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means … he … doesn’t … want … to … be … my … friend,’ I said, between little gulps. It felt like my heart was crying. It was going all the way up my throat.
    Grandad did something he doesn’t often do. He sat down on my bed and gave me a hug. He smelt of mown grass and sweaty armpits. The prickly white stubble on his chin scratched my forehead, but I liked the way he crushed me to his bony chest.
    â€˜It’s not too late. Your dog can still be your friend. You just have to be his leader.’
    â€˜But how? I’ve been trying!’
    I didn’t know what Grandad meant. I really had been trying. And I’d failed.
    â€˜I said leader , not dictator .’
    â€˜What’s the difference?’
    â€˜A good leader is kind.’
    I still felt a bit confused, but one thing was clear – my grandfather was hugging me because I was sad and lonely, and he wished I wasn’t. That was good enough.

Chapter Twelve
    In lots of made-up stories that I read, the problems seem to get solved really quickly. In a make-believe story, I would have woken up the next morning and somehow Ugly would instantly look up to me as his leader. But that’s not real life.
    What happened was this: I woke up the next day feeling calm. I knew I wasn’t all alone in trying to get Ugly to like me. Grandad understood my problem, so I’d ask him to help me.
    It was a Sunday morning, a few days back. I had dressed quickly and then gone to have breakfast. Ugly was under the kitchen table. As I walked in, he thumped his tail in a welcoming sort of way.
    â€˜Morning, Ugly,’ I said. As I bent down to give him a pat, I realised he had probably said hello to me quite a lot of the time, but I was in the habit of only noticing what Ugly did wrong. Maybe I should take more notice of when Ugly did things right. But for the moment, I needed to concentrate on figuring out how to be his leader. After eating my porridge, which Grandad makes for the family every morning, I went down the back to look for Grandad. He was tidying up his tools in the shed.
    â€˜Hey, Grandad,’ I said, ‘can you tell me more about how to be Ugly’s leader?’
    â€˜Sure thing. You can help me hang these tools on the shadow board. We’ll talk as we work.’
    I started to pass Grandad tools as he asked for them. He hung them on hooks on a pegboard he’d built on the wall.
    â€˜First off,’ said Grandad, ‘if you’re the one who looks after your dog, he will naturally see you as the important one. Looking after means feeding, grooming, walking, playing and training.’
    â€˜I already do a bit of that,’ I started to say.
    â€˜Listen up,’ said Grandad. ‘It’s the same old story for lots of youngsters. It’s the mum who does most of the hard yakka.’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜So, unless Ugly sees you doing most of the work, this talk of ours is going to be pointless. Pass that hammer, please.’
    To be honest, the word ‘work’ sounded boring. Having to do jobs, even stuff like learning tables, at a certain time every single day isn’t my thing. Mums are good at it, not kids.
    â€˜I’ve got school and all that. I’m pretty busy,’ I said.
    â€˜Are you fair dinkum?’ Grandad was just standing there staring at me with his eyes all big. He snorted in a cross way and pointed at the door. ‘If you’re busy, what does that make your poor overworked mum? Out you go! You’re wasting my time.’
    That scared me. I really wanted Grandad’s help. I realised I was skating on thin ice.
    I held my hands up, like people do in films when a gun is pointed at them. ‘Kidding! I’m listening, Grandad. Just tell me what I need to do.’
    â€˜For starters, you should write up a timetable. You’ll have to ask Mum what sort of chores she does for