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  A Boy and His Dog

  MY NAME IS BILLY SURE. I’m an inventor. I’m also the CEO of my very own company: SURE THINGS, INC. You might have heard of our products. You might even have some of them.

  The ALL BALL that changes into different sports balls with the touch of a button? That’s us. The SIBLING SILENCER that, well, silences siblings? Yep, us too. DISAPPEARING REAPPEARING MAKEUP and STINK SPECTACULAR? Well, you get the picture. Sure Things, Inc. has had one success after another.

  The best part of being in business is my business partner. Get it? Manny Reyes is my best friend and Chief Financial Officer (CFO for short), which is a fancy way of saying that he takes care of money while I create inventions. Manny’s a genius when it comes to marketing, numbers, planning, selling, advertising, computers. . . .

  I could go on. But basically, I invent our products and Manny figures out how to make them into hits. It’s a bit more complicated than that, but in a nutshell, that’s our story.

  It’s a Tuesday evening. I’m home after a full day at school, followed by a full day at work. It’s not easy juggling two lives.

  My typical day is: Get up (I suppose you could have guessed that part, right?); shower; go to school; come home and pick up my dog, Philo; then go with Philo to the World Headquarters of Sure Things, Inc. (also known as Manny’s garage). Then I come home, eat dinner, do my homework, maybe read a book or watch TV, and then go to sleep.

  And you thought you were busy with soccer and school plays and—well, I guess you’re busy too. I don’t mean to complain—it’s just that sometimes all this gets a bit overwhelming. That’s when I have to remember how much I enjoy inventing stuff.

  At this moment, I’m in the “finished school, finished work, finished dinner, finished homework” portion of my day. I’m hanging out in the living room playing with Philo.

  “You want this, boy?” I ask, leaning forward in my seat, waving Philo’s favorite chew toy at him. It’s a thick rope made up of colored strands all woven together. Or at least they used to be woven together. Months of chewing and pulling have taken their toll.

  Philo jumps up from his doggy bed on the other side of the room, dashes over to where I’m sitting, and grabs one end of the toy in his teeth.

  I yank my end back. Philo bares his teeth and growls, a low growl that’s as much a moan or a whine as a true growl.

  “Who’s a FIERCE BEAST?” I ask, moving the toy—and Philo’s head along with it—from side to side.

  Philo tugs hard, pulling me from my chair. I tumble to the rug and start laughing. Letting go of my end of the toy, I rub Philo’s belly. This always makes him go a little crazy.

  I roll over, and then Philo jumps on top of me. We tumble across the room, me laughing, Philo growling and barking.

  “What’s going on down there?!” shouts a voice from upstairs. “Some of us have homework to do, y’know!”

  That would be Emily, my sister. Last week, Emily only spoke in a British accent. Before that, she only wore black. Who knows what she’ll be into next?

  “Just playing with Philo,” I call back up the stairs.

  “Well, do it quietly!” she screams down.

  I pick up Philo’s chew toy and hold it over my head.

  “Do you want this, boy?” I say in an excited whisper, waving the colorful, floppy rope back and forth.

  Philo’s head follows the moving rope, as if he were watching a Ping-Pong match.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  Philo backs up a few steps.

  “Go get it!” I shout, tossing the rope over his head.

  Philo turns and dashes after the rope. He snatches it up in his mouth, then trots contentedly back toward me, dropping it at my feet.

  “Again?” I ask.

  “RUUFFF!” he replies.

  Sometimes I can almost understand what Philo is saying.

  I pick up the rope and waggle it back and forth, then fling it past him.

  This time Philo turns his head casually and watches the rope zoom by, then he turns back to look at me.

  So much for understanding what Philo says.

  “I thought you wanted to play, boy?” I say.

  Philo stares at me like he’s never seen me before.

  “Go get it!” I say again.

  Philo continues staring.

  Oh well. I walk to the other side of the room, pick up the toy, and come back.

  “One more time.” I toss the rope back over Philo’s head. It bounces a couple of times, then disappears into the dining room.

  This time Philo turns and chases after it. He speeds from the living room into the dining room. And then doesn’t come back.

  “Get the toy, Philo!” I shout.

  No Philo. No toy.

  “Bring me the toy, Philo!” I yell again.

  “Go get the stupid toy yourself!” Emily shouts from upstairs.

  She totally does not get the point of this game.

  But she may be right. I’m beginning to wonder where Philo went. As I step from the living room into the dining room, I find the chew toy sitting on the floor. Looking up, I see that Philo is all the way on the other side of the room.

  “It’s right here, boy,” I say, pointing down at the toy.

  Philo paces back and forth across the floor on the far side of the dining room. He stops, sniffs under some furniture, then turns and walks back to the other side of the room, where he repeats the sniffing, then the pacing, then the sniffing, and on and on.

  As he paces and sniffs, Philo lets out a series of low moans and short yelps.

  “URRRR . . . YIP-YIP!” he says.

  “What is it, boy?” I ask.

  “URRRR . . . YIP-YIP!” he repeats.

  Now I really wish I could understand what Philo is saying. In fact, there have been many times when I’ve wished I could understand him. Things would be so much easier. I could just give him what he wants and he’d be happy. And then I wouldn’t spend so much time wondering what he’s trying to say.

  And that’s when it hits me. I know what Sure Things, Inc.’s next product should be! I will make a translator for dogs!

  This isn’t the first time this invention idea has come up. The first time I ever thought of it, I had just discovered the blueprints for the Sibling Silencer on my desk, but I didn’t know where they had come from. Let me explain. . . .

  You see, I always have trouble figuring out how to make my inventions work . . . at least when I’m awake. When I finally give up and go to sleep, the completed blueprints MAGICALLY appear on my desk the next morning.

  You may be wondering who so kindly and quietly draws the blueprints for me in the middle of the night. I wondered the same thing at first. It turns out that I do! In my sleep! Here’s how we found out.

  My first invention, the All Ball, was a hit, but I didn’t know where the working blueprints came from. They had appeared on my desk one morning, and I didn’t recognize the handwriting. So when I was struggling to come up with the working blueprints for Sure Things, Inc.’s next invention, the Sibling Silencer, Manny rigged an alarm system so that whoever was sneaking into my room to leave the blueprints would get caught. Except the only one who t
ripped the alarm was Philo. When he did, I discovered new blueprints on my desk, which meant that Philo saw who put them there.

  What I didn’t know was that Manny also set up a webcam and watched me work on the blueprints in my sleep. That’s right. Some people talk in their sleep; some people walk in their sleep; but me, I invent things in my sleep!

  But before I knew that, I remember wishing at that moment for a device that could translate what Philo was saying through his barks. And that’s when the idea for the DOG TRANSLATOR first came into my head.

  I have to tell Manny about this! The time has arrived for the Dog Translator!

  I start to head up to my room to send Manny an e-mail, when I hear Philo scraping his paw against the floor. Turning back, I see him reach under a cabinet and drag out a doggy treat. A dust-covered, stale treat.

  That thing must have been under there for weeks! Philo happily munches away.

  Yuck! Dogs can be really gross sometimes.

  See, if I had a Dog Translator, Philo could have just told me he wanted a treat. Of course, Philo doesn’t need a translator for that. Like most dogs, he always wants a treat!

  I dash up the stairs. I have to pass Emily’s room in order to get to mine.

  “What? You’re done making noise downstairs, so you decided to come here and make noise upstairs?” she asks in her usual warm, loving tone.

  “The lightbulb just went off!” I say, pointing to my head, hardly able to contain my excitement.

  Emily shrugs without looking up from her desk. “So ask Dad to replace it, genius.”

  “No, I mean I just came up with the idea for my next invention,” I say, smiling.

  “Uh-huh,” she replies, tapping away on her phone, her thumbs blazing. “I’ll alert the media.”

  “Actually, that’s Manny’s job,” I point out.

  Emily just shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

  “Oh, you were being sarcastic, right?”

  With Emily, sometimes it’s hard to tell.

  I head into my room, flip open my laptop, and shoot off a quick e-mail to Manny.

  Hey, Manny.

  I just came up with an idea for Sure Things, Inc.’s next invention!

  Billy

  A few seconds later I get a reply. And this is so Manny:

  Great! I’ve got the marketing strategy all planned!

  I write back:

  But wait, you don’t even know what the invention is!

  Manny writes back:

  Right, right. Whatcha got?

  I write back:

  The Dog Translator!

  I hold my breath waiting for a reply. A few seconds later it comes:

  LOVE IT! We’ll talk tomorrow.

  That’s my partner!

  Cats and Dogs

  AS IS USUALLY THE CASE when I come up with an idea, I sleep poorly that night. I tell myself that I should wait until morning to start thinking this idea through so I can get some sleep.

  But, when I’m in the thick of an inventing frenzy, like right now, my brain seems to go on autopilot, tinkering all on its own with the hundreds of tiny details that go into the creation of all of my inventions.

  I toss and turn for a few hours, then finally doze off. My dreams are filled with dogs talking to me:

  “I’m ready for my walk.”

  “My bowl is empty! My bowl is empty!”

  “Throw the ball. I’m ready! Throw the ball!”

  The last image I recall from my dream is Philo saying: “I love you, Billy,” then licking my face. I awake to Philo actually licking my face about eleven seconds before my alarm goes off.

  “ERRR-RUUFF! RUFF!”

  Even without a Dog Translator I know what that means.

  “All right, boy, I’ll take you out and feed you,” I say, dragging my tired bones out of bed.

  I shower, get dressed, eat some breakfast, and head off to school—all after taking care of Philo, of course. This whole time I can’t get my mind off the Dog Translator. This could be the biggest thing Sure Things, Inc. has ever done. Or could it? I decide to do what Manny would call some INFORMAL, UNOFFICIAL, UNSCIENTIFIC market research. In other words, ask a bunch of kids what they think of my new idea.

  As soon as I walk into school, I spot Peter MacHale. When I returned to school after the success of Sure Things, Inc. last summer, Peter was one of the first kids to congratulate me.

  “Hi, Peter,” I say. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure thing, Billy!” he says, a big smile revealing the enormous gap between his two front teeth. “Get it? Sure Thing!”

  “Yeah, I get it,” I say. “Listen, Peter, you have a dog, right?”

  “Sure thing, Billy!” he says again, giggling.

  I begin to wonder how many times he’s going to make the same joke.

  “I have a poodle named Lexi,” Peter explains. “Why?”

  “How would you like to understand what Lexi is saying every time she barks?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?” Peter asks.

  “What if there was a device that could translate dog barks into human words?” I ask.

  “Cool!” Peter says, seeming genuinely excited. “Do you have one? How much does it cost? Where can I get one?”

  “Um, it doesn’t exist yet,” I explain. “But I am thinking of creating it.”

  “Sounds like a Sure Thing to me!” says Peter. Then he heads off to class, laughing at his joke a third time.

  Well, that’s one potential customer.

  Next I run into Dudley Dillworthy. Dudley is as tall as a bear standing on the top of Mount Everest. I used to be afraid of him, but it turns out that he’s a big fan of the All Ball. Being a famous inventor can have an upside, even in school.

  “Hey, Dudley, can I ask you a question?” I say. I’ve heard Dudley talk about his dog before.

  “What’s up, Billy?” he asks. “Invent anything good lately?”

  “Uh, a couple of things, but I just want to ask you . . . How’d you like to understand what your dog is saying?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?” Dudley asks, scratching his head.

  “Like when your dog barks or whines or moans. What if you knew exactly what your dog was trying to say?”

  Dudley shrugs. “I never thought about that, but it sounds pretty cool to me.”

  “Great. Thanks,” I say. Then I spot Allison Arnolds at her locker. She’s in my math class. A few weeks ago, she was totally in love with Dustin Peeler, the singer. But Emily doesn’t like him anymore, so maybe Allison doesn’t either.

  Do you want to know a really BIG SECRET? I kinda maybe sorta think Allison is cute, but I have never said anything about it to anyone, not even Manny. Especially not Manny. He’d probably blurt it out at the worst time. He’s almost as bad as my dad when it comes to keeping secrets.

  “Hi, Allison,” I say meekly.

  “Hi, Billy,” she replies.

  She stands there looking at me, waiting for me to say something else. Then I remember why I started talking to her. “So, you have a dog, right?”

  “Yeah. I named him Dustin, but I’m thinking of changing his name. ‘Dustin’ just seems so sixth grade,” she says.

  “Okay. Well, how would you like to know what what’s-his-name is saying?” I ask.

  “Who, Dustin Peeler?” she asks.

  “No, I mean your dog,” I reply.

  “Oh, well, I guess so, sure,” she says. Then she heads off down the hall.

  “Excuse me,” I say to a boy I don’t know. I figure Manny would want me to include total strangers in my market research. “Would you like it if I invented something to help you understand what dogs are saying?”

  “I’d rather you invented something so that I could understand what my math teacher is saying,” says the boy.

  Uh, right. I’ll have to file that one away.

  I stop several more kids before homeroom. I ask each of them the same question.

  “I have a cat,” one says. “And
a hamster. And a canary. I don’t really like dogs.”

  “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life! Where can I get one?” says another.

  BRIIIIIING!

  The bell rings, signaling the end of my research session. Overall, I’d have to say that the majority of people I asked thought that the Dog Translator was a great idea. I’ll put it at 84.3 percent in favor. Manny loves it when I use stats like that!

  When the school day ends, I launch into my usual routine. I jump on my bike and speed home. Typically it takes me about fifteen minutes to ride from school to home. But on a day like today, when I can’t wait to see Manny and start working on our next invention, I make it in twelve.

  Hurrying around to our backyard, I poke my head into Dad’s art studio. He’s a painter, and he spends most of his day out here in what is a former garden shed that he’s turned into a pretty nice studio—if your definition of “pretty nice” is a paint-splattered shack filled with easels, brushes, and canvases.

  Dad is wearing his painting overalls, which he calls his “inspiration apron.” This formerly white garment looks like the result of an explosion in the paint section of a hardware store.

  “Hey, Dad. I’m home,” I say. “Whatcha working on?”

  “It’s a portrait of Philo,” he replies. “I’m trying to capture a sense of what goes on inside his head.”

  I look over at the canvas. Dad has drawn a pretty good likeness of Philo. He’s now adding colors . . . lots of colors that I’ve never seen on any dog anywhere.

  “Cool,” I say.

  “Off to work?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “What are you working on today?”

  “Let’s just say . . . I think you’ll like it. And I think Philo will like it too. See ya later for dinner.”

  “Okeydokey,” says Dad.

  I dash into the house. Throwing open the fridge, I spy half a peanut butter sandwich leftover from yesterday. I gobble it up, gulp down some milk, and head off in search of Philo.

  I take Philo with me to the office every day. I love having him around, and I know he misses me when I’m at school. Philo loves hanging out at the office with Manny and me. He even has his own doggy bed in the corner. Philo is definitely the UNOFFICIAL MASCOT of Sure Things, Inc.