Oggie Cooder, Party Animal

  Oggie smiled and nodded. For a brief time he’d been sort of famous in Wawatosa because he’d been invited to charve on a TV show called Hidden Talents. In the end, though, he’d decided he wasn’t cut out for Hollywood.

  “Okay, George!” called the man who was up high working on the wires. “Bring ’er down.”

  While George worked the controls to bring his friend safely back down to the ground, Oggie asked him if he knew who had invented the cherry picker. George said he didn’t, and then he asked his friend, whose name it turned out was also George.

  “Nope,” said the short George as he climbed out of the bucket. “But who cares who invented it, as long as it works?”

  George and George asked if they could keep the charved cherry picker Oggie had made so they could take it home to show to their kids. Oggie quickly charved a second cherry picker so they could each have one, then he left the two men admiring his cheesy handiwork and walked the rest of the way home trying to imagine what it would feel like to invent something as useful as a cherry picker.

  * * *

  As usual, Turk was waiting at the door when Oggie got home.

  “Were you listening for my footsteps, boy?” Oggie asked as he crouched down next to Turk to give him a good belly scratch. Turk burped and rolled over onto his back, closing his eyes and wagging his tail with pleasure.

  Every day after school, Oggie took Turk for a long walk. Sometimes they went to the park where Oggie would throw tennis balls for Turk to chase. Other times they’d walk into town and drop in at Too Good to Be Threw, the resale shop that Oggie’s parents owned and ran in downtown Wawatosa.

  Turk knew the way to the park by heart and he knew the way to the store, too, but this time he didn’t choose to go in either of those directions. Instead he pulled Oggie down the street and around the corner toward Walnut Acres, a new housing development that had sprung up in the last year or so. Oggie had never walked around there before. He thought that Walnut Acres sounded like the kind of place a squirrel might want to live.

  Turk stopped to sniff at a bush in front of a house with a yellow door and a brand-new bike parked in the driveway. A boy in a red-and-white-striped shirt was leaning over, using a pump to put air in the front tire. His back was to Oggie, but when he stood up and turned around, Oggie was surprised to see who it was.

  “Hi, Dylan,” called Oggie. “I didn’t know you lived in Walnut Acres.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan answered. He raised his arms and smoothed his hair back with both hands, then pointed at Turk and said, “Cool dog.”

  Oggie walked up the driveway in order to properly introduce Turk to Dylan.

  “His real name is Turkey-on-Rye,” Oggie explained, “but I call him Turk for short.”

  Dylan bent down and scratched Turk behind the ears. In return, he got a big slobbery dog kiss on the cheek.

  “Have you done your homework yet?” Oggie asked Dylan.

  “Nope.”

  “Have you figured out what your haiku’s going to be about yet?”

  “Nope.”

  Oggie noticed something pink sticking out of Dylan’s back pocket and knew right away what it was. “Are you going to Donnica’s birthday party, too?” he asked.

  Dylan smoothed back his hair again.

  “Nope,” he said. “I don’t like girls.”

  “Any girls?” asked Oggie.

  “Nope,” Dylan replied. Then he pointed at Oggie’s right foot. “Your shoe’s untied.”

  Oggie looked down and saw that once again his right shoelace had come undone. He was going to have to measure more carefully from now on when he made his laces. Oggie looked around for a place to sit down and noticed a large red trunk sitting on the grass beside the driveway.

  “Okay if I sit on this while I tie my shoe?” Oggie asked.

  “Sure,” said Dylan, smoothing his hair back again even though it hadn’t moved a bit since the last time he’d done it.

  If only Oggie had opened the lid of the red trunk instead of sitting down on it, everything might have been different. Instead he finished tying his shoelace in a triple knot, which he hoped would keep it tied once and for all. Then he stood up and walked over to Dylan, who had gone back to pumping up his bike tires.

  “How about showing me your room?” Oggie said.

  Dylan shrugged. “Okay.”

  Oggie followed Dylan into the house, leaving the red trunk and its very interesting contents behind.

  Dylan’s house was nice inside. Oggie met his mom, and she offered him a cookie.

  “It doesn’t have any marshmallows in it, does it?” asked Oggie.

  “Are you allergic to marshmallows, Oggie?” Mrs. James seemed concerned.

  “No, but I can’t afford to lose any brain cells today,” he explained. “I have to write a haiku later and I have a feeling it’s going to be hard.”

  On the way up the stairs to Dylan’s room, Oggie asked Dylan what he liked to do for fun.

  “I’m into computers,” Dylan told him. “Games and Googling stuff for fun, you know?”

  Actually, Oggie didn’t know. Computers were on the list of things that his parents considered hazardous to his brain cells, so there was no Googling for fun at the Cooder house.

  “Do you have any cards?” asked Oggie.

  Dylan’s face immediately lit up.

  “You like cards?”

  “You betcha,” Oggie said enthusiastically. “I know a couple of good tricks I can teach you. Or we could play Old Maid. Or War.”

  Dylan’s face fell. Oggie was obviously not thinking of the same kind of cards he was. In Chicago, Dylan’s best friend had been named Bo. They’d done everything together. But since the James family had moved to Wawatosa, Dylan hadn’t met anybody like Bo. Mostly he’d just been hanging around by himself, or tagging along after his older brother, Justin, when Justin wasn’t too busy working.

  Up in Dylan’s room, Oggie learned that the cards Dylan was interested in weren’t playing cards. They were called Ghouler cards, and Dylan collected them.

  “I’ve got four hundred thirty-seven Ghorks, plus two of the four Shadow Zwills,” Dylan told him proudly.

  Oggie didn’t have any idea what Ghorks or Shadow Zwills were, and he didn’t see the point of collecting cards that you couldn’t even play Old Maid with. He was, however, interested in the poster over Dylan’s bed.

  “Have you been to Hawaii?” he asked, admiring the picture of palm trees lining a black sandy beach.

  “Yeah,” said Dylan.

  “I almost got a free trip to Hawaii once,” Oggie told him. “I entered a contest. But I didn’t win.”

  “Do you enter a lot of contests?” asked Dylan.

  “Bazillions,” said Oggie.

  “Have you ever won anything?”

  “Not yet. But next week I’m going to enter a birdcalling contest. I’m doing a yellow-bellied sapsucker. Want to hear?”

  “Maybe later,” said Dylan.

  There was an awkward silence. Finally, to make conversation, Dylan said, “We went to Hawaii last Christmas. That’s where I got the poster.”

  “My family always goes to Zanesville for Christmas,” Oggie told him. “My uncle Vern can gargle ‘Jingle Bells’ with a mouth full of eggnog.”

  Dylan tried not to be too obvious about it as he snuck a quick peek at his watch. Oggie was nice, but Dylan didn’t feel they had anything in common.

  Downstairs a door slammed loudly.

  “Yo, Little Bro!” called a deep voice.

  “Up here!” yelled Dylan.

  Oggie heard footsteps running up the stairs, and a minute later Dylan’s older brother, Justin, opened the door. The two brothers looked a lot alike except that Justin was taller and his hair was much longer than Dylan’s.

  “I’ve gotta take my suit downtown to the cleaners. Can I borrow your bike?” Justin asked.

  “Sure,” Dylan said.

  Justin looked at Oggie and whistled.

  “Where’d you
get those checkered pants, man? They’re sweet.”

  “They’re from my parents’ store,” Oggie told him.

  “I didn’t think this town had any stores that sold decent stuff like that,” said Justin.

  Oggie was proud of what his parents did for a living. “It’s called Too Good to Be Threw,” he said. “I get all my clothes from there. Except for my shoelaces. I make those myself.”

  Turk began to bark. Oggie had left him tied up outside because the James family had a cat. Turk felt the same way about cats as he did about paper, loose change, and dirty socks — yum.

  “Okay, Turkey Boy, I get the message!” Oggie called out the window. Then he turned to Dylan and said, “I guess I should get going.”

  “Yeah,” said Dylan, who still wished he could find somebody at Truman who at least knew what Ghouler cards were.

  “I’d love to check out your parents’ store,” said Justin, still admiring Oggie’s pants. “I could really use a pair of those. But I’m so swamped I don’t have any time to go shopping. I’ve got three jobs this weekend, plus I’m busing tables at the Clam Digger every night this week. I need all the work I can get. I’m saving up for a car.”

  “Tell Oggie what happened at the Clam Digger last night,” Dylan said.

  “Oh, some guy choked on a clam shell and I had to do the Heimlich maneuver on him.”

  “What’s the Heimlich maneuver?” asked Oggie.

  Justin put his arms around Dylan’s middle to demonstrate.

  “You put your fists together in the front like this, squeeze hard, and then watch out, because whatever the person’s choking on comes flying out like a rocket.”

  “Neat-o!” said Oggie.

  “Not as neat-o as those checkered pants you’ve got on, little dude,” said Justin.

  “If you want, I can ask my mom if she has any more like these at the store. If she does, I could bring them to you,” Oggie offered. “What size do you wear?”

  Justin told Oggie what size he wore and thanked him.

  “I owe you one, man,” he said.

  Little did he know how soon he would be repaying the favor.

  On his way out, Oggie stopped to say good-bye to Mrs. James and to thank her for the cookie.

  “I hope you’ll come visit Dylan again,” she said with a smile. “He could use a nice friend like you. We bought him that bike hoping he’d ride around the neighborhood and explore a little, but all he seems to want to do is stay up in his room on the computer.”

  On the way home Oggie decided to practice his yellow-bellied sapsucker call. His interest in birdcalling had begun when his aunt Hettie sent him something called a Swiss Warbler. It was a small leather half-moon-shaped device that you put on your tongue. There was a tiny piece of cellophane on one side of it, and if you hissed air across it in just the right way, you could make very realistic-sounding chirps and twitters.

  The yellow-bellied sapsucker has three different calls: KWEE-URK kwee-urk, which means “stay away from me,” week-week wurp-wurp, which means “I like you,” and k-waan k-waan, which means “I’m very excited.”

  * * *

  As he turned the corner and started up Tullahoma Street, Oggie was concentrating hard on his kwee-urk. Mrs. Perfecto, who was standing out on her front lawn, staring at the bushes growing in front of her house, heard the strange sound and, seeing that it was Oggie, waved him over.

  “Is your mother at home?” she asked anxiously.

  “Shleeze shill esh ush shorsh,” said Oggie, forgetting that he still had the Swiss Warbler in his mouth. Realizing his mistake, he quickly pulled it out and repeated his response. “She’s still at the store.”

  “Oh,” said Mrs. Perfecto, nervously eyeing the spitty Swiss Warbler in Oggie’s hand. “Perhaps I’ll give her a call later and see if she can stop by.”

  Turk started tugging on his leash. He was clearly interested in sniffing the Perfectos’ bushes, but Oggie thought that might not be a great idea, especially with Mrs. Perfecto standing right there. He popped the Swiss Warbler back in his mouth so that he’d have both hands free to keep Turk on the sidewalk.

  Mrs. Perfecto looked over at her bushes again and sighed. She was very worried. The Garden Club committee could stop by without warning at any time to inspect her yard. It just wouldn’t do to have raggedy rhododendrons. She needed Isabel Cooder’s help, and there wasn’t a minute to spare.

  Turning back to Oggie, Mrs. Perfecto smiled. “By the way,” she said, a little more sweetly than was necessary, “did you receive the invitation to Donnica’s party? I do hope your mother is aware that you’ve been invited, dear.”

  At the mention of Donnica’s birthday party, Oggie attempted to prrrrr-ip! But because of the Swiss Warbler in his mouth, it came out sounding more like a squawk.

  Mrs. Perfecto was so startled by the sound that she put her hand to her heart.

  “Oh, my!” she exclaimed.

  Oggie pulled the spitty warbler out of his mouth once more.

  “I wouldn’t miss the party for anything,” he told Mrs. Perfecto happily. “But I do have a question I need to ask Donnica. Is she home by any chance?”

  “Why, yes. She’s upstairs with her friends. Just a second and I’ll get her for you.” Mrs. Perfecto lifted her head and yelled at the top of her lungs, “DONNICA!”

  A few seconds later an upstairs window slid open and Donnica stuck her head out.

  Oggie waved up at her.

  “Ewww,” said Donnica, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mind your manners,” scolded Mrs. Perfecto quickly. She couldn’t afford to have her daughter being rude to Isabel Cooder’s son — not with her rhododendrons looking the way they did. “Be polite, Cupcake. Our wonderful little neighbor here has something he needs to ask you.”

  “I was just wondering if you figured out yet what you want me to get you for your birthday,” Oggie called up.

  “Isn’t that lovely?” cried Mrs. Perfecto.

  Donnica’s blue eyes narrowed slightly, like a cat preparing to pounce on a mouse. This was the moment she’d been waiting for.

  “Come on up,” she called down to Oggie in the same overly sweet voice her mother had just been using.

  Knowing she only had a short time before Oggie got to her room, Donnica quickly pulled her head inside and closed the window. Then she turned to Dawn and Hannah, who were sitting next to each other on the big pink canopy bed.

  “Remember that little plan I told you about?” she asked them. “Well, get ready because the time has come to put it into action.”

  “What do you want us to do?” asked Hannah.

  “Nothing. Just leave the talking to me.”

  * * *

  Oggie had never been inside the Perfectos’ house before, but Mrs. Perfecto told him to go up the stairs and that Donnica’s room would be the third door on the left.

  “Can I bring my dog in with me?” he asked.

  Mrs. Perfecto shuddered at the thought of a giant, hairy dog walking around on her nice clean carpets, but then she glanced at her raggedy rhododendrons and reconsidered.

  “The Cooders are all welcome in our home,” Mrs. Perfecto told him, quickly adding, “Make sure to tell your mother that I said that, won’t you, dear?”

  When Oggie reached the top of the stairs, he turned left and began to count. The first door he passed was the bathroom. Next to it was a narrow door that looked like some kind of a closet. The third door was closed and had a pink heart with a letter D painted on it.

  Oggie knocked and Donnica told him to come in. As he opened the door and stepped inside, he tripped over the end of that pesky right shoelace, which had come undone again despite the triple knot. Oggie did his best to regain his balance, flapping his arms like a giant albatross, but despite his efforts, he ended up sprawled on Donnica’s fuzzy pink rug with his head resting on the toe of her right shoe.

  Donnica quickly pulled her foot out from under Oggie’s head, l
etting it smoosh into the carpet. Oggie sat up and began to retie his shoelace — this time in a quadruple knot — while Turk made himself at home, sniffing around the room for a minute before settling down next to Oggie on the rug.

  Donnica flashed Hannah and Dawn a watch-this kind of a look.

  “Oggie” she began, “I think we need to have a little talk.”

  “Okay,” Oggie said, smiling up at her.

  “See, there’s something you should know about my birthday party.”

  “Prrrrr-ip! Prrrrr-ip!” went Oggie. He couldn’t help it. Every time the subject of the party came up, he felt happy all over again.

  “Is there something you want to tell me about your present?” Oggie asked. “ ’Cause I want to get you something you really, really —”

  “No!” Donnica put up a hand to stop him. “This is not about my present.” She paused to sit down on the bed between Hannah and Dawn, who quickly scooted over to make room for her. “I want to talk to you about the B.P.R.’s.”

  “B.P.R.’s?” said Oggie.

  “Birthday Party Rules,” Donnica explained.

  “You never had rules at any of your birthday parties before,” blurted Dawn, forgetting the instruction she’d been given to keep quiet.

  Donnica immediately jammed her elbow into Dawn’s ribs hard enough to make her jump.

  “Of course I did. You remember the rules, don’t you, Dawn?” Donnica said pointedly.

  “I do now,” Dawn muttered, rubbing her tender ribs.

  “Anyway,” Donnica continued, turning her attention back to Oggie, “I thought I’d better tell you about the rules ahead of time since this is the first time you’ve ever come to one of my parties.”

  “All right,” Oggie agreed.

  But the truth was, as Dawn had said, there had never been any birthday party rules before. Donnica’s big plan was to invent a bunch of rules she knew it would be impossible for Oggie to follow.

  “If you can’t follow the rules, you can’t come to my party,” she informed Oggie.

  “Okay,” he said. He’d never heard of birthday party rules before, but was certainly willing to do whatever it took in order to be allowed to come to Donnica’s party and swim in her pool.