Stories

Pinkytoes

By Jeanne Zornes

“Uh-oh,” Jardel said when he saw the flashing red lights of an ambulance in front of his apartment building. His school backpack thumped hard as he ran to the front hall and stopped by the mailboxes.

“Easy now,” he heard someone say. The stairway’s metal stair rails clanged and clunked as something hit them. “We’re almost there, Mr. Carver.”

Not Mr. Carver, Jardel groaned. But he soon saw their sick, older neighbor coming down the stairs on a stretcher. Right behind, wearing a pink sweat suit, was Mrs. Carver. Then Jardel spotted a tiny ivory-colored dog poking its head out of her big pink purse.

Pinkytoes. That’s what Mrs. Carver called her little dog.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Carver,” one of the medics said. “Your dog can’t come.”

“But who will take care of Pinkytoes?” Mrs. Carver cried. “Oh, there’s my neighbor’s boy. Thank you, Jardel!”

Before he realized what had happened, he was holding an enormous, wiggling purse. As the ambulance wailed away, he took a big breath. Yikes! What stunk? Then he realized the smell came from Pinkytoes in the bottom of the big pink purse.

“Phee-yew-ee!” Jardel declared.

It hadn’t been that bad when his family first met Pinkytoes. Mrs. Carver had invited him, his brother, and his mother over for strawberry ice cream. Everything at the Carvers was pink! Pictures of pink flamingos hung on the their pink walls above their pink floral furniture. Pint-sized Pinkytoes had a pink rhinestone collar, a pink feeding bowl, and pink-polished claws. She’d curled up on a pink velvet dog bed with a crooked hyena-like grin.

But Pinkytoes never came in Jardel’s family’s apartment. That’s because they had an orange dog-hater named Napoleon. He’d hiss and fluff up to three times his cat size when he saw Pinkytoes.

“Hope your door’s unlocked,” Jardel said as he ran upstairs with the dog-purse. He tried the doorknob. It was locked. Now he had no choice but to bring Pinkytoes to their apartment.

“I’m home, Gilberto,” he called out. His high school brother always got home from school ahead of him. Jardel spotted Napoleon sleeping on the couch, like an orange feather boa.

“Arf!” Pinkytoes let out a yelp as Jardel put down the bag. Napoleon’s eyes flew open.

Jardel had to hide Pinkytoes, but where? Quickly he shoved the purse and dog in the coat closet.

“Gil!” he yelled above Pinkytoes’ yelps from inside the closet. For a tiny dog, she sure had a big bark.

“What’s going on?” Gilberto asked, coming out of their bedroom. “Do I hear Pinkytoes?”

“Mr. Carver had to go to the hospital in a hurry and the medics wouldn’t let Pinkytoes go too and Mrs. Carver handed her to me,” Jardel said in one breath.

Gilberto followed the barking to the coat closet and opened it.

“Watch out for Napoleon,” Jardel warned as the dog skittered out.

Gilberto grabbed Pinkytoes just before Napoleon jumped off the couch.

“Phewy, Pinky’s stinky,” Gilberto said.

“I don’t have a leash or food or anything for her,” Jardel complained.

“Hmm, that’s a problem,” Gilberto said, one eye on Napoleon.

Jardel grabbed Napoleon just as he started fluffing up for battle and pushed him into their mom’s bedroom. Meanwhile, Gilberto found some package ribbon and tied it on Pinkytoe’s collar.

“Better take her for a walk,” Gilberto said.

Even outside, Jardel nearly gagged over the dog’s bad smell. She wasn’t always that stinky. Pinkytoes used to go every month to the Pooch Palace. There she’d get a bath, clip, perfume, pink bows, and nail polish for her claws.

Then Mr. Carver got sick. Mrs. Carver couldn’t leave him alone. So she had her groceries delivered and asked Jardel and Gilberto to bring up her mail and take down her garbage bags. Ugh, Jardel remembered as Pinkytoes sniffed the weeds in the alley. Since she couldn’t walk Pinkytoes any more, Mrs. Carver’s garbage was full of newspapers used for Pinkytoes’ “duty.”

Gilberto was on the phone when Jardel returned. He mouthed “Mrs. Carver” to Jardel as he listened. “Pinkytoes is no problem,” Gilberto finally said. “You take care of your husband. Don’t worry about anything. Here, talk to Pinkytoes. Jardel just took her on a walk.” When he held the phone to the dog’s ear, she barked and her hyena mouth seemed to smile.

“Mrs. Carver?” Gilberto continued, putting the phone back to his ear. “Pinky’s a little stinky. Would you mind if we gave her a bath?”

We…Pinkytoes…bath! Jardel’s mouth dropped open. Hadn’t they done enough already? Besides, he’d never given a dog a bath!

“Go find Napoleon’s pet shampoo in the pantry,” Gilberto said. “I’ve got time to help before I leave for work.”

Jardel groaned. He didn’t want to give a pampered pooch a bath! He crouched in the pantry. Napoleon’s cat food, flea powder, kitty litter—it had to be somewhere. All this stuff for a cat that just ate and slept. Well, they took care of him because they loved him. In a way, that was like Mr. and Mrs. Carver. He’d overheard Mrs. Carver tell his mom, “Yes, some days are hard, but I love my husband. I take it day by day with God.”

Jardel couldn’t help Mr. Carver get well, but maybe God could use him to help Mrs. Carver in other ways—like giving Pinkytoes a bath. There—the pet shampoo!

“It’s almost like bathing Napoleon,” Gilberto explained as he ran warm water in the bathtub. “Except, dogs don’t go crazy and dig their claws in you.”

Pinkytoes quivered as Gilberto lifted her into two inches of water. The dog’s tail drooped as Jardel soaped and rinsed her.

“She sure looks little when she’s wet,” Jardel remarked. He lifted her onto an old towel and gave her a rub-down. Then the dog broke free, barking, running in circles, and shaking water onto Jardel. He laughed, remembering how grumpy Napoleon acted after his baths. Then it hit him. He often acted like his grumpy cat when asked to help somebody. Wasn’t this what their priest talked about for Lent—changing bad habits, like being grumpy?

His mom got home in time to show Jardel how to carefully use her hair dryer, set on warm, on Pinkytoes. Then they dabbed some of her perfume under her chin and tied pink ribbons on her ears.

“Oh, my baby,” Mrs. Carver exclaimed when she picked up Pinkytoes that night. “Did Jardel give you a bath? Oh, you smell so good! And bows! I’m sorry I was too busy to get you groomed. Oh, thank you, thank you!”

She cuddled Pinkytoes next to her cheek as she gave Jardel a big hug.

“You’re my hero,” she said. “You and the ambulance, the doctors and nurses. I have heroes all over!”

Jardel didn’t feel like a hero. He and Gilberto and his mom had just helped a little. Mrs. Carver was the real hero for the big job of taking care of Mr. Carver. But Jardel could still help her in little ways—and most importantly, by wanting to do it.

“Hey, Pinkytoes,” he said as he handed Mrs. Carver her pink dog purse.

“Wanna go on walks with me every day?”

He took Pinkytoes’ hyena grin as a “yes!”

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