The Bolds on Vacation

by David Roberts

  So in the High Jump, as you might have guessed, Betty didn’t triumph. She jumped with all her hyena might, but only managed a few inches. Bobby watched his sister and thought how unfair it was. Although it was true they were having fun, wouldn’t it be nice to win something, like Minnie, and collect a winner’s medal at the prize-giving?

  In Bobby’s Long Jump event each competitor had three goes. After his first two attempts Bobby was at the bottom of the results board, way behind the others and simply miles behind the leader—that rather nasty boy called Kyle who was clearly feeling very cocky and sure of himself.

  “You’ve got no chance, Boldie,” he sneered at Bobby. “I’m the winner and you might as well go home now.” And Kyle gave Bobby a vicious shove, which knocked him over, onto all fours. As he got up and brushed the dirt and grass off his legs, Bobby suddenly had an idea. A rather good idea, he thought . . . a rather Bold idea.

  Preparing for his final jump, Bobby stood at the start line and heard Kyle behind him quietly chanting under his breath, “Loser! Loser!”

  Right. That decided it. Bobby took several deep breaths and lowered his head. Suddenly a look of animal determination came across him and he began his run.

  But this time, instead of the awkward hind-leg run he usually did, Bobby dropped down onto his front legs and ran like the hyena he really was. Suddenly his speed was tripled—he flew along like a greyhound, bounding faster by the second, his long hyena tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. As he reached the end of the runway his hind legs propelled him up, up, up in the sky. His front paws paddled the air and his whole body wriggled and strained, rather like a fish leaping out of the water. The spectators were suddenly stunned into silence.

  Bobby seemed to fly through the air for ages until, finally, he landed, several feet ahead of the mark that showed where Kyle, the current leader, had jumped to. There was a collective gasp from the crowd, then an eruption of amazed cheering and applause. Bobby hoisted himself up onto his back legs again, tucked his tongue back in his mouth and smiled with satisfaction. He’d won! And very convincingly indeed.

  “But you can’t—It isn’t fair!” said a furious Kyle, running up to Mrs. Millin to complain.

  Mrs. Millin shrugged. “Well, there’s nothing in the rules about not using your hands and legs,” she said. “Bobby is the winner, fair and square, I’m afraid. Don’t be such a bad loser, Kyle! Remember, we’re all winners here.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Bold beamed with pride and giggled to themselves. “He really shouldn’t have . . . but I’m glad he did!” said Mrs. Bold to her husband.

  “You can take the hyena out of the wild, but you can’t take the wild out of the hyena,” whispered Fred in a rare display of wisdom. “Well done, my son!”

  For his last jump, Kyle attempted to do the same as Bobby but only succeeded in rolling head over heels before he even got to jump. He stomped off looking furious.

  “What a win for young Bobby Bold!” boomed the voice over the loudspeakers. “And now, our most fun event of all, the Parents’ Race—would all the competitors please make their way to the starting line.”

  Chapter 3

  “Ooh, the Parents’ Race,” said Mr. Bold. “That’s us. Come on, dear. Are you joining in, George?”

  “Er. Well. I wish I could, but I can’t stop this sneezing. Such a nuisance. And what about the birthday cake?” said George, looking up in the sky in case any hungry pigeons were circling.

  “We’ll guard it for you, won’t we, Tony?” said Mr. McNumpty.

  “Oh yes,” nodded Tony, eyeing the tasty Victoria sponge hungrily. “We’ll cake—I mean, take very good care of it . . .”

  “That’s very kind,” said George, getting up and flexing his legs in preparation for the race.

  “Tony,” said Mrs. Bold in a warning tone, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “Behave. Don’t touch a crumb, do you hear? Bobby’s nearly given the game away and I don’t want you doing the same.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Bold set off for the starting line with George. “I’m not sure how easy it is going to be to run in this hat,” pondered Amelia.

  “Take it off, then,” suggested George.

  “Well, I can’t really because . . . well . . .” What she wanted to say was, I can’t because it’s hiding my hyena ears. But of course she couldn’t say that so she said, “Well, I’m having a bad hair day so I couldn’t possibly!”

  “Ah, yes,” said George, looking far from convinced. “A-choo!”

  So, how well do you think Mr. and Mrs. Bold did in the Parents’ Race? Do you think they came in the top three? No, of course not! Do you think something maybe went wrong?

  Yes, that’s right. How clever you are. The Bolds couldn’t run very well at the best of times, for reasons we’ve already discussed. But the main problem in this race was Mrs. Bold’s hat. As she ran, it toppled over. Mr. Bold tried to catch it for her but only succeeded in punching it up in the air. One of the tennis shoes on the hat then broke free from the spring it was attached to and spun, almost in slow motion, through the air. With a loud slap! it whammed straight onto Mrs. Millin’s head. What were the chances of that?!

  Mrs. Millin wasn’t best pleased, and she blew her whistle very loudly to disqualify the Bolds. But they didn’t mind. They were laughing so much they couldn’t have continued anyway.

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs. Bold. “We’re not supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves and here we are with everyone looking at us.”

  So, who won? Well, it was actually Minnie’s father, George. As soon as he was away from Mr. and Mrs. Bold his sneezing seemed to stop. He’d never won a race before but I suspect he was hurrying to get back and make sure his cake hadn’t been eaten.

  Despite severe temptation, Mr. McNumpty and Uncle Tony had managed to resist eating the birthday cake—although the ham sandwiches and chips had all mysteriously vanished—so everyone, including Bobby and Betty and Minnie, enjoyed a slice each after singing a hearty chorus of “Happy Birthday.”

  “Are you having a nice day?” Betty asked her best friend.

  “Yes, thank you,” answered Minnie politely.

  But Betty could tell something was wrong. “You won the Hula Hooping competition,” she reminded Minnie. “That’s really cool.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve had some lovely presents, and it’s great to be a winner. But I didn’t get the one thing I really wanted.”

  “That’s a shame. What were you hoping for?”

  “A puppy,” said Minnie, tears welling in her eyes. “I really, really wanted my own little puppy. You know how much I love animals,” and she gave Betty a knowing look. “But Dad’s allergic to dog hair and that was that.”

  “Ah,” said Betty sympathetically, putting her arm round her best friend.

  Apart from Minnie’s disappointment, everyone agreed the Sports Day had been a great success. The Bolds packed away the blankets, picnic things, and what remained of Mrs. Bold’s hat and began their walk back to the car. Bobby was lagging behind admiring his medal when suddenly that awful Kyle jumped out from behind a parked car and blocked his path.

  “Oi! Give me that medal, you!” he hissed.

  Bobby looked anxiously around for his parents but they were a long way ahead of him. “But it’s my medal!” he said, reasonably. “I won. You lost. Now let me past, please, Kyle.”

  “Give it to me or I’ll punch your big nose,” sneered Kyle, moving even closer to Bobby, and showing him a clenched fist. “I’ll count to three. One . . . two . . .”

  Kyle raised his fist high in the air, but Bobby’s animal instinct took over and he turned to face Kyle, this time wrinkling his nose and baring his teeth. Kyle took one look at the now ferocious Bobby, screamed and ran in the other direction for all he was worth. Bobby resisted the temptation to run after his prey and sink his teeth into his puffy, pink flesh. Instead he ran as quickly as he could to catch up with his family—this time
on his two back legs.

  But hyenas aren’t as steady on two legs as you or I, and Bobby was very shaken up by what had just happened. He was so cross, he wasn’t really looking where he was going—and that’s why he didn’t see the rabbit hole in the ground until it was too late.

  Mr. and Mrs. Bold and the others heard the commotion and turned round just in time to see Bobby fall to the ground, clutching his left ankle and screaming.

  “What’s the matter, son?” asked Mr. Bold, crouching down next to him.

  “My leg! Ooh, ow! It hurts!”

  “Oh dear, poor Bobby,” said Mr. Bold. “Let me see.” He gently peeled down Bobby’s sock and everyone peered at his rather hairy ankle.

  Bobby was moaning with pain. “Kyle tried to . . . take my medal. I wasn’t going to let that happen!” He winced.

  “That’s swelling up badly,” said George gravely. “Done yourself a nasty injury.”

  Bobby tried to get up, but the pain was clearly too much. He began to whimper. “I—can’t—walk on it,” he moaned.

  “I’ll carry you,” said Mr. Bold, picking Bobby up and popping him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

  “Better take the poor lad to hospital,” said George. “He’ll need an X-ray, that’s for sure. A-choo!”

  Chapter 4

  Now why do you think it would be a problem for Bobby, or any of the Bolds for that matter, to go to the hospital for an X-ray?

  That’s right. Because they’re animals, not humans, that’s why. And the shape of their leg bones is not the same as ours. A doctor would be very suspicious. Heads would be scratched, consultants would be called, and before long the truth would emerge and the Bolds’ secret life in Teddington would be in ruins.

  “I’ve always worried something like this might happen one day,” said Mrs. Bold once they were safely home at 41 Fairfield Road. Bobby was lying on a pile of cushions on the sofa and Betty was holding a packet of frozen peas on his injured ankle. “Whatever shall we do? He needs some medical help, Fred, but there’s no way a doctor will ever believe he’s human once he’s been X-rayed and examined thoroughly.”

  “Er, don’t panic,” said Mr. Bold, pacing up and down. “I’ll think of something.” But for Mr. Bold the best solution to any problem was always to tell a joke.

  Everyone laughed, despite the seriousness of the situation, so this encouraged Mr. Bold to try another . . .

  There was more hyena cackling at this one. But Mr. McNumpty stopped laughing first and, frowning, he pointed out that this was getting them nowhere.

  “Just one more, please!” pleaded Bobby. “It doesn’t hurt so much when I laugh.”

  “Take mind off pain,” Miranda said.

  “OK. One last Doctor, Doctor joke. Now let me think . . .” pondered Mr. Bold. “Ah. Got it . . . !

  The laughter was interrupted again by Mr. McNumpty. “That’s it! That’s the answer!” he said.

  “What is?” asked Uncle Tony.

  “Pretend Bobby’s a dog. Dogs and hyenas have very similar-shaped bones, don’t they?”

  “True. But how does that help?” asked Mrs. Bold.

  “A vet,” Mr. McNumpty said simply. “We’ll pretend Bobby is a dog and take him to a vet, not a doctor. The vet can do an X-ray and find out what the problem is.”

  There was silence while everyone considered this new option.

  Bobby spoke first. “You mean, take off all my clothes and wear a collar and lead?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Mr. McNumpty.

  “Would I have to bark and do doggy things?”

  “Yup.”

  “Wee against lampposts?”

  “Er, if you like.”

  “Eat my food from a bowl and bury bones in the garden?”

  Mrs. Bold looked at Bobby sadly. “I’m sorry, but it may be the only way . . .”

  “But I LOVE the idea!” enthused Bobby. “I could roll around in mud, chew things, rub my bottom on the furniture!”

  “Um, steady on now,” said Mrs. Bold, looking at her nice new sofa.

  “Can I be a dog too, then?” asked Betty.

  “No, dear,” said her mother. “I think one dog will be quite enough.” She was remembering a time, not so long ago, when the house had been full of lots of animals the Bolds had rescued, and much as she missed them, she was rather enjoying having everything a bit more civilized again.

  “Brilliant idea. Well done, Nigel!” exclaimed Mr. Bold, shaking Mr. McNumpty by the paw. “Now where is the nearest vet’s office?”

  “There’s one on the high street,” said Uncle Tony. “Just next to the ice cream shop.”

  But before he was ready for an appointment there were a few things Bobby had to be taught.

  It probably seems strange to you that Bobby, who was really a hyena but who had been pretending to be a human being all of his life, now had to learn to stop acting like a human and behave as an animal. Yes, it is strange, I quite agree. But don’t blame me, I’m just telling you the story as I heard it. And if you think this all a bit weird and wonderful, just read on and see what happens in the rest of this book.

  Later that afternoon Mr. McNumpty popped out to the pet shop and returned with a nice red collar and lead; then Bobby took his clothes off and got down on all fours—although his back left leg was injured, so he had to hop a bit.

  “Ah! The joy of letting my tail swish about wherever it wants to is bliss!” sighed Bobby.

  “Good,” said Mr. Bold. “But listen. You mustn’t speak anymore. Not at all, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” said Bobby.

  “No!” said Mr. Bold. “Don’t speak! You’re supposed to be a dog. You can only woof, remember. Animals don’t talk, or at least humans don’t think they do.”

  “Got it,” nodded Bobby.

  “No, you haven’t got it at all,” sighed Mrs. Bold. “Go ‘woof.’ ”

  “Woof!” barked Bobby. “Is that right?”

  This was going to take a while, Mr. and Mrs. Bold agreed.

  “How about a muzzle?” suggested Betty, rather unkindly.

  “No, please, don’t make me wear a muzzle. Everyone will think I’m a dangerous dog if I wear one of those.”

  “Well, that’s better than a talking dog, I’d have thought,” sniffed Betty.

  Bobby sighed. “Woof, woof,” he said.

  “That’s better. Now wag your tail in a friendly way,” instructed Mrs. Bold. This, Bobby could do with no trouble whatsoever. Stopping his tail from wagging whenever he was happy was something he’d always found very difficult. (In fact, it had to be gaffer-taped to his waist under his trousers all day to prevent suspicious movement below the waist.)

  “He ought to have a new name,” suggested Uncle Tony. “That will remind him he’s a dog.”

  “I don’t need a new name!” cried a bewildered Bobby. “A dog can be called Bobby, surely?”

  “Hush now, bad dog!” said Betty, wagging her finger at her brother.

  Bobby gave a little growl.

  “Tony is quite right,” said Mr. Bold. “A new name to go with your new life as a dog.”

  Bobby wasn’t sure he liked this idea.

  “Don’t worry, dear,” said Mrs. Bold, stroking him gently. “It’s only for a little while, so we can get your leg fixed.”

  “So what shall we call our new pet?” asked Mr. Bold.

  “Caesar!” said Mr. McNumpty.

  “Pork chop!” said Uncle Tony.

  “Dude!” said Miranda.

  “Handsome!” said Mrs. Bold.

  “Scruff!” said Mr. Bold.

  “Susan!” said Betty.

  Everyone laughed. Apart from Bobby. He was trying his best not to speak, but in the end he couldn’t contain himself.

  “I think I should choose my own name!” he cried.

  “Stop talking! Bad dog!” scolded Betty.

  “Stop talking yourself,” said Bobby, who was in a bit of a bad mood because of the pain in his ankle. “Or I�
�ll bite you!”

  “Muum!” shrieked Betty. “Susan threatened to bite me!”

  “Now, now,” said Mrs. Bold. “His name isn’t Susan, is it? It’s your fault for teasing him. Let’s all calm down.”

  Mr. Bold decided it was time to cheer everyone up with another joke.

  After some discussion it was decided that Bobby could choose his own name—it seemed only fair. So without a moment’s hesitation, Bobby announced the new name he wanted.

  “Are you sure the novelty won’t wear off after a while?” asked Mrs. Bold when she had finished laughing.

  Bobby shook his head. He had chosen his name for a reason. It was to be a very appropriate name, he decided, smiling to himself. And it was going to be fun!

  What do dogs do quite often? After a large meal perhaps? Well, no, it’s not only dogs—often humans do it too. But they always try to deny it. Or blame it on the dog. Yes, that’s right. They fart, and that was something Bobby had been told off for quite often. Sometimes he did noisy ones. On other occasions they were quiet but deadly . . . Now that he was a dog he would do them to his heart’s content, and they would all have one important element in common.

  Mr. Bold dialed the number for the vet and made an appointment for the next morning.

  “And what is the name of your dog?” asked the vet’s receptionist.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Mr. and Mrs. Bold and Betty set off to the vet’s with “Stinky,” who hopped along quite well on his three good legs. Betty insisted on holding his lead and saying “Heel!” a lot. Stinky was thrilled to do his “business” by a tree while everyone averted their eyes. Betty giggled as her father picked it up with a poo bag and put it safely in a trash can.