King Tut Helps Ming Stay Weird Read online

  Dedication

  To my son Henrik,

  Who shares my love of animal rescue,

  Who live-texted me during his high-school lock-down drill so I’d know the, well, drill,

  And who asked the question long ago that inspired this story.

  Thanks. I love you.

  www.redchairpress.com

  Free educator’s guide at www.redchairpress.com/free-resources

  Publisher’s Cataloging-In-Publication Data

  Names: Rivadeneira, Caryn Dahlstrand, author. | Alpaugh, Priscilla, illustrator.

  Title: King Tut helps Ming stay weird / Caryn Rivadeneira ; illustrated by Priscilla Alpaugh.

  Description: Egremont, Massachusetts : Red Chair Press, [2020] | Series: Helper hounds ; [book 5] | Interest age level: 006-009. | Includes facts about mutts. | Summary: “Ming often gets teased for being “weird.” His curious mind and wild imagination make him extra nervous for his school’s upcoming lockdown drill after a deadly dance hall shooting. His teacher calls the Helper Hounds to help calm his nerves-and King Tut comes to the rescue! King Tut knows all about being weird. After all, she is a female mutt with the name of a boy king! She’s also been in some scary situations herself after being abandoned under a bridge as a puppy. King Tut helps Ming and his classmates through the lockdown drill. But will her tricks be enough when there’s a real lockdown? Discover how King Tut helps Ming and his friends see the beauty in being “weird?””-- Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: ISBN 9781634409162 (hc) | ISBN 9781634409193 (sc) | ISBN 9781634409223 (ebook)

  Subjects: : LCSH: Mixed breed dogs--Juvenile fiction. | Schools--Safety measures--Juvenile fiction. | Anxiety--Juvenile fiction. | Difference (Psychology)--Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Mixed breed dogs--Fiction. | Schools--Safety measures--Fiction. | Anxiety--Fiction. | Difference (Psychology)--Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.R57627 Ki 2021 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.R57627 (ebook) | DDC [E]--dc23

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020937699

  Text Copyright © Caryn Rivadeneira

  Copyright © 2021 Red Chair Press LLC

  RED CHAIR PRESS, the RED CHAIR and associated logos are registered trademarks of Red Chair Press LLC.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in an information or retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical including photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission from the Publisher. For permissions, contact [email protected]

  Photos: iStock

  Printed in the United States of America

  0920 1P CGS21

  CHAPTER 1

  All around us, people cheered.

  Above us, flags swayed, and the bright sun streamed through the skylights. It felt like we were in a parade. But we weren’t. We were just walking—well, trotting really—through the airport terminal. The same as we do every time we get back from a Helper Hounds trip.

  But this time, things felt different. The mood of the crowd was different. People were always happy to see us—in our bright red Helper Hounds vests—trotting in single file. But today’s cheers were a mix of happiness and sadness. Which made sense. Most of the work the Helper Hounds do is a mix of happiness and sadness too.

  The cheers had started when a man ran past us. He was late for his flight. But when he caught a glimpse of Sparky’s bouncing fur, swishing tail, and Helper Hounds vest, the man stopped, nodded, and began to clap.

  The cheers grew louder as Robot, Penny, Noodle, Oscar, and I followed Sparky’s lead into the bright terminal hallway. The crowd split to make room for us. People wiped tears and said, “Thank you, Helper Hounds!” or they whistled.

  A few little kids and their parents asked if they could pet us.

  So we stopped for a moment and let ourselves get a good petting. Eloise knelt down and picked me up. I am the littlest Helper Hound. It’s easy for me to get lost in the mix—even though I am the weirdest looking. At least, that’s what everyone tells me.

  Anyway, while I was getting a terrific ear scratch from a tiny boy with a huge backpack, Mr. Tuttle, the leader of the Helper Hounds, said we needed to go.

  “The Helper Hounds need to find the potty!” he said. Everyone laughed and moved back to let us through. But as we started our march through the terminal, another woman walked up.

  “I know you have to go,” the woman said. “But my brother was there… He was at the dance hall. He told me you visited…”

  The woman wiped her eyes. Robot leaned against her legs. Sparky smiled up at her face—and wagged his tail in our faces.

  “I haven’t been able to get down to visit him until now,” she said. “Thank you for being there.”

  Mr. Tuttle told her we were happy to go. And we were!

  As soon as our Helper Humans heard about the terrible shooting at the dance hall, we knew we could help. The Helper Hounds couldn’t save the lives of people who had died, but we could help the people who lived.

  And so, we spent our time doing what we do best: sitting, listening, and snuggling. Some days, we visited hospitals and heard stories of what happened. We lay on hospital beds and snuggled as people cried or vented their fear or pain. Other days, we visited the dance hall and sat with families who had lost loved ones. We stood with people who held candles and led prayers. We marched with people sad and angry about gun violence. We visited schools to hang out with kids who felt afraid and helped them talk about it.

  Eloise, my person—or Helper Human—reached out to touch the woman’s arm.

  “Is your brother okay?” Eloise said.

  “He lost a good friend,” she said. “And he’s shaken up. But the visit from the dogs made his day. He hasn’t talked much about what happened, but he told me all about the visit. Is one of you King Tut?”

  My tail wagged at the sound of my name.

  “This is King Tut,” Eloise said.

  The woman scratched my head and smiled.

  “You look more like a Muppet than King Tut,” she said. “My brother never liked dogs much. More of a cat guy. But I can see why he liked you. You’re a silly little thing.”

  “She is,” Eloise said. I licked the woman’s hand.

  “She?” the woman said. “The girl who would be king. The dogs who would be heroes. What a world…”

  The woman took a selfie with us and then rushed off to her flight.

  Penny’s Helper Human, Miguel, spied the “Pet Relief Room” down the terminal and suggested we head off. You might think it was weird to be cheered on in the relief room. But it turned out to be kind of fun. It wasn’t even scary. It reminded me of my potty-training days.

  The cheering continued for us all the way to baggage claim. Apparently, news of our visit to the Dance Hall Shooting families made the news all over the world. And since this was an international airport, people from all over the world were there to cheer us.

  By the time we had our bags and got loaded into the Helper Hounds van, we were pooped. All us dogs curled up on our seats and took good long snoozes.

  But while we slept, our Helper Humans’ phones buzzed. News coverage of our visits always meant calls, emails, and texts. Lots of people needed help!

  Eloise scratched my back as I twitched and bar-bar-barked in my sleep.

  “At least our next case is close by,” she said. “Right at our school! Looks like Ming in Ms. Hanson’s class needs some company. He’s been reading about the shooting and about our lockdown drill coming up. He’s really ner
vous. You’re good at getting through things that make you nervous, right Tut?”

  Eloise likes to ask me questions while I’m dreaming away (this time about hopping after bunnies in a meadow). That’s okay. I’m always listening for her.

  I opened one eye and rested my head on her hand.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Eloise said.

  CHAPTER 2

  Eloise dropped our bags in the hallway. As she unclipped my leash and Helper Hounds vest, she said, “Just need to ask Ming’s mom what is up—and then time for a nap for me!”

  I barked my support of naps and headed to my bowl for a slurp of water. Eloise rushed to grab it out from under me. She thought I needed “fresh” water. But I tell you: I like water better when it’s been sitting around a while. It begins to taste like the room smells. And I like that!

  But I happily licked up the fresh, cool water Eloise set back down in front of me. Then I gobbled the kibble she shook into my food bowl.

  Eloise sat at her desk in the kitchen and typed into her computer. She told Ming’s mom I could help Ming.

  “The other kids tease Ming so much for being weird,” Eloise turned to tell me. “Breaks my heart how mean they can be. He is curious about ‘weird’ things.”

  Eloise shook her head. She looked at the curio cabinet full of strange family treasures.

  “Someday people will see that as a good thing,” she said. “But right now his curious mind makes kids tease him—and it makes him nervous. We can help.”

  I barked and stuck my face in the bowl for two more slurps of water. When I lifted my head, water dripped from my beard.

  Eloise scratched my head. “Good night, King Tut, you weird, weird dog,” she said and snuck off to her bedroom. I jumped onto my favorite chair—just in front of the wide windows that overlooked the backyard. From here, I could keep an eye on the bunnies, squirrels, red robins, and black crows that visited. Sometimes I barked at them. Other times, I just kept my eyes on their movements. Wildlife guests were welcome in my backyard, but I didn’t want them going near my collection of half-inflated soccer balls I kept around the yard.

  But the animals kept to themselves, so I let my eyes grow heavy and sunk deeper into the chair cushion.

  I couldn’t help but think back to how far I’d come. After all, it wasn’t so long ago that I was just a tiny puppy shivering under a bridge. Back then, I hid when squirrels or mice or centipedes crawled past my bed of dried leaves, newspaper, and empty bread bags. Back then, I wondered if I’d ever be warm or full or dry or loved.

  Everything changed when Eloise heard my cries.

  CHAPTER 3

  I don’t remember how I ended up under that bridge. I just remember waking up and being there. Weird feeling. Actually, scary feeling is more like it.

  I was tiny then. I was all alone. I was hungry. I was cold. I was scared. I had no idea how to do anything without my mom or brothers and sisters.

  But as scary as it was, under a bridge isn’t the worst place in the world for a young pup. There’s lots to listen to and lots to explore.

  Above the bridge, cars and bikes rumbled by—day and night. Under the bridge, a small creek worked its way through some woods. The creek was pretty terrific. The creek meant I had plenty to drink—and lots of animals to watch.

  Ducks drifted through the creek. Sometimes a beaver gnawed down sticks to build its dam. Slick otters dove in and out of the water. Foxes trotted along the banks. Squirrels dashed and bunnies hopped around. And birds—sparrows, robins, crows, and falcons—flew everywhere.

  I stayed tucked tight in my pile of leaves and bread bags and watched and watched. Most days, I was too nervous to venture out. But sometimes, I’d smell something that seemed like it would fill my rumbling tummy, so I’d sneak out of my pile and shake off. Then I’d sniff around carefully for the bit of bread or French fries that made their way under the bridge.

  When the coast was clear of animals, I’d head to the creek bed and stick my snout in the cool water. At first, I’d pull my paws back fast when they hit the water. But then, I learned to like the way the water felt on the pads of my feet. I’d stomp my feet in water and bite at the splashes all around me. It was fun. Well, it was fun until my splashing got out of hand, and I fell in. That got scary. I wasn’t good at swimming back then (I am now). So when my head popped up, I wasn’t sure what to do. But my legs paddled and paddled until I climbed back out of the creek.

  I shook myself off on the edge of the creek. Two ducks quacked behind me. I jumped. I hoped they didn’t see me, but I got the feeling they were laughing. Anyway, that day things started to feel a little lonelier. The weather was getting cooler. My tummy felt emptier than ever. I cried a lot then. And barked. But no matter how many cars or bikes rumbled above the bridge, no one heard me.

  When thunderstorms blew by, the sounds got scarier. Loud cracks and booms rang in the sky. Leaves and branches hissed in the wind. Sometimes the squirrels and bunnies would join me under the bridge. We would all claim our space and shake in our spots. I would bark and howl and hope that would scare the thunder as much as the thunder scared me.

  Sometimes that worked. The thunder ran away! It grew softer and softer each time. But other times, it didn’t. So after a while, I’d just curl up like every other night and fall asleep to the sounds of the creek and the cars and the thunder and my own cries.

  But then one morning, Eloise heard me. Eloise was at the creek taking pictures for her classroom. I was curled up—and already crying. That morning was cold. I was hungry and feeling too tired to hunt around for scraps of bread. So I just cried and cried and barked my best puppy barks.

  “Hello?” Eloise said. Then she clicked her tongue. “Is there a puppy in there?”

  Eloise knelt under the bridge.

  I shook myself out of my pile and Eloise laughed.

  “My goodness,” she said. “How on earth did you get here?”

  Then she reached over and picked me up. Eloise held me to her face and said, “I’m Eloise Jones. Who are you? Are you even a puppy or a bunny? You are tiny. And you must be so hungry.”

  Eloise held me close to her chest and reached into a bag. She broke off a piece of graham cracker.

  “Not exactly the best puppy food,” she said as she held the cracker in front of my tiny snout.

  I didn’t know what she was talking about. It was the best food I had ever had! I munched it down and sniffed her hand for more.

  Eloise giggled and broke off two more bits. I gobbled them up.

  “You eat nicely for a starving pup,” she said. “Not biting me at all. Good soft mouth. I like that.”

  Once again, I had no idea what she was talking about. But every time I took a cracker nicely, Eloise told me I was a good puppy and gave me another cracker. I liked that. I could keep this up all day.

  Eloise pulled me close to her face and looked me all over.

  “You can’t be more than two months old, little…uh…lady?” She said. “However did you get here?”

  I wished I could tell her. But as I said: I don’t remember how I got there. I have faint memories of my mom and siblings. If I think real hard, I remember smelling cardboard and pee. But the rest is a blur.

  Maybe it’s for the best I can’t remember. Eloise mumbled something about the “monsters” that would leave a tiny, helpless puppy like me here. If I used to live with monsters, I’m glad I forgot!

  Eloise grabbed the sweatshirt from around her waist and tucked it around me.

  “How about you come home with me?” She said.

  Next thing I knew I was curled up on the seat of her car. It was warm and dry and smelled like heaven. And this was only the beginning.

  CHAPTER 4

  Eloise and I live in a big house. And when I say big, I mean: BIG! It’s huge. And it’s not just because I’m small.

 
Our house has three floors (not including the old creepy cellar). Each floor has so many rooms, you can wander through doors, down hallways, poke your nose into hallways and closets and nooks all day, and never get bored. I know this from experience!

  The very first day Eloise brought me home, I wandered and sniffed and wandered and sniffed. All day. I only got stuck once and lost twice. Good thing Eloise followed me everywhere that day. I only had to bark and whine for help and—voila!—Eloise was right there to help. It was only my first day with Eloise and already she heard my cry and picked me up—four times! That’s the best feeling.

  Anyway, lots of people asked Eloise how a teacher could afford such a huge house. Eloise told me she wished she had the guts to tell people it was none of their business. But, Eloise was way too nice to say something so rude. Besides, the story of how she got the house was really interesting and fun to tell!

  So Eloise would tell them the weird truth: Her grandparents were inventors. For almost forty years they tinkered in the basement of the farmhouse they lived in back then. They invented all kinds of weird farm things: pig blankets, mouse houses, cat carts, and horse skirts.

  But it turned out that people didn’t want to have to wash their pigs’ blankets. People didn’t want mice in any kind of house. Cats didn’t want to pull carts and horses didn’t want to wear skirts.

  People laughed at her grandparents. All around town, people would roll their eyes and talk about the weird old couple who made bat hats and cow ribbons.

  But her grandparents never gave up. They had fun inventing weird things—and knew one day people would understand.

  Then one day, Eloise’s grandmother said: “What if dogs wore vests?”

  Eloise’s grandfather asked why a dog would wear a vest.

  “Well, if the dog were working,” she said. “Like when Tumbler goes into the field with us. It would be handy if he could carry some of the tools.”

  Eloise’s grandfather nodded and they got to work.