The Pet Show Mystery

by Campbell, Julie

Trixie grinned. There was a special friendship between Trixie and Jim, and all of the Bob-Whites knew about it. But Trixie hadn’t quite been able to admit those feelings yet, not even to herself. “Maybe I did too much to help you overcome your shyness,” Trixie said. “Now you tease me as badly as Brian and Mart do.”

  “I could never tease you the way Mart does,” Honey countered. “I’d certainly never resort to anything so low as calling you ‘Beatrix.’ ”

  “Ugh!” Trixie cringed at the sound of her hated real name. “Well, when he does that I can always get even by calling him my ‘almost twin.’ He hates the fact that he’s only eleven months older than I am.”

  “He tries so hard to act older and wiser,” Honey pointed out. “From the way he talks, you’d think he was eleven years older.”

  “You should hear him now!” Trixie said. “He’s taking a computer course this term, and he came home sounding like a floppy disk.”

  Trixie sighed and sank back against the wall. “In a way, though, I envy Mart. He has his computer class to look forward to every day. What do I have? Snow and ice and cold. Yuch!”

  “I know what you mean. When we were off traveling upstate trying to find my brother, I really believed we were doing something important. There’s no other feeling quite as good.”

  “That’s it exactly!” Trixie said. “See? I knew you’d understand how I feel, even though nobody else seems to. I just can’t believe there’s nothing important in the world to do in winter. I think we don’t have enough gumption to go out in the cold and find the things that need to be done.”

  “The way Norma Nelson has, you mean?” Honey asked quietly.

  “Yes, the way—wait a minute! Honey, that’s it! Why can’t the Bob-Whites start a feeding program, too?”

  “Oh, Trixie, that’s a wonderful idea. We’ll use what’s in the treasury to buy cracked corn. We could start our route where Norma’s leaves off, since we live farther out in the country.”

  Trixie nodded. Her thoughts were already churning furiously. “That’s not enough, though. If we start only a couple more routes, we’ll wind up feeling as defeated as Norma does. We need to get lots more people involved. Imagine what would happen if everyone in Sleepyside were feeding the birds!”

  “We could save nearly all of them,” Honey said. “But how do we do it?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll think of something. I’ll tell you what, you talk to Jim. I’ll talk to Brian and Mart. Tomorrow at school we’ll talk to Di and Dan, too.” Diana Lynch and Dan Mangan were the two newest Bob-Whites. They were often busy with family chores, so the time they spent on club projects was limited. “Then we can meet back here tomorrow after dinner.” Trixie rose and reached for her jacket. “I have to get home for dinner now. I’ll see you on the bus tomorrow. Maybe by then I’ll have an idea.”

  “Maybe I will, too,” Honey said. “Oh, Trixie, the weather seems better already.”

  At dinner that night, Trixie told her family about the need to save the game birds. “Norma says they’re dying by the thousands. We have to do something.”

  “Thousands is a lot,” Trixie’s six-year-old brother Bobby said solemnly. “Can I help you save the birds, Trixie?”

  “Of course you can,” she promised. “We can all help. We just don’t know how yet.”

  “Why don’t you ask Norma Nelson if she has any ideas?” Brian asked. “After all, she’s had the subject on her mind longer than we have. Maybe she’s thought of some new approaches, but she’s been too shy to ask anyone for help.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea, Brian!” Trixie exclaimed. “I’ll do it. The next time I see Norma at school, I’ll talk to her about it.”

  When she saw Norma between classes the next morning, Trixie greeted her excitedly. “Hi, Norma,” she said, stopping in the middle of the crowded hallway. “How did the rest of your route go yesterday?”

  Norma looked at Trixie blankly. “Fine,” she replied. Then, to Trixie’s amazement, she walked right on down the hall. Even indoors, Norma walked as though she were bundled up in heavy clothing. As dozens of laughing, talking students pushed past her, she trudged along, head down, as though she were alone on Glen Road.

  Trixie told the other Bob-Whites about the incident when they were gathered that night in the Wheelers’ den. A fragrant bowl of hot cider, spiced with cinnamon and cloves, sat on the coffee table. Next to it was a platter heaped with oatmeal raisin cookies.

  “Can you believe it?” Trixie said. “She had to know I was about to say something else. But she just left me standing there. That’s rude!”

  “In a way, you’re lucky,” Mart said. “I’ve reached the conclusion that it’s better to be ignored by an expert than hovered over by one.”

  “I have a feeling we aren’t talking about Norma Nelson anymore,” Brian said.

  Mart shook his head. “Gordon Halvorson, from my computer class. His father is a computer programmer, and they’ve owned a computer since practically the first day there was such a thing. Since he knows so much, I thought he’d be a good person to help me learn. I asked him a couple of questions, and presto! He’s my personal instructor, at my side every minute.”

  “Isn’t that good?” Di Lynch asked. “I’m sure I’d need lots of help in a class like that.”

  “But he isn’t helpful,” Mart said. “He’s just bossy. He practically tells me every key to push before I have time to figure it out for myself. That’s no way to learn anything.”

  “Anyway,” Trixie said, “Mart can’t rely on Gordon for help, and we can’t rely on Norma. We’ll have to come up with something by ourselves.”

  “Well, okay,” Jim said, straightening up in a businesslike way. “Let’s start by figuring out who our natural allies are in a plan to save the birds. Have any ideas?”

  “Anyone who loves animals,” Di suggested. “We need to be a little more specific,” Jim said. “Anyone who loves birds... anyone who loves game birds. How about hunters’ associations?”

  “You mean ask hunters to save the birds this winter, so they can kill them next fall?” Trixie asked indignantly.

  “Don’t be so narrow-minded, Trix,” Brian said. “Responsible hunters don’t do any harm to the bird population. And they’d be willing to help save many more birds than they could ever shoot.”

  “Well, okay,” Trixie said. “How do we reach the hunters?”

  “Through their hunting dogs,” Dan said.

  “Jim’s springer spaniel, Patch, is a hunting dog. So is the Beldens’ setter, Reddy. I know the people who train those dogs are well organized. They’d be listed in the phone book.”

  “An excellent idea, in general,” Mart said. “I feel compelled to make one minor correction, however. Reddy may have the genetic heritage of a hunting dog, but his total lack of training makes him useless for hunting as well as everything else.”

  There was a round of laughter from the Bob-Whites. Everyone had to agree with Mart’s assessment. The Irish setter was lovable and energetic, but the energy was generally used to get into mischief rather than for any more practical purpose.

  “We could also post a notice at Dr. Chang’s office,’ Dan said. “He’s an excellent veterinarian. Every animal lover in town winds up going to see him sooner or later.”

  “Dr. Chang might even let us tuck in a letter with the bills he sends out,” Di said.

  “Those are good ideas,” Trixie said. “But we still need more.”

  “I agree,” Honey said. “We need an event. If it’s exciting enough, it will really get people involved in saving the birds.”

  “That’s exactly what I was trying to say,” Trixie told Honey. Turning to the other Bob-Whites, she said, “We need something that will appeal to animal lovers everywhere. But what?”

  Before anyone could answer, Patch nudged open the door of the den and padded across the room to his owner. Unlike Reddy, Patch was well trained. At a word from Jim, the dog sat down quietly, panting softly as Jim scratched
him behind the ear.

  “Patch must be responding to your appeal to animal lovers everywhere,” Jim said. “There’s certainly nobody who loves game birds more than he does. You’d help if you could, wouldn’t you, Patch?”

  “He can!” Trixie shouted.

  Startled, everyone—Patch included— turned to look at Trixie. She had set down her mug of cider and jumped to her feet. The look that everyone knew so well—the look that said Trixie Belden had just been struck by a perfect idea—had set her face aglow.

  “That’s exactly it,” Trixie said in a slightly softer voice. “Patch can help us save the game birds. And so, believe it or not, can Reddy!”

  3 * The Bob-Whites Begin

  TRIXIE’S WORDS seemed to fall into a well of silence. Her friends’ faces reflected a combination of surprise, anticipation, and total bewilderment. Trixie let the silence stretch on, enjoying the mystery she had created.

  Even Honey, who usually could read Trixie’s mind, was puzzled. “How can Patch and Reddy help us save the game birds?”

  Trixie decided she’d kept her friends in suspense long enough. “Why, by entering the pet show we’re going to have to raise money and get support for the game birds,” she said.

  “Think about it. The people who pay to enter the pet show, and the people who pay to attend, are bound to be animal lovers. So not only will they enjoy contributing to a good cause, they’ll also be the right people to educate about feeding the birds.”

  Almost immediately, Honey exclaimed, “Oh, Trixie, what a wonderful idea! It’s absolutely, positively brilliant!”

  “Can we actually do it?” Jim asked cautiously. “It’s a big project.”

  “Not any bigger than the antique show or the ice carnival we held a while ago, and those events were both successful,” Honey pointed out.

  “It does seem to me that the basic elements would be the same,” Mart said. “We’d need to set a date, find a place to hold the show, and get posters and fliers printed and circulated. And, of course, we’d need to enroll pets. But that wouldn’t be hard.”

  “See?” Trixie said. “Mart agrees with me. That means it has to be a perfect plan!”

  “You weren’t thinking of a formal, accredited pet show, were you? Because we don’t have the expertise to do something like that,” Brian said.

  “Heavens, no!” Trixie said. “This one will be purely for fun, with prizes for biggest pet and smallest pet and friendliest and most unusual. Definitely not formal and accredited.”

  “That’s just as well, since the Belden clan doesn’t own a formal and accredited pet, anyway,” Mart said dryly.

  “Are you going to enter Reddy as ‘most energetic’?” Honey teased.

  The other Bob-Whites laughed, but Jim remained serious. “If the Bob-Whites are sponsoring the show, we’d better stay out of the entries. It wouldn’t look right if we entered, let alone if we happened to win something.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Trixie agreed. “Reddy at home is pretty awful, but Reddy in public is unbearable.”

  “Okay,” Jim said, “let’s start planning.” He walked over to the desk and got a yellow legal pad and a pencil. “First, the place.”

  “How about the school gym?” Trixie suggested.

  Jim nodded and made note of the suggestion. “I’ll ask the principal tomorrow. I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes.”

  “How soon can we have the pet show?” Dan Mangan asked. “The critical time to help the birds is right now.”

  Jim checked the desk calendar. “It has to be on a Saturday,” he said. “And we’ll need a couple of Saturdays before the show to get people signed up. So I’d say two weeks from this Saturday, at the earliest.”

  “That long?” Trixie asked in dismay. “Thousands of birds will have died by then.”

  “You’re forgetting one of the major strengths of this plan,” Honey said reassuringly. “The idea isn’t just to raise funds, it’s also to raise awareness. And we’ll be doing that the moment the first poster goes up. The whole time we’re getting people signed up for the show, we’ll also be encouraging them to feed the birds.”

  Trixie’s gloomy look brightened a little bit. “You’re right. But I can see that publicity is ten times more important for this event than for the others we’ve had. We’ll need really good posters—and lots of them.”

  “Fortunately, we know an excellent artist,” Brian told her.

  “Nick Roberts, of course!” Trixie said. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  “Actually, Nick Roberts’s name had occurred to me in another context,” Mart said.

  “You mentioned all the prizes you’d like to award. It seems to me that ribbons and trophies might be just what we’re looking for.”

  “And Roberts’s Trophy Shop is one place in town where our credit is exceedingly good,” Brian concluded approvingly.

  “This just keeps getting better and better,” Trixie said. “Let’s not forget the idea of putting a flier in the bills Dr. Chang sends out. Only instead of just a request that everyone feed the birds, it can also be an invitation to the show! Hey, how about asking Dr. Chang to be the judge?”

  “Good idea,” Jim said. He quickly jotted it down.

  “I can’t wait to get started,” Honey said.

  “That’s just as well, because we already have started,” Jim said, turning the pad to show her a full page of notes. “And with the show just two weeks from Saturday, we’re going to have to move fast.”

  Before the meeting ended, they had drawn up a list of tasks that included talking to the school principal, contacting Nick Roberts and Dr. Chang, and getting permission to set up a sign-up table at Sleepyside Mall the following two Saturdays.

  When the meeting was over, Mart, Brian, Dan, and Di headed for home. Trixie remained behind to work with Honey on the wording of the fliers and posters.

  “We need a slogan,” Trixie said. “Something like, ‘Help our feathered friends.’ ” She wrinkled her nose at her own effort. “Something like that—only not so boring and silly.”

  “It needs to say both things—about helping the game birds and coming to the pet show,” Honey said. “The best description was when you said that Patch and Reddy could help save the game birds. It certainly caught our attention, and once you explained it, it made perfect sense. Only how do we say that to people who don’t know Patch and Reddy?”

  Trixie stared intently at her friend for a moment. Then she tore off the top sheet of the pad and began working on a fresh sheet. When she was finished, she turned the pad around to show it to Honey.

  Honey immediately began to laugh.

  What Trixie had drawn was a stick-figure dog, with a tail, floppy ears, and a bone in its mouth. The dog was holding the bone out to a small, two-legged animal with a curly topknot—presumably a quail. Above the drawing, Trixie had lettered: HELP YOUR PET HELP THE STARVING GAME BIRDS!

  “I’ll be ashamed to show this to Nick, because he’s such a good artist,” Trixie said.

  “Don’t be. If he’s been in any danger of taking his talent for granted, this will remind him of how special he is.” Honey made her observation in her usual tactful way. Only the merriment in her eyes showed that she was teasing her friend.

  The Bob-Whites found Nick Roberts in the school art studio the next morning before class.

  “Very good,” Nick said when Trixie handed him her sketch. “I think I’ll be able to do something nice with it. The pet show is a good idea, too. I saw an article in the paper about the trouble the game birds are in, and I’ve wanted to help without knowing how. Could we donate some ribbons and trophies as prizes for the show?”

  “Oh!” Trixie widened her blue eyes in mock surprise. “Gee—I hadn’t thought of it, but that’s a good idea, too. Isn’t it, gang?”

  As the others mumbled their agreement, Jim took a long list and a pencil out of his shirt pocket. Elaborately, he made a big check mark next to one item. “ ‘Ask Nick for ribbons and trophie
s’—done,” he said.

  Nick began to laugh. “One step ahead of me, as usual. Since you folks are usually headed in the right direction, I don’t mind.”

  “Thank you, Nick,” Honey said, acknowledging both Nick’s help and his compliment. “I hope all the other things on Jim’s list will be as easy to accomplish.”

  After school, the young people piled into the Bob-White station wagon, a gift to the club from Matthew Wheeler. After a whole day outside, the car was so cold that the engine turned over slowly.

  “I know just how it feels,” Trixie grumbled. “Oh, no, you don’t,” Jim retorted. “This slow-starting car has nothing in common with the Bob-Whites. Why, we’re less than twenty-four hours into our planning for the pet show, and just look what we’ve accomplished. I saw the principal and he gave us permission to use the gym and have a sign-up table in the main hall. Nick is doing posters and contributing ribbons. We’re off and rolling. Next stop—Dr. Chang’s.”

  Dr. Chang’s office was a squat, brick building that sat by itself on the outskirts of town. The isolation was necessary because, for most of the day, dogs barked at one another in the waiting room. Their barking created more barking from the dogs who were recovering from illness or being boarded in the kennel at the back of the building.

  “It’s deafening,” Trixie said as the Bob-Whites approached the door. “I don’t know how he stands it.”

  “He probably doesn’t even hear it anymore,” Di said. “You can get used to lots of noise, believe me.” Di, who had a set of younger twin brothers and a set of younger twin sisters, made a wry face.

  Inside, the temperature was cool, set for the comfort of furry animals, not humans. In the waiting room, the pets’ owners sat with their coats on. A well-trained Doberman pinscher sat quietly, watching everything without moving. An energetic terrier ran in short circles permitted by its leash. A tiny Chihuahua sat in its owner’s lap, trembling despite its knit sweater. A gray cat, wrapped in a green towel, rested in its owner’s arms.

  All of the animals and their owners turned to stare at the Bob-Whites, and Trixie felt selfconscious as she walked over to the reception window. “We’re here to see Dr. Chang,” she said. “We called him this morning, and he said to come over after school.”