Spooky Helps Danny Tell the Truth Read online

  Dedication

  To Rafi, Henrik, Greta, and Fredrik

  To the courthouse dogs

  Thank you for good work you do

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  Publisher’s Cataloging-In-Publication Data

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

  Title: Spooky helps Danny tell the truth / Caryn Rivadeneira ; illustrated by Priscilla Alpaugh.

  Description: Egremont, Massachusetts : Red Chair Press, [2020] | Series: Helper hounds ; [book 6] | Interest age level: 006-009. | Includes facts about American Staffordshire terriers. | Summary: “Danny is scared to tell the truth. After he saw someone steal some bikes, now he has to see that person in a courtroom and tell the court what he did. To help calm Danny’s fears on the big day, his parents call the Helper Hounds-and there’s no better pup for the job than Spooky. Spooky was involved in a crime herself-she lost her leg after being shot by a police officer who thought she was dangerous. The officer learned from his mistake and became a better person, and he thinks Danny can do the same for the bike thief. Will Spooky’s best calming tricks, like stretching and yoga, give Danny the courage to tell the truth in court-and to help change the thief’s life for the better?”-- Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: ISBN 9781634409179 (hc) | ISBN 9781634409209 (sc) | ISBN 9781634409230 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: American Staffordshire terrier--Juvenile fiction. | Child witnesses--Juvenile fiction. | Honesty--Juvenile fiction. | Anxiety--Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Dogs--Fiction. | Witnesses--Fiction. | Honesty--Fiction. | Anxiety--Fiction.

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

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020937700

  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

  I leaned on my front foot while Reg lifted a back one. He wriggled my foot into the boot and then set it down.

  “Next paw, Spooky,” Reg said and tapped my leg. He slipped my paw into the boot and set it down. Reg patted my bottom and looked me over. My goggles were set. My lab coat was buttoned. My three boots all on.

  “Lookin’ good,” Reg said.

  My tail whipped back and forth. I knew I looked good. With my sleek gray coat and my wide happy smile, it was hard not to. Especially when I was in my lab gear.

  We left Reg’s office and trotted down the hallway toward the lab. As we walked, students smiled and waved hello. Alisa stopped us just outside the lab.

  “Morning, Prof. Boot,” Alisa said.

  “Morning,” Reg said. “And yes, you may pet Spooky.”

  Alisa smiled and knelt to greet me. She pushed her lips into a kissy face as she said my name slowly, “Spoooooooooooky.”

  Since she made her face so nicely, I kissed her right on the lips. The leftover spice from her taco lunch tasted as good as it smelled.

  “I miss being in your class,” Alisa said. “Prof. Lester is less than…”

  Reg cleared his throat.

  Alisa looked up. Prof. Lester had stepped out of the classroom and stood beside me.

  “Reginald, Alisa, Spooky,” Prof. Lester said with a nod to each of us.

  My butt wriggled harder at the sound of my name—and the sight of Prof. Lester.

  Prof. Lester didn’t smile at or fuss over me as much as some people did. She was an astronomer and more of a “star person” than dog person. Prof. Lester said she could tell when stars—and apparently dogs—were special and worth paying attention to. And when Prof. Lester first met me, she said she liked my “moxie” and that I was a star. I didn’t know what moxie meant or much about stars, but that was good to hear.

  “Morning, Prof. Lester,” Alisa said.

  “Morning, Marcia,” Reg said.

  “Any new cases?” Prof. Lester said.

  “Matter of fact, I just got a text,” Reg said. “Looks like Spooky will be heading to court.”

  Prof. Lester gave me a small smile and a wink. Then, she turned to leave. But not before she reached down for a quick scratch of my head. “Good dog,” she whispered. “Brightest star around.”

  Alisa looked at her phone. “Shoot,” she said. “Late for class!”

  Alisa kissed the top of my head. I tried to get one more lick of the taco spice, but she was too fast.

  “All right, Spooky,” Reg said. “We need to get to class too. I gotta check my email, see what this new case is all about.”

  Reg adjusted my lab coat and opened the door. I followed him in. He let go of my leash as soon as we got in the room. I knew the drill. Reg headed for his teaching table at the front of the lab. I hopped toward my bed in the corner.

  Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, while Reg taught chemistry to the students, I slept in my lab gear. Even though I never touched the chemicals in the laboratory, the rules were that everyone in the lab must wear safety equipment. Including dogs!

  Reg didn’t need to bring me to class, but he thought it was good practice for me. And it was! As a Helper Hound, sometimes I have to put on extra equipment. And I had to get used to all sorts of strange places and people doing weird things. If you ask me, there aren’t many places stranger or people weirder than humans in white coats and goggles mixing potions in beakers in a chemistry lab.

  As the students filed into the room, most gave me a scratch or two behind the goggles. As soon as Reg started his lecture, I nodded off (along with a couple of the students). Sometimes the clinking of beakers would wake me up. But most of the time, I didn’t wake up until the students were shuffling out of the room.

  It was the same on this day. Class—and my nap—were over. And not a moment too soon. We had a new Helper Hounds case after all.

  “I just read the full email,” Reg said as he knelt beside me in his office and unbuttoned my coat and slid off my boots and goggles. “A kid named Danny saw someone steal some bikes. Now, he has to go to court to testify. He was actually just in court last year when he got adopted, but he’s really nervous about having to say what he saw. Judge Mathers thinks you can help.”

  I barked at the word help. Of course, I could help. That’s what Helper Hounds do!

  “What do you think? Should we say yes?”

  I barked again. Not that I ever said no to Helper Hounds cases, but once upon a time, I saw someone commit a crime. Actually, I was the victim of the crime. I had to go to court for that too. Also, I know we don’t act our best when we feel scared. Learning to relax is very, very important. Let me tell you the story of how I know all this.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tina Thornton was right the day they first spotted me in the shelter: they didn’t have time for a dog. But I was just so cute and hard to resist, and Tina thought maybe I’d make a good companion, so she gave in to her boys’ begging to adopt me.

  The Thorntons were really nice, an
d Tina’s boys were great at playing with me and sneaking me leftover snacks. But Tina worked long hours, and the boys were either at school or sports practice or outside playing.

  That meant, I had lots of time on my own. When I got bored (which happened a lot), I’d check the back door. The boys left it unlocked all the time.

  It didn’t take too long for me to learn that all I needed was one good nose-nudge, and the door would bounce open. At least, open enough for me to sneak my snout in and push myself out.

  This was about the time I began to develop Life Rules. My first Life Rule was: Push yourself! You can do more than you think you can!

  When I’d push myself—and that door—all my boredom disappeared. The world was mine! I would explore the back alleys and chase squirrels and cats. I’d knock over garbage cans and sniff around for leftover sandwiches and pie crusts. I’d head to the playground and run with the kids. I’d know it was time to go home when the police came to get me.

  The police officers who came for me would whistle or call me by name (they learned it quickly!). When I came running, the police officers would give me a treat and pet me while I rolled over on my belly. Then they’d take me for a ride back home in the squad car. As they drove, I’d slip and slide all over the backseat. Good times.

  The officers would bring me to the front door. If Tina answered, they’d remind her it was against the law to let a dog run loose. She’d apologize and then promise to fix the back lock. If the boys answered, they’d get told to help their mom and keep a better eye on me. If no one answered, they’d let me back inside through the back door. Somehow, they also learned that door was always open.

  But nothing much changed. The cycle would always repeat: Tina and the boys would leave the house, I’d get bored, I’d go have some fun, and my police friends would bring me home.

  Until one day, one bad day. Until, the day I got shot!

  I’d seen the lights and heard the sounds of shouting a few doors down. So, I pushed the door open and ran out to investigate. I trotted out of our yard and right down the block.

  That’s when I saw them: my police friends! Officer Lester and Officer Jackson stood by two officers I didn’t recognize. I paused for a moment to sniff the air. My friends were really focused on the front door of a house. Some officers were shouting. Others just held their guns straight and still. Something bad was happening in that house. The officers were all tense. I could tell. The air smelled like panic.

  An officer yelled something toward the house. I picked up my trot again. I thought I could help! A good belly scratch for me always calms everyone down! My trot turned into a gallop.

  Galloping toward the officers turned out to be a mistake.

  Because as I ran toward Officer Lester, a police officer from the other side of the yard yelled, “Pit bull! Look out!”

  Now, I should pause and tell you I’m technically a Staffordshire terrier, which is a pit-bull-type dog. People cry “pit bull” for all sorts of dogs even if we aren’t officially American pit bull terriers. But this really doesn’t matter, so I’ll continue with the story.

  Officer Lester and the cop I didn’t know turned to look. Then, two things happened at once.

  Officer Lester put her gun down and yelled, “Spoooooooky! Stop!”

  And the officer I didn’t know turned toward me, gun still drawn. A wave of panic-smell roared toward me. The man was terrified—of me!

  Before I could put on my brakes, I heard Officer Lester yell, “NOOOOOO!”

  Then the officer I didn’t know pulled the trigger.

  The bad news? I got shot. Right in the leg.

  The good news? I don’t remember much about it. Not the pain. Not getting wrapped in a blanket by Officer Jackson and Officer Lester. Not getting rushed to the vet. I wish I did remember this because I got to ride up front for once—right on Officer Lester’s lap!

  No, the next thing I knew, I was lying on a cold table with a warm blanket on me. I wriggled my nose. Something was in it: a tube! My ears started picking up sounds around me. A man sniffled beside me.

  I stretched and moaned. Then the sniffling man said, “She’s waking up!”

  People shuffled all around me. I blinked my eyes open and watched a blur of people gather around me. Some wore white jackets. Others wore blue uniforms. The sniffling man wore blue. I noticed the sparkle of his badge right away.

  The room smelled like poodle poop and cat pee with an under-whiff of Lysol.

  But there was another, familiar smell. Something from just earlier in the day: gun metal and panic.

  “Spooky,” a voice said. “Good to see you, buddy.”

  I recognized the voice: Officer Lester!

  I sniffed around the tube in my nose and tried to lift my head. There was that familiar panic smell again. This time the smell came right to my nose as the sniffling man leaned in to rest his head on my shoulder.

  “I am so, so sorry, Spooky,” he said. “I am so sorry.”

  The familiar smell reminded me of one of my favorite smells: bacon. Turns out, the officer had a nice spot of grease on his sleeve. I leaned in for a lick.

  “She kissed you,” the woman in the white coat said. “Looks like she accepts your apology.”

  Now, humans have a bad habit of reading too much into dogs’ “kisses.” Sometimes we are just trying to lick the last bits of peanut butter off your messy faces! But other times, trying to get a lick of bacon grease paves the way for love and understanding.

  That’s what happened with me and Officer Torres—the officer who shot me.

  Because that day wasn’t only the beginning of a new life for me, it was the beginning of a new life for Officer Torres.

  CHAPTER 3

  Let me make a long story short.

  As soon as he pulled the trigger, Officer Torres knew he made a huge mistake. Later, when he visited schools, Officer Torres would tell students that he let his nerves and his prejudice and fear of pit bulls (again, I’m technically a Staffordshire terrier) get the best of him. His fear and prejudice affected his judgement. Those things caused him to make a terrible mistake. He wanted to do better.

  So, Officer Torres turned in his gun and took time off from being a cop. He saw doctors and therapists. He took classes in meditation and yoga. All to help him calm down and control his nerves.

  While Officer Torres was learning to handle his nerves better, I had to learn to walk better. The bullet shattered a bone in my front leg. The vets decided the best option was to amputate—or take off!—my whole leg. Turned out, they were right. I barely even noticed my leg was gone.

  And after several days in the hospital, Officer Lester became my foster mom. That meant, she’d take care of me until I found a new forever home. I wasn’t going back to live with Tina and her boys. After my final escape, Tina realized her home wasn’t safe for me. She was right. Even though I missed Tina’s boys, Officer Lester always had something to keep me busy. She took me to therapy where I practiced walking on a treadmill in the water. She took me to obedience classes, where I did a great job with all kinds of commands and tricks. She took me on long walks through the forest preserve. Officer Lester let me stretch with (and sometimes climb on) her when she did her morning yoga. But Officer Lester also worked long hours and had to have people come let me out when she was away. So, her home wasn’t a permanent solution either.

  One day, when Officer Lester’s sister offered to take me to visit the college where she taught. I thought it was just for fun. But Officer Lester’s sister had other plans. Prof. Lester heard all about my story, my recovery, and how well I was doing in obedience class. Officer Lester’s sister was extra impressed when she heard I showed up at court to visit Officer Torres—and that I snuggled right up next to him as the judge told him he was ready to be a cop again. That’s when she first noticed my moxie. So, Prof. Lester took me to campus and wal
ked right up to an office door.

  “Let’s introduce you to Reg,” Prof. Lester whispered as we stopped in front of a door. And that’s when my life really changed.

  Prof. Lester knocked on the office door. A man in a white lab coat opened it, smiled, and knelt right down to say hi to me. I slurped his nose. He smiled and sniffled. His eyes smelled like salt.

  “Prof. Boot,” Prof. Lester said. “This is Spooky. You may have seen her on the news. She was shot. By a police officer.”

  “Hi Spooky, I’m Reg…Reginald Boot. And I did hear about you,” Reg said, as he scratched me all over. I rolled onto my back, so he could get to my belly better.

  “She’s remarkable. My sister was on duty the day Spooky was shot. She saw the whole thing—rushed Spooky to the vet. She’s fostering her now.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Reg asked. “Is she working with her?”

  “Quite a bit,” Prof. Lester said. “She takes her to physical therapy and obedience classes. Spooky really excels at obedience—and at people skills, as you can see.”

  I was sitting in Reg’s lap by now, staring up at him and slurping his face.

  “Spooky holds no grudges,” Prof. Lester says. “She went to court with Officer Torres—the man who shot her—and helped him testify about what happened. Remarkable. As you know, my dream is to discover a new star, and I believe I have. Prof. Boot, I have found your next Helper Hound.”

  Reg smiled at me but shook his head. His eyes got glossy and began to smell of salt again.

  “I’m just not sure I’m ready to go through it again,” Reg said. He wiped his face, so I licked it for him. “I still miss Rico so much.”

  Prof. Boot sunk his face into my shoulder. The nice thing about missing a leg is that you have more spaces to snuggle.

  “What would make Rico happier than to know you got another Helper Hound—to carry on his legacy? Besides, rescuing—and loving—another dog is the best thing for grief—and your life. You know it.”