I didn’t count on this sort of duty when I became a rescue dog, McTavish thought. This is downright inhumane.
Betty was tired of eating leftover gingerbread, too. It was nice when it first started, she thought, but now all she felt was sick.
Betty followed McTavish back to his bed.
“Poor McTavish,” she said, stroking his head. And then, “Your stomach certainly has become quite large.”
McTavish looked at Betty. Her stomach had also become quite large.
This diet is terrible for both of us, he thought. Betty is a girl and I am a dog. Neither of us is a garbage can. From now on, we will eat no more leftovers. In addition, we will embark on a strict program of exercise.
It was time for action.
The day of the baking competition grew closer.
The tension in the Peachey household grew, too.
Pa Peachey had taken a week off work. Now he rose early each morning and went immediately to the kitchen, where 3,784 pieces of gingerbread were arranged in teetering stacks on the table, on the counters, on chairs, on stools, in cupboards, and on every shelf.
It made eating breakfast tricky. It made getting a glass of water or making a cup of tea tricky. It made having a sandwich or a piece of toast impossible.
Ma Peachey called Ava, Ollie, and Betty together and asked them to be patient.
“I am not saying that Pa Peachey’s dream is a sensible one,” she said. “But nonetheless it is his dream. And there is only one more week until the contest judging. So we must all be patient for a little while longer.”
“OK,” said Ollie. “But what if the Palace of Versailles encourages Pa to enter more contests? What if his next project is a life-size model of the Eiffel Tower made out of marzipan? Or the Empire State Building made out of cheese?”
“I don’t think—” began Ma Peachey.
“It’s possible,” Ava said.
Ma Peachey sighed. “I think we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Don’t mention bridges,” Ollie warned. “Pa Peachey might decide to carve the Golden Gate Bridge out of a pumpkin.”
“Well, yes . . .” Ma Peachey said. “But Pa Peachey is a man of vision. He has big dreams, and it is wrong to destroy another person’s dreams.”
“Never mind,” Ollie said. “Pa Peachey is perfectly capable of destroying his own dreams.”
McTavish appeared with his leash in his mouth and stood in front of Betty.
“Woof!” said McTavish. “WOOF!”
“I think McTavish needs a walk,” Ma Peachey said.
Betty pulled on her jacket and clipped on McTavish’s leash.
Once out of the house, he began to run.
McTavish was not a large dog, but he was a determined and stubborn one. When McTavish ran, you had to run with him.
Together, he and Betty ran to the park. In the park, they ran up hills and down hills. They ran around trees and chased squirrels. McTavish found a ball, which he and Betty played with until dark. After all their games and exercise, they returned home flushed and happy, feeling a little bit healthier than they had earlier in the day.
Pa Peachey had placed a stack of rejected gingerbread in McTavish’s bowl, but both Betty and he ignored it.
Pa Peachey was hard at work finishing the Palace of Versailles. No one was allowed into the kitchen to observe his progress, so the Peacheys set up a sandwich bar in the dining room. They had all grown sick of sandwiches and sick of washing dishes in the bathtub, but Pa Peachey’s dream had to be respected.
The signs, however, did not bode well.
The signs were:
1. Bangs and crashes.
2. Howls of outrage.
3. Cries of torment and despair.
Three days before the contest deadline, Betty gathered her courage and knocked on the kitchen door.
“May I come in, Pa?” she asked.
“Disaster, disaster, disaster!” cried a voice from within.
Betty pushed the door and stuck her head into the kitchen. “Pa?”
Pa Peachey was sitting in the kitchen with his head in his hands. Approximately two thousand pieces of the Palace of Versailles were still stacked on the table in front of him.
A great number of pieces had already been glued together with sugar glue, but, so far, any resemblance to the actual Palace of Versailles was difficult to see.
The walls tilted in a number of unexpected directions. The roof sagged. The balconies clung for dear life to the walls, occasionally dropping off altogether. Pa Peachey had not yet created the east and west wings of the building, nor had he cut out the windows. He had not yet begun to construct the curly gates or shape the elaborate gingerbread sculptures. What he had created so far resembled a large garage stomped on by cows rather than the most majestic building in France.
Betty stared at the palace. She began to say, Really it’s not so bad. But stopped. Because, really, it was very bad indeed.
She began to say, I’m sure you can fix it. But stopped. Because she felt fairly certain it was impossible to fix.
She began to say, Never mind, I am sure the judges won’t notice any flaws. But stopped. Because Pa Peachey’s palace was so flawed, so totally flawed, so 100 percent flawed that it would be impossible for anyone not to notice.
Instead, Betty took a deep breath. “Pa,” she said, “you have three days left to finish your palace, and I feel certain that your creation will be a most interesting and unique entry. There is no doubt in my mind that the judges will be amazed.”
Betty heard a strange snorting noise that might have been Ollie listening at the door, but she ignored it.
Pa Peachey lifted his head from his hands. He looked up at Betty. His face was covered with flour and bits of gingerbread. Small spatters of colored icing patterned his clothing and the walls.
“Thank you for those kind words, dear Betty. I only fear
