It was agreed among the Motts that when their dog Marley, an appealing
little Cairn, turned six they would introduce a puppy into the family
to begin what they called The Marley Mentorship Program.
What this meant was that Marley would be expected to train the puppy
to be like her. For Marley, it must be said, was in so many ways, The
Perfect Dog. She was a problem solver, an original thinker, and a bit
of a socialite. She didn't enjoy being held or pet and never wanted to
sleep with you. She was also light and compact, very portable; she
didn't shed, not that any of those things--being light, compact,
portable, and a non-shedder--could be taught but seemed worth
mentioning anyway. Marley was more like a cat who enjoyed your company
and liked to play but didn't care for being cuddled.
In truth, Marley had a kind of dignified intelligence which made it
seem that if you cradled her in your arms or insisted that she sit in
your lap while you read or listened to opera, it would be embarrassing.
It would be the same as if your mother walked into your sixth grade
class and kissed you in front of all your friends then said, "Be good,
honey. Love you!" And while you loved your mother, you loved her IN
PRIVATE, so the public stuff was just too awful to think about.
The Motts got a puppy they named Milo who was half miniature
Australian Shepherd and half Blue Heeler--"She's the Mott mutt!" said
Gomez Mott, the boy of the family--all energy and motion. Milo wasn't
very big but she was wild.
However, the Motts weren't worried because in The Marley Mentorship
Program Milo would be trained in all the right ways by Marley, the
nearly Perfect Dog.
One must say "nearly" because what the family failed to recall was
that Marley, for all her keen intelligence and dignity, had always had
a dark side. This dark side had shown up as a puppy and continued
quietly into her adulthood. But it was so easy to forget about it when
you took her walking without a leash and she never ran into the street,
or you took her on an airplane and she wasn't nervous or barking.
Marley's dark side included constantly running off to visit a variety
of neighborhood houses when she was young. Constant begging if anyone
enters the kitchen. Trying to wolf down as much trash as she can find
in the park. Most of all, pretending not to hear when her name is
called, unless she is being called to do something she is interested in
doing. It would be the same as if your mother wanted you to practice
the piano or clean your room but you were playing a video game and so
acted as if you couldn't hear her until she walked into your room and
you said, "Oh, were you talking to me?" when you both knew the answer
to THAT question.
Marley had a smart, general sneakiness about her, making her believe
she could do what she wanted and not what someone else wanted her to
do.
But the first thing that happened when Milo joined the Mott family was
that Marley wanted NOTHING to do with her. Marley acted irritated,
then ignored Milo altogether. Milo immediately fell in love with
Marley, following her everywhere.
The Motts were pleased thinking that Milo would then naturally follow
Marley's Good Dog example.
What the Motts didn't know was that Marley had a mentorship program
all her own, one that would rid her of this little pest in no time.
When the Motts were out for the day Marley told Milo, "You know what
the family really likes? When you help with the house. For example,
they would love to get rid of those velvet sofa pillows once and for
all. Actually, I'm about to tear them up myself, so watch and learn."
But instead Milo, young and eager to please, cried, "No, let me! Let
me!" and went after the velvet pillows with great enthusiasm, dreaming
of how happy the family would be when it came home.
"And the coat," said Marley, when the feathers of the pillows had
settled around the living room like drifted snow, "Gomez has never
liked it and wants a new one but his parents told him this one has to
fall apart first--or for him to outgrow it. Why don't you take care of
that too? I mean, now that you're done with the pillows." And Milo
happily went to work on the coat. Milo pleased because Marley seemed
pleased.
Then the Motts came home.
Uh oh. The pillows. The coat. Poor Milo.
When Mr. Mott took the dogs on their daily run in the park, Marley
would beeline it for the picnic tables, searching for old Popeye's
chicken bones, or soggy french fries, with Mr. Mott on her heels saying
"Drop it!" and "Don't make me come over there!" Even when he was
halfway there already.
But that was nothing compared with Marley's not coming when called,
which seemed to have gotten worse since Milo's arrival in the house.
And Milo, it must be said, loved her family and wanted to go to them
when they called her name. So when Milo was in the park with Marley
and Marley simply went on doing whatever she was doing even though Mr.
Mott called out to her, Milo didn't know what to do.
She would say to Marley, "Shouldn't we go?"
"In a minute," said Marley, continuing to sniff around.
"Really," said Milo, "I think he wants us."
"Please," said Marley. "What do you think he's going to do? Leave?"
"If he cares too much to leave without us then shouldn't we care
enough to see what he wants," asked Milo.
Marley would sigh. "One day, young Milo, you will learn one of my
most important rules: Listening is optional."
Milo now torn between liking Marley and liking the Motts and trying to
learn how best to behave so she would fit in.
The Motts were not happy with the way the Marley Mentorship Program
was going. They worried that Milo was only picking up Marley's bad
habits since Marley seemed to have abandoned her good ones.
The two dogs lounged around all day on the sofa, jumped on visitors,
begged food, and Milo chewed everything in sight.
Marley believed her Mentorship program was progressing nicely. Soon,
Milo would be gone and everything would return to normal.
Then, one day, while at the park, when Marley had, as usual, led Milo
very far away from Mr. Mott who was calling and searching for them, a
very large dog--a stranger to the park--appeared. He was without a
collar, very strong-looking, towering over Marley and Milo (who was, by
now, a little taller than Marley but not by much).
This new, big dog, it must be said, was up to no good. It was like
when you and your friends are on the play ground after school, and a
kid that is too old to go to your school suddenly shows up, looking
bored and sees you and your friends and you can tell he thinks you guys
might be the answer to his boredom. The new, big dog looked like that.
"What have you got there," asked the new, big dog, moving closer to
Marley.
Marley had a fast food wrapper in her mouth. But before she could
answer, run, or hand it over to the new, big dog, he took his big dog
paw and shoved her. This surprised Marley more than it hurt her, even
though he had knocked her down.
The new, big dog narrowed his eyes at Marley. And it was at that
moment that Milo rushed at the new, big dog, her own eyes narrowed and
her teeth bared. Even Marley never realized that Milo could be so
fierce. The new, big dog was as surprised by Milo as Marley had been
by the new, big dog knocking her down.
Milo grabbed the new, big dog by the ear. The new, big dog yelped and
threw it's body against Milo, who hung on to the ear. Milo snarled.
And through the furious growls Marley heard Milo say, "She's. My.
Friend."
The new, big dog violently shook Milo off, bit her on the leg and left.
Mr. Mott came running. He scooped Milo up, held her close as Marley
ran behind them to the car. "It's okay, it's okay," Mr. Mott whispered
to Milo.
All the way to the vet Marley kept hearing Milo saying to the new, big
dog, "She's my friend," as she attacked the dog in a fight she could
not win. All for the sake of Marley.
Marley who had not been very nice lately to the Motts. Marley who had
been teaching Milo only bad habits and how to get in trouble. And all
Milo had ever done was to like Marley.
Mr. Mott and Marley drove home in silence after leaving Milo to spend
the night at the vet. Was it always this quiet? wondered Marley. Did
she miss Milo? No, she told herself, she liked being the only dog at
the Motts.
Until she came across a small piece of torn velvet from one of the
pillow incidents. In that moment she understood how unfair she had been
to Milo and how she came to her rescue anyway. This, as you can
imagine, made Marley feel very bad. So bad, in fact, the she decided
three things: One, to take the piece of velvet to the Motts to show
them who really destroyed their pillows (though the Motts being people
didn't get the message, grabbed the velvet thinking it was one more
thing Marley was trying to eat); two, to officially end her Marley
Mentorship Program (though the Motts being people never knew Marley had
her own mentorship program), and three, be nice to Milo, even if it was
so tempting to trick her.
In the end Milo recovered from her encounter with the new, big dog a
little shaken, and bandaged, but fine. And the Motts decided to drop
the Marley Mentorship Program, telling themselves that Marley is Marley
and Milo is Milo, and everyone lived happily ever after.
Whitney Otto is an author, pop culture journalist, and lecturer. She is best-known for her novel How to Make an American Quilt, a New York Times bestseller that was made into a feature film by Steven Spielberg's company starring Winona Ryder and Anne Bancroft. Other novels include Now You See Her, The Passion Dream Book, and her most recent book, A Collection of Beauties at the Height of Their Popularity.
The above story is a never-before-published children's story.
