Hey, this is my first story and it's only a one part book but I hope you enjoy it!!! I had to do this story for an English assignment at school and i thought i would post it on here. I want to send a shout out to my bff's Courtney, Brittany, Stephanie, and anyone else that I know who reads on Wattpad. Especially to Courtney who came up with the idea!! Love ya! :D I'll shut up now so you can read!

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My Biggest "Pickle (trouble)"

Three years ago, in the summer of 2007, my family and I went on a vacation to visit my grandparents for several weeks. We packed our suitcases and drove off, leaving our home in Big River, Saskatchewan, behind. I settled into the backseat of our old, rusted Jeep, enduring the long two day drive out to Saltair, British Columbia.

This trip would be different than the others, though. We were bringing our dog, Wylie, the beautiful, purebred Siberian Husky along with us. He leaned his full ninety-five pounds of muscle against me for support, his tan and white fur exploding in front of my face, just so he could stick his fuzzy head out of my window. Soon he'd open his mouth and let his tongue roll out while the leftover saliva that he wouldn't swallow was lashing at the rear windows.

During the drive, it was much better when Wylie was asleep; in the back of our Jeep Cherokee, we'd set up the suitcases so they were soft and level for him to sleep on. His head would lay on the backrest of the rear seats while he drooled on the fabric.

We were getting close to Edmonton, Alberta, my mom's hometown, where our first stay would be. We found our hotel and booked our rooms to put our suitcases, and Wylie at rest from the long haul. My mom and my brother, Wesley, decided to stay at the hotel with Wylie while my dad and I were going to meander about the improved West Edmonton Mall.

When we got back, my dad and I separated to our rooms. I arrived at my room, 304, and knocked quietly, not sure if Wesley had fallen asleep already. A swift bark came from in the room and I knew instantly that Wylie was up to something. He only barked when he was startled or when he was doing something prohibited. I knocked again and there was another small bark. I took out my door's card key from my pocket and swiped it through the handle to let myself in.

Wesley was sprawled across one of the queen-sized beds, diagonally, so he would fit, but his feet still hung off of the side. I searched around for Wylie and found him instantly. It wasn't hard when a large puff of white fur was laying, with all fours splayed in every direction, on the kitchen counter. He had a guarded expression that had my immediate attention. I placed the shopping bags that were in my hand on the floor then crept forward to investigate until a single coffee cup was in my view.

"Are you drinking coffee?" I asked knowing he couldn't answer, but I was baffled. I didn't know Wylie liked coffee, maybe it was cold, I thought to myself.

As I spoke, he looked at me with an evil, furry face, gave a quick snarl, then started lapping up the coffee with his long tongue. 

"Sorry to rain on your parade, buddy, but you need to get down," I said calmly, letting him get away with it since this wasn't our house.

I walked closer to nudge him but he released a warning growl. Being on the counter gave him the advantage. He was eye level with me or maybe taller, but I wasn't paying attention. I was mentally calculating my chances of being able to tackle him and shove him off. I had to admit, they weren't good. Instead I had a plan. I walked back to the door where the bags were that I left when I came in. I grabbed them, hiding one slightly behind my back.

As soon as the plastic bags crackled with movement, Wylie bounded off the counter and came to a sudden stop inches away from me. There, I assured, that worked well. I shifted away from him to clean up the mess that he'd left on the counter. I placed the bags up on top of a cupboard, too high for him to reach, and started washing the coffee cup and wiping down the area.

"I'll let this time slip," I muttered under my breath, "because no one would care anyways."

Wylie trotted to my right side, leaning his weight against my leg. I looked down and he was staring up at the bags, annoyed. My dog always seemed to think that all bags have something for him inside them. This time he was correct. I recently bought a new stuffed toy for him to destroy in seconds, just to give him a little fun. It was his favorite, a green-black turtle, well-equipped with an annoying squeaker.

I finished with the dishes and glanced down at my dog again who was still eyeing the bags, mocking Wylie from their height. Finally, I sighed after making him suffer the emotional and physical pain of waiting, I reluctantly grabbed the bags and put everything away except for one item. He sat quivering, from head to toe, with the temptation as I slowly pulled the turtle out of the bag. Now he was shaking uncontrollably in spite of what was right in front of him.

Feeling vengeful after my brother woke me that morning by jumping on my bed, I tossed the new toy on top of Wesley's snoring body, a giant heap under the blankets. While Wylie's slow thoughts caught up with my actions, he was already airborne, landing a huge body slam on Wes.

A muffled "ow" came from somewhere in the mess of the covers then suddenly he sat bolt upright, pushing Wylie almost off of the bed.

"You suck, Jami," he moaned sleepily, yawning.

"Don't I just make life better? That's revenge anyways." Ha-ha, he deserved it.

Suddenly, Wylie jumped off before he could fall, pranced around the room for a bit, feeling content with his new toy, then leapt up onto the other bed which was destined to be mine. I glanced at Wes again just as he plopped back down, pulling the covers over his head. I stumbled over to the front door to lock it then went back to my bed which was overrun with a pile of fur. Shuffling Wylie off to the side, we fell asleep, my satisfied dog snoring with his toy still in his mouth.

The morning was rough. We had a wake up call set for eight in the morning so we could get moving with our expedition. Everyone but my dad was exhausted from restless sleep and we all longed for the upcoming ride to be over. From Edmonton to Kamloops, B.C. it takes about nine hours. I slept most of the time to be honest but it was beautiful. Going over the Rocky Mountains was cool. It was raining lightly and Wylie stuck his head out the window, but the cloud level was low and the rain was heavier. Why would he do that? It was like taking a sixty-mile per hour bath.

Kamloops is a brilliant city that is cut in half by the great Thompson River which opens up into the Kamloops lake. Eighteen miles long and one mile wide doesn't even compare with the depth. The deepest area of the lake is 152 meters (499 feet). Imagine the creatures in that, I contemplated as we drove past the vast expanse, lit with the reflection of city lights.

It was only five o'clock but it would get dark soon and we decided to find the hotel then go out for dinner. I stayed with Wylie, not daring to leave him alone for an hour, while the others went out. I laid down on my bed with Wylie as he chewed on his new favorite toy, squeaking it constantly. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten that for you, it makes too much noise. I don't even see why it's that fun, I considered. I became bored so I turned on the television and watched Family Guy, raising the volume whenever the squeaking was too loud.

I had a better sleep that night but it didn't bother me that much. Today, we were going to get to our final destination. A few more hours until we were at the amazing west coast, then taking a one hour ferry ride over to Vancouver Island.

The ferry ride is my favorite part about getting there. The Giant BC Ferries can contain 130-150 vehicles and accommodate up to 600 passengers. The best part is going out onto the ship's deck and watching the whales and dolphins in the passage between the island and mainland.

After we disembarked the ship, we took the last forty-five minute drive to Saltair. I watched out the window as we passed Ladysmith and pointed out the familiar landscape. We came to a final stop at the two story house that my grandfather had built back in the seventies. The walkway was crumbling from age as we walked up to the front door. My family was reunited with our relatives and we had a great time. Our days consisted of going to the Chemainus River, from which I got a bad sunburn, visiting our other relatives that also lived on the island, and walking along the beach, catching the crabs that scurried under the rocks for protection.

Our last days were exciting. We had a large bonfire and I watched the elongated flames lick up at the night sky, disappearing into several sparks. I went back inside the house to prepare to go to bed when a exquisite urn caught my eye in the living room. The amazing mosaic patterns were colorful and brightly lit creating a masterpiece. I read the engraved text on the side. Ugh, these are cremated remains. That's really disgusting, I thought, repulsed.

At that instant, Wylie came dashing through the house leaping up and knocking the urn out of my hands. It crashed to the floor spilling ashes everywhere, but fortunately the urn stayed in one piece. I stared at the revolting scene that just occurred before me. He kept speeding through the house as if nothing happened.

"Oh no!" I breathed out in complete horror. I glanced around me to make sure that no one else saw the incident. The coast is clear, now where is that broom?! My mind was working overtime. I stood quietly and listened outside for any sound of an approaching person. There was no sign of anyone in the house so I began frantically searching for the broom. I checked in the pantry closet to find one, leaning against the shelves. I sneakily ran back to the living room and scooped up as much of the ashes as I could and shook them back into the urn before anyone could notice. I returned the broom to its place and the urn to its shelf.

I continued throughout the remaining days, constantly paranoid about someone realizing the incident and how it had happened. By the time my family had to leave, no one looked suspicious at all and we continued our long trip back home. It seems that my biggest "pickle" of trouble, I can blame on the dog.

In Memory of Wylie Crawford 

2004-2009

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So what did ya think? Just to tell you, this story is all based on fact except for the very end (my pickle). If you have any questions just comment and I'll answer as soon as i can. LOVE YOU ALL!!!!

~CooliestCanadianEver aka Jami