The Idiom Wizard: Chapter 9

Well, school was definitely cancelled the next day.

Buuuut not because of snow.

Actually (surprisingly!), all the snow had completely melted and left everything flooded. Water overflowed out of roof gutters and drip-drip-dripped onto the already soggy ground. Puddles scattered the middle of the streets and more water flowed along the curbs pouring into sewer drains like mini suburban waterfalls. (“Suburban” means town. I looked it up just for this book!)

Honestly, though, other than all the water, everything seemed to have gone back too normal.

But like I said, school didn’t get cancelled because of snow, but because of what I’m ABOUT to tell you…

 

The next morning when I came out of my room, exhausted from a horrible night’s sleep, Dad said, “Morning,” but didn’t look away from the television.

The same news reporter from the night before seemed to have already forgotten about Hello, MI and the blizzard that buried us. She said, “If we call an eight-tentacled octopus an octopus because Octo is the Greek word for eight, then what should we call this nine-tentacled cutie?”

A picture of a slimy creature with one too many tentacles flashed across the screen.

“Definitely not cute,” Mom said, setting my breakfast on the table.

I reached for my fork.

“Hold on,” she said. “Go feed Bonzi first.”

I grumbled, but did as she asked. (Who am I kidding? Do parents ever actually ask?)

Anyway, Bonzi is our dog. He’s a full-blooded boxer and he’s pretty awesome. He doesn’t do any neat tricks or anything. But he doesn’t bark, or bite, or pee or chew on stuff either. Our backyard is fenced in, so we just let him run around back there chasing birds or squirrels or whatever it is dogs do to entertain themselves since they can’t play video games.

He was happy to see me when I stepped out the back door.

Then he wasn’t.

Suddenly, his smiling, drooling dog-tongued face snapped shut and his eyes widened. He whimpered.

“What’s wrong, boy?” I asked, taking a step towards him.

His back arched, and his tiny nub of a tail tucked between his legs. I took a step forward, then stopped. Slowly, he began to lift off the ground, inches at first, and then a foot or two until we were eye level.

For a second, I was shocked. Then I snapped out of it. “Whoaa,” I said. I tried to run to him, but I wasn’t fast enough. He kept raising into the sky, out of my reach, higher than my house, than all the trees, and then higher and higher. I heard him whimpering, but there was nothing I could do!

“Bonzi!” I yelled, as if me yelling would stop whatever weirdness was going on from happening. “Bonzi!”

The higher Bonzi floated away, the tinier and tinier he appeared until he was just a shrunken spec!

I stood there staring up for hours waiting for him to come down. Okay, maybe it was only seconds, but it felt like forever. I was absolutely confused… Did I fall asleep standing and dream it? Did my dog just get abducted by aliens? Did he evolve into a dog that could fly? What in the world was happening??!

It wasn’t until I noticed all the other cats and dogs raising into the sky that I snapped out of my trance. They were all whimpering and meowing, too. And all around me, in every backyard and on every street corner that I could see, people stood staring into the sky at their own pets, just as confused as me.

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