Oggie Cooder Page 7

  “Oggie, we’ve got a problem,” he said.

  “Sorry, Brad, but before I do anything else I have to take Turk out,” Oggie apologized. “Otherwise I might end up with the kind of problem that leaves a stain on the rug.”

  While Oggie walked Turk, Donnica sat down next to Brad on the steps and asked him what was the matter.

  “The problem is, Oggie Fever is spreading faster than we thought it would. It’s gone way beyond Wawatosa. Kids all over the country are starting to dress like him and act like him. They’re saying ‘yeppers.’ And adopting shaggy dogs from the pound, crocheting shoelaces, and charving cheese. He’s even got a fan club with a Web site — Prrrrrip.com.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” asked Donnica, who would have given anything to have a fan club.

  “You would think so,” said Brad. “But the show won’t air for another month after the taping, and the producers are worried that Oggie Cooder will be old news by that time. People won’t care anymore.”

  Donnica felt her free ride to Hollywood slipping through her fingers.

  “There has to be something we can do,” she said, quickly jumping up. She pulled her lip gloss out of her pocket and began pacing nervously as she ran it over her lips. Suddenly, she stopped.

  “I’ve got it!” Donnica said excitedly. “It’s the exact same thing as the toaster! We have to turn up the dial!”

  Brad looked confused. “On the toaster?” he asked.

  “No, on Oggie. We have to turn up the dial on Oggie and make him Oggier,” Donnica said.

  A smile slowly spread across Brad’s face.

  “You know what?” he said. “I think you might be onto something here. Make Oggie Oggier, huh? I like it!”

  In the time that it took Oggie to walk Turk around the block, Donnica and Brad had come up with a plan for how to make Oggie Oggier. Brad made several phone calls, then drove off in a hurry. Two minutes later, Donnica took off on her bicycle in the opposite direction.

  “Where is everybody?” Oggie wondered aloud when he and Turk got back.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  Oggie heard a strange sound outside.

  “Hey, Oggie!” someone called.

  Oggie ran to the window and looked out. David Korben was standing in the driveway bouncing his basketball.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  “Hi, David,” said Oggie as he came outside and stood on the porch. “What’s up?”

  “I just saw old bossy face ride off on her bicycle, so I figured maybe this would be a good time to come over and see if you want to play some B-ball.”

  “You mean now?” asked Oggie. “With you?”

  “Sure, why not?” David said.

  “I can’t. I have to practice my charving. Donnica says my Ulysses S. Grant looks too much like Santa Claus.”

  “Oh, come on,” said David. “The guys are all over at the courts by the school, waiting. We really want you to play with us.”

  “But Donnica says —”

  “Who cares what she says?” interrupted David. “You can’t spend all your time charving, can you? Besides, if you hang around with cheese too much, you might turn into a mouse, or something.”

  Oggie laughed.

  “Well … maybe I could come play for a little while,” he said.

  His whole life Oggie had always been the last one picked when teams were being chosen for sports. But that day on the basketball court, David Korben won the coin toss, which meant he got first pick. He didn’t even hesitate —

  “I want Oggie.”

  Oggie grinned so hard his face hurt. And during the game, when he dribbled the ball out of bounds, or missed a basket, instead of laughing at him and calling him names, the boys gave him pointers.

  “Step into it when you pass!”

  “Bend your knees before you shoot!”

  “Take your time, Cooder.”

  Oggie listened to everything they said, and he concentrated on playing basketball just the way he concentrated when he was charving cheese. Finally, it paid off and he made a basket! In fact, he made three.

  “That was really fun,” Oggie told the guys as they took turns at the drinking fountain after the game. “Thanks for helping me.”

  “No problem,” said David, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s not every day we get to play with somebody famous like you.”

  Oggie blushed and grinned. Maybe this whole celebrity thing wasn’t so bad. After all, he’d never been invited to play basketball before.

  “Hey, Oggie,” said one of the guys, “since you’re the pro, how about you give us some charving lessons?”

  “Sure,” said Oggie.

  “OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

  Nobody had noticed Donnica’s arrival. She’d been riding by the school on her way home and had noticed Oggie on the basketball court. She was furious.

  “How dare you!” she shouted.

  “What’s the big deal, Donnica?” said David, “He was just playing a little B-ball. And you know something? He’s not half bad.”

  Oggie started to prrrrr-ip from the compliment, but the look on Donnica’s face stopped him cold.

  “We’re going,” Donnica said, grabbing Oggie’s arm and pulling him off the court. “Brad is probably already there waiting with the new cheese.”

  Oggie reluctantly waved good-bye to the guys. Donnica got back on her bike and told Oggie to run along beside her.

  “How come Brad went to get more cheese?” Oggie asked, doing his best to keep up with Donnica. “I told you, my mom bought a whole bunch yesterday.”

  “That cheese is no good anymore,” said Donnica. “We have to go bigger.”

  “Bigger?” said Oggie. He winced as his stomach pinched.

  Donnica hit a bump in the road and put her hand out to steady the small cardboard box sitting in the basket attached to her handlebars.

  “What’s in there?” Oggie asked.

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Donnica answered mysteriously.

  * * *

  Brad was waiting on the steps when Oggie and Donnica arrived back at the Cooders’ house.

  “Did you get the cheese?” Donnica asked him.

  Brad nodded.

  “It’s in the trunk. How about you? Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Donnica carefully lifted the box out of her bike basket.

  “It’s perfect,” she said. “Wait till you see.”

  Oggie opened the front door and let them in. Donnica carried the box inside and set it down on the floor. Oggie wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw it move. Then he heard a strange whining sound. So did Turk, and the fur on the back of his neck stood up as he growled.

  “What’s in there?” Oggie asked again.

  Donnica opened the box, reached in, and pulled out a small strange-looking creature with a pointy face like a rat and bumpy grayish-purple skin. The only fur on its body was a ratty pom-pom on the end of its tail and a tangle of white hair sprouting up from between its ears like a bad toupee.

  “What is that?” gasped Oggie in horror.

  “Oggie,” said Donnica, scooping up the hideous creature and holding it out to him, “say hello to your new dog.”

  Turk barked, and the strange little dog pulled back her lips and showed him her teeth.

  “What kind of a dog is that?” Oggie asked. “And why doesn’t it have any fur?”

  “It’s called a Chinese Crested. I got it at The Pet Stop. Her name is Fuzzy.”

  “That’s a pretty strange name for a bald dog,” Oggie said.

  Donnica turned to Brad.

  “Didn’t I tell you she was perfect?” she said.

  “Like Turk, only Turkier.” Brad laughed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Oggie.

  But instead of answering, Brad hurried outside, returning a minute later with a big wooden box.

  Oggie took one side of the heavy box and helped carry it into the living room wher
e they put it down on the coffee table.

  “Phew, that sure is heavy. What’s in there?”

  “Cheese,” Brad told him.

  “Cheese?” said Oggie. “But it weighs a ton.”

  “Seventy-five pounds,” said Brad.

  “You bought seventy-five pounds of cheese?” Oggie couldn’t believe it.

  “Actually, I bought one hundred and fifty pounds. There’s another box just like this one out in the car.”

  “Why do we need so much?” Oggie asked.

  “Do you want to explain?” Brad asked Donnica.

  “It’s like cheese … only cheesier,” Donnica said.

  Oggie groaned and flopped down on the couch.

  “Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?” he said.

  So Donnica and Brad explained to Oggie the studio’s concerns about people burning out on “Oggie Fever.”

  “You don’t want to be old news, do you?” Donnica said.

  But before Oggie could tell her that he wouldn’t mind being old news if it meant he could take a break from all the speed-charving she’d been making him do — the doorbell rang.

  “That must be LaRue,” said Brad.

  “Who’s LaRue?” asked Oggie.

  Brad opened the door, and a tall woman in a gold jumpsuit and a turban breezed into the house. She was holding several large garment bags and a Styrofoam head with a curly red wig on it.

  “Which one is Oogie?” she purred, looking around the room.

  “Uh, actually it’s Oggie,” Oggie told her. “With two g’s, not two o’s.”

  “LaRue is a costume designer I happen to know in the area,” Brad explained. “She’s been kind enough to agree to help us with your new look.”

  “New look?” said Oggie, “I thought you said I looked okay the way I was.”

  “That was before, this is now,” said Donnica.

  Turk, who normally loved having company in the house, was lying under the coffee table nervously looking up at Fuzzy, who was sitting on a throw pillow on the couch licking herself.

  “I must see this chooving thing before I can pick the outfit,” said LaRue.

  “Do you mean charving?” asked Oggie.

  LaRue pulled a tape measure out of the pocket of her jumpsuit and began to measure Oggie.

  “Hush, Oogie,” she said, pressing a long finger up to her lips. “No worries. LaRue will find something yummy for you.”

  While LaRue measured, Brad opened the wooden box, revealing a giant chunk of cheddar cheese.

  “How am I supposed to charve that?” asked Oggie. “It’s not even sliced.”

  “I told you,” said Donnica, “no more slices. We’re going bigger.”

  “Much bigger,” said Brad. “Are you ready for this? You’re going to be charving Mount Rushmore!”

  “Mount Rushmore?” cried Oggie.

  “It’ll be easy,” said Donnica. “You already know how to do all those presidents, remember?”

  “I’m ready to see the chooving now,” said LaRue, putting her tape measure away. “Show me the chooving, Oogie.”

  Oggie’s head was spinning. Things were happening so fast.

  “Ouch!” he exclaimed, as his stomach pinched sharply.

  “Come on,” said Donnica, pulling out her stopwatch, “we don’t have much time left. You have to practice.”

  “I don’t even remember what Mount Rushmore looks like!” Oggie protested.

  “Don’t worry,” Brad told him, “I picked up a book about famous American landmarks. There’s a picture of Mount Rushmore on page thirty-three.”

  “I don’t know about this,” said Oggie uncertainly, eyeing the huge piece of cheese sitting on the table in front of him.

  “Trust me,” said Donnica. Oggie’s stomach pinched again.

  As Oggie had suspected, charving Mount Rushmore turned out to be much more challenging than Donnica and Brad had made it out to be. For one thing, cheddar cheese had a different texture from American cheese. It was more apt to crumble, which was why Abraham Lincoln’s nose and George Washington’s eyebrows kept falling off.

  Turk enjoyed gobbling up the scraps of cheese as they fell on the floor, but Oggie was miserable.

  “Stop!” shouted LaRue, who had been perched on the arm of a chair nearby taking notes the whole time. “I see yellow!”

  Oggie immediately looked at the rug to see if Turk had had an accident. But LaRue was talking about the clothes she wanted Oggie to wear.

  “No more chooving now, Oogie. Time for LaRue to make you yummy.”

  Turk tried to join them as Oggie followed LaRue into the guest room. But LaRue pushed Turk away with her foot and closed the door in his face.

  “I’m thinking knickers,” LaRue said, unzipping one of her bags.

  “Knickers?” said Oggie.

  “Yummy yellow knickers,” said LaRue.

  Oggie had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Can I still wear my shoelaces?” he asked. “They’re pretty yummy, don’t you think?”

  LaRue looked at Oggie’s feet and frowned.

  “No,” she said. “No, no no.”

  “What about striped pants?” asked Oggie. “Or maybe a checkered shirt? I’d be comfortable in those.”

  But Oggie’s “new look” was not going to have stripes or checks. It was going to have yummy yellow knickers. As the final pieces of the let’s-make-Oggie-Oggier plan fell into place, Oggie’s stomach pinched harder and he wondered how much more he could take.

  While Oggie was busy getting his fashion makeover, Brad went out to the car to bring in the other box of cheese.

  “Why are there so many reporters outside?” Brad asked, a few minutes later as he came in carrying the heavy box.

  Donnica knew why they were there. Without telling anyone, she had called a press conference to stir up some excitement.

  “I’ll take care of them,” she said, quickly pulling out her lip gloss and applying a fresh coat before heading outside to face the cameras.

  Donnica loved dealing with the press. As they crowded around her with their cameras and notepads ready, she informed them that her “client” was involved in some top-secret last-minute preparations for the show and would not be available to speak with them. But they were more than welcome to take as many pictures of her as they wanted.

  Back inside, LaRue and Brad were sitting on the couch with Fuzzy between them, waiting for Oggie to come out and model the outfit LaRue had chosen for him to wear on the show.

  “What’s taking so long, Oogie?” LaRue called impatiently. “Do you need help with the zippers?”

  “No!” shouted Oggie, who had absolutely insisted that he did not want LaRue in the room with him while he was getting dressed. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  When Oggie finally did emerge, his face was so red it looked like he had a sunburn.

  “I don’t know about this outfit,” Oggie said uncertainly. He peeked around the corner before shuffling uncomfortably out into the living room. He had on a pair of bright yellow pants that only came down to his knees, a shirt with giant buttons and extremely puffy sleeves, and on his feet, a pair of wooden clogs like the kind Dutch people wear. The curly red wig was in his hand.

  “Don’t you have any pants that go all the way down?” he asked.

  “Knickers are more yummy for you,” said LaRue with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Put on the wig.”

  “It’s itchy,” Oggie complained.

  Unconcerned with his discomfort, LaRue came over and put the wig on Oggie’s head.

  “It does kind of work, Oogie, I mean, Oggie,” said Brad.

  Oggie gasped as the worst stomach cramp so far hit him. He folded over in pain, and that’s when he noticed the back door was ajar.

  “Where’s Turk?” he asked anxiously.

  “The big dog?” LaRue responded. “With all the hair?”

  “Yes,” Oggie told her. “Where is the big dog?”

  “He let it out,
” LaRue said with a little wave toward Brad.

  “What?” cried Oggie.

  “I turned my back for two seconds and he ate half of Mount Rushmore,” Brad explained, “so I put him outside. I figured it was okay, since the yard is fenced in.”

  But what Brad didn’t know was that the latch on the gate was broken. When Oggie ran out into the backyard, he found that the worst possible thing had happened.

  Turk was gone!

  Oggie kicked off the heavy wooden shoes, jammed his feet into his sneakers, and took off.

  “What are you doing?” Donnica screamed when Oggie burst out the door. “Don’t let them see you! You’ll ruin everything!”

  The minute the reporters caught sight of Oggie, of course the cameras started clicking furiously. And they followed him as he ran up the street, whistling and frantically calling Turk’s name.

  Finally, Oggie caught sight of Turk, scratching under the big bush on the corner. He’d gone to retrieve the tennis ball he’d left there the other day.

  “There you are,” said Oggie, relieved. But when he reached out to grab hold of Turk’s collar, the dog growled at him.

  Oggie was stunned. Turk had never growled at him before. Ever. He only did that to strangers or people he didn’t trust.

  “What’s the matter, Turkey?” cried Oggie in dismay. “Don’t you like me anymore?”

  Hot and sweaty from running, Oggie reached up to scratch his head and suddenly he understood. No wonder Turk had growled at him — he didn’t recognize him!

  “Okay, okay, I get the message, boy,” Oggie said. He yanked off the red wig and threw it on the ground. Then he ripped off the ridiculous shirt, sending several of the big buttons flying. He would have taken off those silly yellow pants, too, except the photographers had caught up with him and he didn’t want them taking pictures of him in his underwear. Brad was there by now, and so was LaRue, with the hideous Fuzzy under her arm. Turk, no longer confused, was barking and jumping up on Oggie to lick his face. But the happy reunion between boy and dog did not last long.