Good Dogs in Bad Sweaters Read online

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York

  Text copyright © 2021 by Working Partners Ltd.

  Illustrations copyright © 2021 by Victoria Freeman

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  G. P. Putnam’s Sons is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  Ebook ISBN 9780593108512

  Design by Eileen Savage and Suki Boynton, adapted for ebook by Michelle Quintero

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_5.8.0_c0_r0

  To our parents, for making us dog people

  —R.W. and D.S.

  For Steve, Steven, and Bob

  Love from Tor xx

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Hurry up and fetch all of the Good Dogs adventures!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  About the Illustrator

  About the Authors

  Hurry up and fetch all of the Good Dogs adventures!

  Good Dogs on a Bad Day

  Good Dogs with Bad Haircuts

  Good Dogs in Bad Sweaters

  CHAPTER 1

  Go on, buddy, fetch!” Erin shouted as she threw the tennis ball across the dog run, which had been spruced up with twinkly lights draped over the wire fence.

  King leapt into the chilly air, excited. “It’s happening again!” he yelped, running after the ball for the fifteenth time that chilly afternoon. “She threw it again!”

  The very good dogs of Good Dogs doggy day care hadn’t been coming to the park all that often now that it was December and getting cold, so they were trying to make the most of it.

  Hugo shook his head as he sat in the shade and watched his friend. “That’s how fetch works, bud,” he barked back.

  “I know! I know! But I still get so surprised!”

  “Come on, Waffles,” Hugo said, nudging his floofy little sister with his nose. She was still a lot smaller than him but getting bigger (and floofier) every day. “Why don’t you go play with King?”

  “In a little bit!” Waffles replied. “Lulu is teaching me how to find my best angle. Can I get an Instagram so I can become a celebrity like her?”

  “Maybe. But come on,” Hugo pleaded. “You’re so good at fetch! Lulu, did she tell you she set a new fetch record in the backyard with Zoe the other day?”

  “You told me,” Lulu said. “Twice this morning.”

  “Right. Well, did I tell you she got an award at obedience school? Best Sitter! And there are some pretty experienced sitters in that class, so . . .”

  Waffles whined. Hugo knew he was embarrassing her, but he just couldn’t help himself. He was a proud big brother!

  “An award?” Lulu’s ears perked up. “I love awards. Last year I won an Instagrammy for Best Dog Dressed Like a Cat . . . Dressed Like a Dog. It’s on the shelf next to my bed, and I chew on it every morning.”

  “I guess it was pretty cool to win an award,” said Waffles, tossing her head back. Lulu’s approval seemed to mean a lot to Waffles. “But I wouldn’t know anything about sitting if it weren’t for Hugo. I’d probably be standing my whole life!”

  Hugo beamed. He and Waffles had bonded a lot over the past few months since she’d become part of his family. He looked across the park, where King was zooming around in circles with the ball in his mouth. King’s big sister, Cleo, a German shepherd mix, and Petunia, the playful one-year-old pit bull, ran over to join him. The wise old sheepdog, Patches, was slowly walking laps around the edge of the dog run and muttering happily to himself, his usual routine.

  “What should I do now?” Hugo heard King bark.

  “Give the ball back to Erin . . . ?” Cleo suggested. “So she can throw it again?”

  “Oh yeah! Of course!” King said, and he ran over and dropped the ball at Erin’s feet. “Fetch, Erin! Fetch!”

  “You don’t have to say it to her,” Cleo explained.

  Hugo laughed. “Should we join them?” he asked Lulu and Waffles.

  “I think I’m good,” Lulu said. “We’re about to start filming my new reality series, Hot Dog! And my hair finally grew back to normal. So I really can’t afford to take a ball to my moneymaker right now.”

  Hugo gave her a puzzled look.

  “Sorry, moneymaker is what we dogs in the biz call a ‘face,’ ” Lulu explained. “And biz is what we in the biz call the ‘Bizarre Job of Entertainment.’ I think.”

  Hugo and Waffles both nodded. Lulu had been talking about her new show nonstop. It wasn’t going to be on the big rectangle in the living room, she had explained, but it was going to be on a pet-themed “streaming app” called Waggo. Hugo couldn’t keep track of the rapidly changing media landscape, but it mostly didn’t matter, because he was a dog. And it was true, Hugo noticed. Lulu did look a lot more like Lulu than she had with the strange haircut she had had the previous month.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to be a movie star,” said Waffles, staring at Lulu in awe.

  “Well, not yet,” Lulu said with a sigh. “But the web series was a big hit, so this show is just going to be about me. It could be my big break! If I do a good job. Which I will, obviously!”

  Lulu sounded very confident, but her tail flagged just a teeny bit. It was a small thing, but Hugo could tell she was nervous.

  “Of course you will, Lulu,” Napoleon said reassuringly as he sauntered over and sat down next to Hugo. “You’ve got this. I believe in you. We all do. All you need to do is keep believing in yourself.”

  Napoleon had recently started training to be a therapy dog, and Hugo still hadn’t gotten used to the French bulldog’s new positive personality. He even wore a new harness that said “Comfort Dog in Training.” Lately, it felt like Napoleon loved supporting his friends and talking about their feelings as much as he loved eating sandwiches and digging holes. Not to mention, he had quietly become one of the best-behaved dogs in town. As part of his training, he was going into hospitals and nursing homes to help sick people feel better.

  Hugo was surprised that Napoleon had gone into this line of work, but it seemed to suit him perfectly. Just like being his own family’s assistant, schedule keeper, shoe finder, dog treat taster, couch sleeper, and Waffles’s big brother suited Hugo. Hugo was inspired and impressed that his friend was making the world a better place.

  Cleo an
d King came running over to Hugo, Lulu, Napoleon, and Waffles.

  “Did you see that?” asked King, excited as ever. “I ran after the ball like a hundred times! And Erin said I was a good boy! Did you hear Erin say I was a good boy? Jin thinks I’m a good boy too! He said so this morning. Did you hear Jin say I was a good boy?! Well, first he asked me who was a good boy, but then he answered his own question and said it was ME, and actually he says it every morning and—”

  “Calm down, King,” Cleo said, and she demonstrated taking a deep breath in and out. “I noticed! Jin loves us! Who wouldn’t? We’re adorable.”

  Ever since Erin and her longtime boyfriend, Jin, had gotten married, Hugo had watched King and Cleo welcome Jin into their family with outstretched paws. Jin even helped Erin out at Good Dogs some days, and the good dogs loved him very much.

  Just then Hugo heard a noise from above and saw Nuts the squirrel dart out of the leaves of a nearby tree.

  “Dog!” Nuts squeaked, running back and forth on a branch. “Dog here! Dog there! What? How? Why? When?”

  Nuts was famously a very nervous squirrel, and Hugo had seen him bug out before, but this was really something. The good dogs were regulars at this dog park, so why was Nuts surprised to see them?

  “What’s going on, Nuts?” Cleo asked, calm as ever.

  “Well,” he said, staring at them all intensely from above. “I just saw Waffles over by the skating rink. But here is Waffles right below me, again! Does Waffles have super-squirrel speed? Is Waffles in two places at once?! Something suspicious is going on! Something spooky! Something scary! Something totally weird! WHAT. IS. HAPPENING?”

  Nuts stood over their heads, panting, his tail twitching, with a wild look in his eyes. They all stared back until Lulu finally broke the silence.

  “Nuts are you, like . . . okay?” she asked.

  Nuts sighed, then scurried down to join them on the ground. “I haven’t been sleeping,” he explained. “Berries is going to have our babies any day now!”

  “Oh my dog! Babies!” Hugo said. “That’s so exciting! Congratulations.”

  “Mazel tov!” Napoleon added. “That should be cause for celebration.”

  “I was a baby once,” Patches recounted, with a far-off stare. “I enjoyed it very much, as I recall. You see, the year was 1967, I’m pretty sure, the summer of love, and—”

  Hugo didn’t think there was any way Patches could be that old, but Nuts interrupted before he could say anything.

  “You don’t get it!” he shouted. “Squirrels can have up to seven babies at one time! Do you have any idea how many mouths we’d have to feed? That would be . . .” Nuts counted on his tiny squirrel fingers. “SEVEN!” he shrieked. “And we still have so much to do! Build a nest! Stock up on acorns! I don’t know if you guys have noticed this, but I never know where my acorns are!”

  The dogs all nodded. They had noticed.

  “What kind of dad can’t even find his own acorns?” Nuts continued. “Don’t get me wrong—I am so excited to be a dad and meet my babies. But I’m gonna have to really step up while Berries is recovering. And WINTER IS COMING! THAT’S ONE OF THE COLDEST SEASONS, I THINK. AM I SCREAMING? I FEEL LIKE I’M SCREAMING!”

  “Wow, there’s a lot to unpack there,” Napoleon said thoughtfully, taking a couple of steps toward the twitching squirrel. “It sounds like you love Berries very much and you want to be helpful!”

  “I do! I love her so much!” Nuts said, nodding.

  “Well, she loves you too. And you’re going to work as a team and figure this all out together. You know what they say: ‘Family is everything.’ At least that’s what the pillow my mom put on the sofa says.”

  “You’re right,” said Nuts, calming down a bit. “You’re so right. Thanks, Napoleon.”

  Nuts started breathing normally again. And just in the nick of time too, since Erin was now standing near the fence with their leashes.

  “King! Cleo! Hugo! Lulu! Waffles! Patches! Petunia! Napoleon!” Erin called out. “Come here, everyone!”

  “Good luck, Nuts,” Napoleon said. “You’re gonna be great!”

  And with that, they all ran off to form a perfect line in front of Erin. She leashed them up, and they made their way through the park and back toward Good Dogs doggy day care, which was also Erin’s house.

  “The holidays will be here before we know it! What’s everyone doing this year?” Hugo asked.

  “Jasmine and I are going to celebrate Christmas at home,” Lulu said. “We usually go to Minnesota to see her fam, but my show is shooting a special Christmas-themed ep. Sorry, ep is what we in the biz call an ‘episode.’ Anyways, I think she’s a little sad about it, but I’m sure we’ll have an awesome Christmas, just the two of us.”

  “What about you, Napoleon?” Hugo asked. “Any Christmas plans?”

  “We celebrate Hanukkah,” Napoleon said proudly. “Which means that I’ll be getting eight presents. One for each night. We already started!”

  All the dogs oohed and aahed. Eight presents! That sounded pretty great.

  “Eight presents is nothing,” King exclaimed. “Erin celebrates Christmas and Hanukkah, which means we’ll get whatever eight plus one prezzies is! What is that, Cleo, like a million prezzies or something?”

  “That’s nine, King,” Cleo answered. “And you forgot to mention the latkes . . .”

  Napoleon nearly started slobbering all over the side-walk, and King’s tail wiggled back and forth joyously.

  Hugo was about to ask what a latke was when King suddenly started growling. There was a man dressed as Santa Claus at the entrance to the park collecting money for charity. King must have been confused and upset by the man’s big red coat and beard. He started tugging on his leash while Petunia let out a few anxious barks, and even Cleo and Patches seemed a bit uneasy. The man was ringing a bell, and Hugo had to admit the bell made him a little nervous too. Why did bells have to be so loud?

  Erin pulled King back and steadied the dogs. “It’s okay, guys,” she said soothingly. “It’s just Santa.”

  “Yeah,” Waffles chimed in as Erin pulled them all away from the man. “Santa’s the best! He brings presents to boys and girls all over the world. He lives in the North Pole and rides a cool sleigh and has the best beard! I love Santa! We have no reason to be afraid of him!”

  Petunia looked unsure. “Did a human tell you that?” she asked. “Sounds like typical human nonsense to me. Even if that does happen, we dogs are totally left out of the fun. As usual!”

  “No way!” Waffles said, jumping up and down. “Santa has a dog! His name is Santadoodle, and he leaves presents for all the dogs in every family! He puts treats and toys in their owners’ shoes! Can you imagine finding a present inside the most delicious-smelling thing in the house? I can’t wait!”

  Hugo scowled and cocked his head to the side, surprised to hear this. He’d lived through enough Christmases with his family to know that Petunia was right—Santa was mostly for the humans. Sometimes he’d get a nice chew toy, or a couple of treats, but he’d never gotten a special present in Enrique’s shoes, or anyone else’s. And he’d definitely never heard of Santadoodle. Zoe must have told Waffles about Santa, Hugo figured, but he’d never heard any of the kids talk about Santa’s dog.

  “Santadoodle sounds pretty great, Waffles,” Hugo said. “Who told you about him?”

  “My mom!” Waffles answered. “When we were strays, before we all got taken to different shelters, she told me and my brothers and sisters all about Santadoodle and how someday we’d all live in loving homes where Santadoodle would come and give us presents! She used to get gifts from Santadoodle when she had a human family, I guess. I can’t wait for my first visit from Santadoodle. I’m going to stay up all night on Christmas so I can see him!”

  Hugo didn’t know how to respond. He locked eyes with Lulu, who gave him
a look as if to say, Don’t worry about it. But Hugo was already worried.

  He wondered if Waffles’s mom had made up Santadoodle to make her puppies feel better. Or maybe her original owner celebrated Christmas with Santadoodle and presents in shoes. Hugo knew different families had different traditions. But he didn’t want to burst Waffles’s bubble. He imagined Waffles waking up on Christmas morning and looking in Zoe’s shoes only to find them empty. She would be crushed. Devastated. Her Christmas would be ruined!

  If Waffles wanted a visit from Santadoodle, Hugo decided, she was going to get a visit from Santadoodle. But how?

  He wished more than ever that his humans could understand his barks and whines and pants. Then he’d be able to walk right up to them and say, “Mom, Dad. Waffles is expecting a gift for Christmas inside someone’s shoe! I know it sounds strange, but you have to trust me on this!”

  But that would be impossible. So that meant it was up to Hugo to make Santadoodle happen.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, back at home, Hugo dug around in the front hall closet. Mom had left it open, and Hugo was trying to find something, anything, that he could leave for Waffles on Christmas.

  Maybe she’d like an extension cord? He sniffed at it a bit. No, probably not. What about this basket full of yarn?

  He chewed on a ball of yarn for a moment, trying to imagine finding it inside a shoe.

  Nah, too itchy.

  Then he smelled something interesting in the back of the closet. He pawed a bunch of junk out of the way to reveal an old Frisbee! Perfect! This would be just the thing.

  Ol’ Hugo, he thought to himself, you’re too good at this. You’ve already got it all figured out! He re-buried the Frisbee for later and trotted out into the living room, where Waffles was on the floor on her back, watching cartoons with Zoe.

  “You know what I want from Santadoodle?” Hugo said, testing the waters. “A nice old Frisbee. Maybe a striped one that’s been chewed a little. Doesn’t that sound great? Do you know about Frisbees, Waffles? They’re hard and they fly through the air and sometimes they whack you in the face if you don’t catch them just right, but it doesn’t really hurt.”