by PJ Gardner
The footsteps were getting closer. It was only a matter of time before they caught up with her. Wait. There was a barbed-wire fence. If she could get past it, she might have a chance.
Using her last bit of energy, she raced toward the fence and shimmied underneath, careful not to scrape her back on a barb. On the other side, she ran until her legs gave out and she dropped to the ground, panting for breath.
Everything was okay. She’d made it. She was safe.
Winkie relaxed. There was nothing to worry about. Except maybe for that crinkling sound. She hopped up. Had they found her again? She sniffed the air, but the scent she picked up was different—fur and something bitter.
She followed it, making sure to be as quiet as possible. Up ahead she saw a patch of black and white fur. She let out a big breath. It was just Horace.
“You decided to get off the couch after all.” She trotted toward him.
The critter jumped up and spun around.
It dawned on Winkie that she wasn’t running toward Horace about the same time that a stream of nasty-smelling liquid hit her face.
5
A Royal Obligation
Horace did not have bad breath. He chewed dental treats every day to ensure it. Imagine the impertinence of that creature, saying such a thing! Let her go pout outside. He didn’t care.
He settled in and enjoyed a lovely episode of Dogton Abbey where Lord Crinklebottom ran out of jam for his toast.
“Hey, you two, I’m going to go muck out the horse stalls.” Eleanor passed through the family room, her hair pulled back into a braid. “Don’t spend the whole day lying around watching TV.”
Guilt soured in Horace’s stomach as he watched Eleanor leave the room. He was supposed to watch out for Bunwinkle. He was the senior pet, superior in wisdom and experience, which meant he had no excuse for being mean to her. He’d probably hurt her feelings. What if she’d become so upset, she’d started crying? And then, blinded by tears, stumbled into a ditch? She could be lying there with a broken leg.
An image of the wall of missing-animal flyers popped into his mind. Good heavens! What if something else had happened? A thief? Or worse . . . what if the mountain lion had found her? He should never have let the little pig go off alone.
Worry washed over him, and he raced out the back door. Bunwinkle was nowhere to be seen. Not in the barn either, or at the pond. Where could she be? She wouldn’t have left the Homestead, would she? Horace thought of her angry expression when she’d stomped away. Yes, she would.
He ran back through the house, out to the front porch, and looked out over the field across the way. The tall grass swayed with the breeze, but there was no sign of Bunwinkle.
His heart hurt as if someone was squeezing it. Eleanor would be devastated if something happened to Bunwinkle, and he would never forgive himself. Yes, Bunwinkle was obnoxious and had a knack for finding trouble, but he was responsible for her.
He had to look for her. But he wasn’t supposed to leave the Homestead. And what if he lost his way? Then Eleanor would have to search for two missing pets. But if he didn’t go . . .
The stress of it was too much. He dropped down and started licking his legs.
The Schott, Schwink, & Schwank mobile veterinary van passed by while Horace stared at the field. Dr. Schwank was at the wheel, a deep frown on his face. He’d probably been up at Hogland Farm. Clary had mentioned something about a sick horse.
After the van passed by, Horace saw something through the haze of dirt kicked up by its wheels. It was an animal, crouched in the tall grass. The haze cleared a bit more.
Bunwinkle!
Horace almost wept with relief. He leaped off the porch and raced to the edge of the property. He waited for her to cross the road, but she didn’t.
“Bunwinkle! What’s the matter?”
She lifted her head. Enormous tears leaked from her eyes. Then the direction of the wind changed, and he understood why she was so upset. Even from across the road, the stench of skunk was enough to make him gag.
He put a paw over his sniffer and backed away. “You got sprayed by a skunk.”
Bunwinkle’s tears turned to big, heaving sobs. “Yyyesss.”
Oh, dear.
“Hey . . . now. It’s going to be . . . okay,” Horace called to her. “Why don’t you come over here and we’ll go find Eleanor?”
At the mention of Eleanor, Bunwinkle’s sobs grew louder. “She’s gggonna be mmmad.”
Well, he would have been angry if he had to clean her up, but Eleanor never seemed to lose her patience with the piglet.
“Don’t worry about that. Just come home and let her take care of you.”
The sobbing stopped, and Bunwinkle nodded. “O-kay,” she hiccupped.
As she crossed the road, Horace caught sight of something. It looked like the tail of a certain dark gray cat.
They didn’t have to look for Eleanor long. As they walked into the courtyard, she appeared at the barn doors as if drawn by the smell.
“Oh, Bunwinkle. Stay right there. I’ll get the de-skunkifier ready.”
It took four doses of Eleanor’s special wash to get rid of the odor. Horace could barely stand to watch. His sniffer hurt if he got within ten feet of Bunwinkle.
“What happened?” he asked later.
“Someone was in the field. They chased after me. I only got away because of the barbed-wire fence. Scared me real bad. I was running away from them when I found that rotten stunk who sprayed me.”
“Skunk.”
She nodded. “Stunk.”
“Never mind.” Horace shook his head.
Bunwinkle yawned and snuggled down into her bed.
Horace nudged her with his nose. “Could the stalker have been the mountain lion?”
“Maybe. I did smell cat fur. But there was something else. It smelled like . . . like . . .” All of a sudden her ears shot up and her eyes widened. “It smelled like the vets’ office. You don’t think Dr. Shot tried to steal me, do you?”
“Why would he steal you?”
“Duh. He said they wanted a pig to be their mascot.”
That was true. And the mobile veterinary van had been in the area. Dr. Schwank might have been driving, but that didn’t mean Dr. Schott wasn’t in the back.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe it. They’re respected professionals. Even if they are a bit creepy. Vets stealing animals—it sounds like one of Jones’s stories, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but animals are disappearing. They have to be going somewhere.”
She was absolutely correct. Something was definitely going on. But what? The image of Smokey’s tail disappearing in the grass came back to him. Could she be involved? Could the nasty gray cat be working with the mountain lion? It was possible. Everyone knew cats were in league with one another.
A loud snore disturbed his thinking. Bunwinkle had fallen asleep. The stress of the day had finally caught up with her. She looked so small lying there.
They could’ve lost her today. Horace’s stomach turned to stone. The families of those missing animals must be sick with worry. Some of their loved ones had been missing for weeks.
The pet thieves had to be apprehended. Especially if they had their eyes on Bunwinkle.
“Help . . . help,” she called in her sleep, her legs twitching as if she was trying to run.
Horace snuggled close to her, and after a few minutes she calmed down. No one was going to get his sister.
The next morning, bright and early, Bunwinkle put her snout in his ear and whispered, “Are you awake?”
“What do you want?” he grumbled. He hadn’t slept well, waking up every few hours to check on Bunwinkle. And this was the thanks he received, her hot breath going in and out, in and out. It was maddening.
She hopped up onto the couch and in a chirpy voice said, “I knew you weren’t asleep.” She snorted loudly. “I want to find those animals and get those creeps who tried to pignap me.”
Bun
winkle looked down and pawed at the blankets. “Will you help me?” Before he could answer, she blurted out, “I promise I’ll listen this time and I won’t run off by myself.”
Impossible. There was no way the little piglet would ever be able to control herself, and yet he couldn’t say no. Yesterday had opened his eyes.
“Of course I’ll help.” Horace stood tall. “We’re partners, aren’t we?”
The smile she gave him lit up her face. “Really?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. Besides, we can’t leave it to the humans. They’ll never figure it out.”
“That’s right. And I already know what the petnappers smell like. Like cats and cleaning stuff.”
“See, humans probably wouldn’t even have noticed that. They have terrible sniffers. It’s up to us to solve this mystery, Bunwinkle.” Horace held up his paw. “Pet-tectives investigate?”
She hit it with her hoof. “Pet-tectives investigate!”
“Chow time,” Eleanor called from the kitchen.
Horace’s stomach rumbled. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find clues much faster with full stomachs.”
Bunwinkle nodded. “Totally.”
When they finished eating, Horace led the way to the back porch. “I think we should start with the pond behind the barn.”
Bunwinkle stared at him. “But I wasn’t back there when it happened.”
“That is true.” He tried to look casual as he continued. “However, no criminal would remain at the scene of his most recent crime. Or attempted crime, in this case.”
“You just want to see if the ducks are back, don’t you?” Her voice was sour.
Horace glanced up at the clouds, down at his paws, over at the chicken coop. “Maybe.”
“Fine,” she grumbled, “but let’s question them before we chase them away. They may have seen something.”
Horace didn’t reply. Questioning birds would be a waste of time. They were terribly foolish creatures. Take the chicks, for example—they still thought Bunwinkle was a rhinoceros.
As they rounded the barn, Horace heard the ducks quacking away. How dare they infest the pond again! Without thinking, he charged toward the water.
“Get out of here, you filthy brutes!” Horace shouted.
The small flock took to the sky, quacking rude things as they went.
Bunwinkle frowned at him so hard, her forehead wrinkled. If she’d folded her front legs, she would’ve looked exactly like Eleanor when one of the nanny goats knocked over the milk bucket.
“Horace! We were going to talk to them, remember?”
His face became hot and he couldn’t meet her eyes. “Oh yes. That was unfortunate, what I just did.”
A small smile curled her lips. “Say you’re sorry.”
“I apologize,” he said with quiet dignity.
“What? I couldn’t hear you,” Bunwinkle teased.
She really was terribly immature. “I apologize.”
In answer, she stretched out her tongue and licked him.
Horace froze, his ears burning with embarrassment. “What are you doing?”
She licked him again. “I’m getting the food on your peaches.”
“My what?” He hadn’t eaten any peaches.
“Your peaches. You know, your cheeks, the white part next to your mouth. Where your whiskers grow. Ellie calls them peaches.”
“Isn’t that sweet?” a raspy voice called from the far side of the water.
Smokey.
Horace’s heart sank.
The stray looked worse than she had the first time they met. Her gray fur was crusted with mud and hay, and part of her tail was charred. She smelled odd too, as though she’d bathed in hand gel. What had happened to her? She flicked her tail, and for the first time Horace noticed there was another cat sitting next to her.
He was tall and lean, with excellent posture. His white fur was immaculate, and he had an impressive dark gray mustache that stretched across his face and curled up at the ends.
What was a gentleman like that doing with Smokey?
“Greetings. I am Horace Homer Higgins III of the noble Boston Terriers.” He placed a paw on his chest, then gestured to his partner. “This is Bun—”
“Oh, wow!”
Bunwinkle had discovered the mustache. It was obvious from the way she leaned in and stared at the white cat’s face.
“Uh-hmm.” Horace cleared his throat, hoping to get her attention, but it was no use. She was mesmerized.
“Excuse me,” the white cat said in a high-pitched voice. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”
“Dude, you have an awesome ’stache,” Bunwinkle declared with admiration.
“Well! You really are the most thoughtless creature, aren’t you? Don’t you know it’s impolite to point out a lady’s flaws?”
Oh, not a gentleman, a lady.
“Flaws?” Bunwinkle wrinkled her nose. “Your mustache is amazing. You should be proud of it. I would be.”
“Do you really think so?” The white cat put a paw up to her face.
Bunwinkle nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
“Well, thank you. I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Princess Sofaneesba.”
“No, it ain’t.” Smokey moved between them, an ugly smile on her ugly face.
“Smokey, please,” the princess pleaded.
“What’s the matter, Princess? Don’t want these idiots to know your real name? Don’t want anyone to know you’re named after a weirdo artist obsessed with watches?” Smokey turned to Bunwinkle. “Her humans called her Dalí. But this simpleton here thought her name was Dolly—right up until I showed her his picture.”
Princess Sofaneesba’s head hung down. It looked like she was trying not to cry.
Bunwinkle moved closer to her. “It’s okay. I think both names are awesome.”
“Oh yeah?” Smokey continued. “And what’s your name? Pork Chop? Bacon? Or should I just call you Breakfast?”
Bunwinkle tilted her chin up and said, “My name is Bunwinkle. And it was given to me by my human. Do you have a family, or are you a stray? ’Cause you look like you sleep in weeds and roll in cow pies.”
Smokey hissed and arched her back. Princess Sofaneesba raced behind a bush.
The stray cat crouched low, ready to spring at Bunwinkle, but the piglet stood her ground. She was going to get hurt. Horace couldn’t let that happen. Without thinking of the consequences, Horace raced between them.
“Don’t do it, Smokey!” he snarled.
Smokey turned and glared at him. “Who’s going to stop me? You? I’ve seen bigger loaves of bread.”
Horace growled and edged closer to her, ears back, teeth bared.
Smokey yowled in his face, but he didn’t flinch. Her expression turned hateful. They stared at each other until she spat at him.
“I’ll remember this, Horace.”
“You’d better.”
Horace stood tall as the gray cat stalked away. There’d be trouble later, he was sure of it. Smokey would never let this insult pass. He’d won today, but he’d have to be on his guard in the future.
Once she was off the property, he swung around to check on Bunwinkle and Princess Sofaneesba. They wore the same amazed expression: eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
Bunwinkle ran over. “That was awesome, Horace. You totally protected us. You’re like a superhero.”
He blushed. “No, no.”
The princess smiled at him. “You were so brave.”
“Well . . . maybe a little.”
She really was a charming individual. For a cat, that is.
“How did you meet Smokey?” Bunwinkle asked the question Horace had been thinking.
“We moved here a little while ago and I didn’t know anyone. Smokey was sitting outside the house one day when I went for a walk. She was ever so friendly and quite humorous at times. I liked her a great deal.” The cat sighed deeply. “But once I invited her into my home, she changed. First, it was little rude
comments about my humans.
“Once she found out about my name . . . well, it went downhill from there. One day she actually scratched Papa, so he removed her from the house permanently. After that, she became positively vicious. I kept hoping her behavior would improve, but of course it didn’t.”
Smokey’s behavior would never improve. She was mean to the core. Attacking humans and other animals without . . . Wait, attacking other animals? Smokey was the one behind the disappearances!
It made sense—Bunwinkle had smelled cat fur in the field, and Horace had seen Smokey there that day. Well, he’d seen her tail. And today she’d smelled of hand cleaner.
He was vaguely aware of Bunwinkle asking the white cat, “And . . . um . . . how did you come up with that name? Princess Softball?”
“Sofaneesba.”
“Yeah, that.”
“I picked it out of a book,” the princess said proudly.
“You know, Princess Sofa Cushion . . .”
“Sofaneesba.”
“. . . is a great name. Isn’t it, Horace?”
He nodded, although he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing with. He wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. He was thinking about Smokey.
“Thank you, small pig. You’ve been most kind. I wish there was something I could do for you.”
Horace lifted his head. “Maybe there is. You said your human cast Smokey out of your house, correct? How long ago was that?”
A thoughtful look settled on the white cat’s face. “Three weeks. I remember because it happened the day of that big rainstorm.”
Bunwinkle gave him a curious look. “What’re you thinking?”
He bent his head close to her ear and whispered, “Do you remember when the animals started disappearing?”
Understanding bloomed in her eyes. “About three weeks ago! You think Smokey’s our culprit?” she said in what she thought was a whisper but was actually a shout.
“What is it you think she’s done?” the princess asked with a sigh.
“She’s taking animals that don’t belong to her.” Bunwinkle tapped her hooves excitedly.
“Taking animals? Why on earth would she do that?”
Horace put a paw to his chin. “Perhaps she’s forcing them to give her food. Or perhaps she’s jealous, and keeping animals away from their families makes her feel better.”
