appeared at the crack.

"I saw the cars with the red and blue lights on top last night," Red said. "The men in the blue uniforms kept going in and out of the house, and your master kept yelling. What did you do, get inside and tear the living room up or something?"

"No!" I shook my head so hard my ears flopped against my cheeks. "I'm a watchdog. I don't go inside."

"So what did you do?"

"I did what I was supposed to do." I shrugged both ears. "I watched."

Red growled, "Exactly what did you watch?"

I folded my tail under my bottom and sat down. "Well," I began, staring at the eyeball. "Last night I was watching, just like I'm supposed to. A little while after dark, this man dressed all in black climbed over the back fence. He kept wiggling something at the door, and finally he went inside."

"What did you do?"

"I watched," I answered, wiggling my whiskers. "I watched him bring a big sack out of the house and lift it over the fence."

"Then what?"

"I watched him bring out two more sacks."

Red snorted. "And you watched, right?"

I smiled. "Right."

"That's all you did?"

I twitched my whiskers. "That's what I'm supposed to do. I watched because I'm a watchdog."

"You didn't growl or bark at him?"

"Oh, no. Dogs get in trouble for barking and growling."

"You didn't bite him?"

"Heaven forbid! I never bite. Never!"

There was a strange whoompf from the other side of the fence. I pressed my eye closer to the crack. Red had fallen on his side. He rolled back and forth. He wagged his tail and laughed and laughed and laughed.

"It's not funny," I whined. "I'm in trouble. My master's probably going to take me to...to...the pound."

Red just kept rolling and laughing. Finally he got to his feet and told me to follow him to the back corner of the yard. Once we got there he started digging.

"Dogs shouldn't dig," I warned him. "You'll get in trouble."

Red dug faster.

"No, I won't," he said. "The bushes are thick here. My master won't see the hole or the dirt. Even if he does, he won't get mad. Besides, you need help. You're the most confused, messed-up pup I've ever met."

My ears drooped, and my tail folded under my tummy. "Please don't dig. I had a friend named Scotty. He was a digger. His master took him to the pound. And when you go to the pound...well, no one ever comes back from the...the pound!"

Copyright © by1995 by Bill Wallace