That Dirty Dog and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls

by Christopher Milne

  But there must be a reason, because whoever or whatever made us could have given us skin made out of steel if they’d wanted to.’

  Rob thought about that. ‘Maybe Dad went early to build a house for us,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Dave. ‘You will see your dad again, but there’s no rush. I’m not scared of death – it’s a good thing in a way. Can you imagine the smell if we all lived to a thousand?’

  And for the first time since his dad had died, Robert started to feel better inside. Really better. Who would have guessed the reason would be one of Daggy Dave’s talks? In fact, Robert even found himself wanting to spend more time with Dave. They started going for walks every day with Sally, Rob’s new puppy.

  Dave made up useless poems as they walked, of course, but they really did have a laugh together watching Sally. She was a very naughty puppy. Once she did a wee on a grumpy old man’s leg, and then did a huge poo on the footpath. But before Robert could pick it up, a really rude skateboarder raced past and ran right over it, and it stuck to his wheel!

  Sally sniffed and chewed everything in sight. Even a parking inspector’s shoe. Dave was always telling Rob how much he loved their walks, and saying, ‘I wouldn’t be dead for quids,’ which he explained was just a silly old saying that meant he wouldn’t be dead for anything – even lots of money.

  Well, life has its twists and turns. Unfortunately, it was only a year later that Dave was run over on the way home after winning lots of money at the horse races. He died instantly.

  Now, you’d think that Robert would have been crushed by Dave’s death. Brokenhearted. Especially after losing his dear dad only a year and a half before. But this time was different. Of course Robert missed Dave, but he also remembered what Dave had said.

  At the funeral, Robert knew Dave would want it to be a happy day, so he asked his mum if he could read a poem. ‘I suppose so,’ said his mum. ‘But you’d better let me read it first.’

  ‘I want it to be a surprise,’ said Robert.

  ‘Well, all right,’ said his mum. ‘But remember, funerals are very serious. Don’t do anything that Dave wouldn’t have wanted you to do.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Robert.

  So at the funeral, after the talking bit, the minister asked if anyone would like to say a few words.

  ‘Yes, I would,’ said Robert.

  Everyone looked around and thought, How lovely.

  Robert walked up to the front and said quietly to the minister, ‘I’ve written a poem but it’s pretty long, so you might like to sit down.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ said the minister. But he wouldn’t have thanked Robert if he’d known what would happen next.

  Secretly, before the funeral started, Robert had put a whoopee cushion on the minister’s seat. So when the minister sat down, a huge ripper went off underneath him.

  Robert had seen people look red and embarrassed before, but never as bad as this. It was one of the best blurters he’d ever heard. The poor minister obviously didn’t know whether to pretend nothing had happened or check his seat – which would prove it was him – or just get up and walk out.

  Robert knew Dave would be watching from heaven and absolutely loving it.

  He leant into the microphone. ‘This is just a short poem, really,’ said Robert, ‘about my Uncle Dave, who helped me very much.’ Then he started to read.

  Poor Daggy Dave,

  He ran out of luck.

  Won all this money,

  Then got hit by a truck.

  Jacinta Ronis told lies. All the time. Big, whopper, shameless lies. Sneaky, greasy, slimy lies. Clever, hurtful, evil lies. And got away with them every time.

  I first realised how bad it was during a maths test at school. I was sitting right behind Jacinta and I could see her cheating by looking across at Sylvia Benetta’s answers. But Jacinta was also madly scribbling on an extra piece of paper. At first, I couldn’t understand why.

  After the test, our teacher, Mr Lyons, said it was clear that one of the girls had cheated because their answers were exactly the same.

  ‘It wasn’t me!’ said Jacinta. ‘Look, I’ve written down how I worked everything out.’

  Mr Lyons studied her rather messy page of figures closely. ‘I can’t make much sense of these,’ he said. ‘That’s not to say I don’t believe you, though. Do you have any back-up work, Sylvia?’

  ‘No,’ said Sylvia. ‘I suppose I found the questions pretty easy so I just wrote the answers straight down.’

  ‘Easy because you’re a filthy cheat,’ yelled Jacinta.

  ‘That’s enough!’ shouted Mr Lyons.

  I knew Sylvia would have found the questions dead simple because she was super brainy. I’d paid her a couple of times with chocolate biscuits to help me with my homework.

  But Mr Lyons was new to our school and had no idea. ‘Well, Sylvia,’ said Mr Lyons. ‘I think that maybe we need to have a talk after school. With your parents, as well.’

  Sylvia began to cry.

  Which was all I needed to yell out, ‘It’s not fair! I saw Jacinta cheat. I know she did!’

  ‘You’re a liar, Sandra Harris!’ screamed Jacinta. ‘You’re just jealous because my parents are together and yours have split up.’

  ‘No, they haven’t!’ I yelled.

  ‘You’re such a liar,’ said Jacinta, with the most evil of smiles. ‘When’s the last time you saw your dad?’

  Now, that was just about the most awful, cruel thing anyone could say to me. Because Dad had left. A few weeks ago. He and Mum had been fighting terribly, so Dad said it was for the best that he stayed out of the way for a while. Until things settled down.

  Dad said it would all be OK, eventually. But I wasn’t so sure and it made me sick. I missed him so much.

  Unfortunately, Jacinta lived only two doors down from us and her mother was one of those people who knew everybody else’s business. ‘She’s the nastiest gossip I’ve ever met,’ my mum was always saying.

  Of course, the other kids soon found out that Dad had left, which made Jacinta right and me a liar.

  And after her success of fixing up both Sylvia and me in the same day, Jacinta was on a roll. No-one suspected her of lying, and the way she’d been able to make Sylvia cry in front of the class and hurt me so terribly made everyone a little bit scared of her.

  So people started to suck up. Just in case she decided to go for them next. It almost made me puke watching them. Wimpy, greasy lot, they were.

  ‘Can I sit next to you, Jacinta?’

  ‘Want to come to my place tonight?’

  ‘Want some of my lollies? I’m full.’

  Jacinta just loved it. So she thought a couple more lies might be the go, just to make sure everyone kept it up.

  She accused poor Tamsin Smith of pinching money from her bag, and said to Mr Lyons she wouldn’t be surprised if the money was hidden somewhere in Tamsin’s desk right now. And it was! No prizes for guessing who put it there.

  And then she started a rumour that Mordy Isaacs was still wetting his bed at the age of eleven. How do you prove something like that isn’t true? Drag people around to your house to feel the sheets?

  Sometimes, with rumours, you just have to let them run wild for a while, until a new rumour comes along to take its place. People are always looking out for something fresh. Besides, jumping up and down too much can often make it worse.

  But by now I was sick of her lies. And so was everyone else.

  I was counting on Jacinta to keep thinking that she was kicking butt. In all directions. But it was time to give her a taste of her own medicine.

  Soon another maths test came along and of course Jacinta plonked herself at the desk next to Sylvia, just a little too late to catch me whispering in Sylvia’s ear. Naturally, Jacinta thought she could pull the old copying trick again. But this time, Sylvia got ten out of ten – and Jacinta got zero! Nothing, nought, nix. How could this be?

  ‘Apart from anything else, Jacinta,’
said Mr Lyons, ‘it now proves that you were lying last time. I will speak to you, young lady, after school. And then, of course, to your parents.’

  Sylvia had fixed her up so easily, just as I had said. It had taken no time for her to write out the correct answers, with her arm blocking Jacinta’s view, and then to write out another page with every answer wrong. Der, Jacinta.

  Later at lunch, everyone was still talking about it – and Jacinta was skulking around the corner, listening to every word.

  Kathy Warren said very loudly, ‘Although Jacinta’s turned out to be a dirty rotten liar, I don’t think that should stop us having the surprise birthday party for her.’

  I smiled and said even louder, ‘Of course. I mean, you’ve been planning the party for weeks.’

  And so they had. Nineteen girls were going to meet at Kathy’s place for the surprise party of the century. And they were betting that Jacinta knew all about the party by now. Of course with surprise parties, sometimes knowing is half the fun.

  So, as planned, Kathy said to Jacinta that if she was doing nothing after school on Friday, she should come to her place to watch a DVD.

  Jacinta happily said that she’d love to. I could tell from the triumphant look on her face that she thought she was the queen of the school, once and for all.

  Well, the party did turn out to be a surprise. A huge surprise – because no-one turned up!

  When Jacinta knocked on Kathy’s door, her mother answered and said she was terribly sorry but Kathy had totally forgotten that she had another party that night.

  ‘At Sandra Harris’s place,’ said Kathy’s mother. ‘It’s a non-liars party, whatever that means.’

  www.ChristopherMilne.com.au

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When successful actor and screenwriter Christopher Milne became a father, he found himself reading books at bedtime to his two boys, Peter and Robert. He soon ran out of stories to read, so he started making up his own.

  He quickly discovered that if he told Pete and Rob about good boys and girls doing very good things all the time, they were bored stupid.

  But if he told them about naughty kids doing pooey, rotten, disgusting things, his sons would scream for more. ‘We want more of those naughty stories!’

  ‘OK,’ Chris would reply. ‘But only if you’ve been good.’ And so the Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls were born...

  For more info on Christopher Milne and his books, go to

  www.ChristopherMilne.com.au