The Magic Whistle, excerpt

Today is the first day of July. I woke up before Mom and Dad, like normal. As I sit on the bottom step of my porch, I count two blood-red cars driving by, followed by a white minivan, spray painted with graffiti. I watch grown-ups run past me, as they sweat from the early morning sun. Then I look at Rupert. I watch him roll in the grass, getting his golden fur all muddy. Suddenly, I remember Mom’s promise. If I walk the dog, she’ll take me for ice cream.

I walk to the mailbox as I call for Rupert. “Rupert! Come here boy!” I watch him pick his head up and look at me. He barks, then continues to roll around. “Rupert, walk!” I holler again. He jumps up and prances towards me as his ears flop up and down and slobber droops down from his mouth. As I look around the yard, I spot the leash next to my new soccer ball; the white and neon-yellow one that I got for my 10th birthday. I dash towards the ball and kick it towards the middle of the yard where the grass isn’t muddy from the water hose. I ignore his cries as I tie him to the mailbox with the leash, and I begin to showcase new moves to him. Suddenly as I’m running, my body goes flying as I trip and fall. I shake my head and search the ground. Next to my foot, I see a small, shiny stick, wedged in the ground. I yank it out of the ground, stand up, and totter towards the hose. Dad taught me how to use it, so I could clean Rupert in the spring. Once clean, I examine the shiny object as it gleams in the sun. It’s a whistle, but not like those little silver round things that you blow into. This one is long and thin with a small crescent hole to blow into. I look at Rupert as he barks at me, then back at the whistle. I squeeze my eyes shut and blow the whistle as hard as I can. All goes quiet, but then I hear a new voice yelling at me. I open my eyes and look around my yard. With nobody in sight, I glance back at Rupert. I watch his jowls move and realize it’s Rupert who is yelling at me.

“Untie me! You said walk. This is not a walk.”

“Whoa. Are you speaking to me? How are you speaking to me” I exclaim as I’m startled.

“Take me on a walk!”

Flabbergasted, I walk over to Rupert and untie him, but he runs off before I can grab his leash. “Wait, come back!” I shriek as I watch him run freely down the street and out of sight.

As I stare dumbfounded down the road, I hear a deep, raspy voice behind me ask “Are you the one who blew that whistle?” I turn around to see my neighbor’s dog, a big, slow moving black fur ball with white spots, walking towards me.

Still in shock, I begin to bombard him with questions. “Francis? How are you speaking to me in English? Why are you here?”

Francis sighs, “I am here because you blew that whistle. Every dog in the neighborhood knows the sound of that whistle.”

I look down at the silver dog whistle, then hold it up in front of Francis. “This old thing? I just found this in my yard. ”

“That, my friend, is a magic dog whistle. It gives any human who blows it the ability to communicate with dogs. We dogs have been waiting for someone to find it.”

“So does that mean that I can understand every dog in the world?” I look back down at the whistle. “How do you know all of this?”

Francis sits in the grass and sighs. Just as he opens his mouth to talk, he picks his head up and looks down the road.

I turn around to see a large group of dogs, led by Rupert, running towards Francis and me.

“He found it!” one exclaimed.

“I see him! I see him!” another barks.

Dogs of all colors and sizes fill my yard and crowd around me, many of them roaring in exultation.

Rupert, who’s fighting to stay next to me, shouts out, “Here it is! The whistle!” as he licks my hand wet. When he does, all of the dogs start screaming with triumph.

After hearing the commotion in the yard, my parents rush outside to see numerous dogs running and hollering. I see their lips start to move as they try to speak to me, but instead of speaking English, they begin barking, just like a dog; as if humans and dogs swapped languages when I blew the whistle. As they are chased back inside the house, I try to fight my way through the crowd of dogs, but am nearly submerged as I trip and fall to my knees.

Suddenly, I feel a strong tug on the back of my leg as a warm, wet, rough object rubs against me. I swiftly turn around to see Francis trying to pull me towards him. He begins to speak to me, but is overpowered by the commotion of dogs. Together, we push ourselves to the edge of the yard where the cool grass calms us down from the racket. “I saw my parents but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. What is happening?”

“The whistle. As I was saying before, when you blow the whistle, you will gain the ability to understand dogs, for the price of not understanding humans. If you want to understand your parents, or any human again, you must destroy the whistle.”