For Mr and Mrs Winmill and Ruth.
For making me feel like a vet! RJx
‘Hold her steady now, Chelsea. That’s it . . . perfect.’ I lean forward over Twiggy’s tiny feet and gently press the clippers: click, click, click. Nails go flying everywhere. Twiggy squeaks in protest.
‘Oh, Juliet, you’re so clever,’ gushes Chelsea. ‘How did you learn to clip guinea pigs’ toenails so neatly? I wouldn’t know how far to cut.’
‘Well, it’s all part of a vet’s work, Chelsea. It can be very tricky. But, as you know, I’m nearly a vet and Mum showed me how to do it. Look, I have a picture in my notes.’
I reach over and click open my Vet Kit. It used to be Dad’s fishing tackle box, but he hardly ever used it so I put his stuff in a cardboard box. I think he’ll like it better, actually, because things will be much easier to find next time he goes fishing.
I run my fingers across my instruments and then fish out my Vet Diary from the bottom of the box.
‘There, can you see the quick inside the nail?’ I point. ‘You mustn’t cut that part.’
I can see Chelsea is impressed. She lovingly combs the fat guinea pig in her lap. ‘You’re so lucky having Twiggy and Lulu and a dog,’ she sighs. ‘Mum says four teenage sons are enough animals for one household. She won’t let me have any pets. It’s so unfair.’
Chelsea has only been living next door to me for a couple of months, but I already know we will be the best of friends. Her four brothers are all older than her and very, very loud. Whenever I see Chelsea’s mum, she’s carrying a basket of washing and has a tired look on her face that warns, ‘Not now!’ or sometimes, even worse, ‘What now?’
‘I don’t know how you stand the noise. I can hear them fighting from my house.’ I think about my own little brother. ‘I guess Max and his plastic dinosaurs aren’t so bad . . . yet. It’s just ridiculous how many of them he has now and Mum keeps buying him more. But when it comes to me having more pets, the answer is always no.’
Right on cue, we hear a loud dinosaur roar from inside.
Curly, my cocker spaniel, comes flying out of the house. He stops to rub his head against a tree. He’s not too happy about the large bandage wrapped around his ears, but he’ll get used to it.
‘How long will he have to wear the bandage?’ asks Chelsea.
‘Just ’til his ears dry out. Ear infections are very common in long-eared dogs, you know.’
I lean forward and sniff Curly’s ear.
Chelsea slaps her hand over her mouth and looks like she’s going to be sick. ‘Eew! What are you doing?’ she says.
‘Just checking for the smell of bacteria. It’s the first sign of infection.’
I turn to Curly’s section in my Vet Diary and enter my findings.
‘There, all finished. Let’s take them for their walk now.’ I blow a strand of black curly hair out of my eye and scrape my hair back into a sloppy ponytail. ‘Do you want to push the pram or lead Curly?’
We head down the street. Chelsea pushes the old covered pram with the pampered guinea pigs nestled inside. I’m dragged along by my odd-looking pooch. Unfortunately, he feels the need to wee on every gate we pass.
‘Chelsea, I know you don’t have any pets, so this might sound ungrateful, but the problem is, I really do need more pets. Lots more pets. If I’m going to be a vet I need different animals to learn about and to practise my skills on. Does that make sense?’
‘Of course,’ Chelsea nods.
‘So why don’t my parents understand? It’s so ridiculous.’
Chelsea is still nodding. ‘And if I’m going to be a world famous animal trainer and groomer, I’m going to need animals, too.’
I choke on my response as Curly bolts ahead and then comes to a flying stop. It’s the Pet Motel and he always likes to have a good sniff around.
‘Oh,’ cries Chelsea, ‘they’ve closed down! What will people do with their pets when they go on holiday? Are there any other pet motels in town?’
‘No. But . . .’ I begin to smile.
‘Why are you smiling? Isn’t that a bad thing?’
‘Chelsea, this has given me the best idea ever. Our parents said no more pets of our own. But they didn’t say we couldn’t look after other people’s pets.’
‘Juliet, you are amazing! No wonder you’re nearly a vet!’
Chelsea and I race home and start working on our best-ever top secret plan.
‘So who do you think will let a couple of kids look after their pets?’ says Chelsea.
‘Excellent question. Who doesn’t treat kids like kids and sees us for the clever almost-grownups that we are?’
Chelsea thinks for a moment.
‘Other kids?’
‘Exactly. That’s who our clients will be.’
I sit down at the computer and together we make a flyer.
I print out twenty-seven of them – enough for each person in our class.
‘Juliet, where are we going to keep all the animals?’ whispers Chelsea. For a moment she looks like she’s doubting our plan.
‘In our bedrooms,’ I say, motioning around me.
Chelsea stares at me blankly. ‘Um,’ she stammers, ‘it’s just that . . . there’s not much space.’
I look around my room as if I’m seeing it for the first time. There are clothes, papers and stuff everywhere. Chelsea is right, I guess, but I am a very busy person. I have to help Mum with her rounds in the surgery and go on house calls. She says she couldn’t manage without me and, you know, she’s absolutely right.
I throw myself onto my unmade bed. ‘It’ll be fine,’ I reassure her. ‘We’ll make some signs for both our rooms and tell our parents we’re giving our rooms a makeover and they can’t come in. Mum will be ecstatic if she thinks I’m cleaning up.’
I was right. My mum is happy. But Chelsea’s mum doesn’t look as excited when she finds us sticking the same sign on Chelsea’s door.
She is just about to say something when a fight between the boys breaks out downstairs. She shifts her washing basket from one hip to the other and rolls her eyes. ‘What now?’ she mutters and stalks off towards the noise.
‘Phew!’ sighs Chelsea. ‘That was lucky. Hopefully she’ll forget what she was going to say. She usually does.’
We step inside.
Chelsea’s bedroom is all tidy and perfect, with nothing out of place. It’s a bit like Chelsea, really. She always looks so pretty and neat, even first thing in the morning. I’ve never been sure about the pink walls and pink ceiling, but I smile encouragingly.
‘There’s heaps of space here for grooming,’ I say.
Chelsea beams excitedly. ‘I can’t wait! And we can hand out the flyers at school tomorrow!’
The next day at recess we hand out the flyers. We get lots of questions. Everyone is very excited.
I do a Show and Tell with my special Gruesome Animal Facts, using the notes and drawings in my Vet Diary. Chelsea gives a grooming demonstration – plaiting someone’s stuffed horse’s mane into a very tricky knot.
We have no trouble finding interested customers who want a free health check and grooming for their pets.
One question really interests me. Maisy Brown lives on a dairy farm on the outskirts of town and they have a stray cat hiding out in their dairy. She wants to know how she can catch it to see if it is okay, but her dad wants to get rid of it because he doesn’t want it in the milk room.
I whip out my Vet Diary and sketch a simple trap that Maisy can make herself to catch the cat.
‘Your dad will probably help if he doesn’t want the cat hanging around,’ I say. ‘And if you catch it tonight, then you can give it to Chelsea after your dance class tomorrow.’
‘No
wonder you’re nearly a vet,’ smiles Maisy, giving me a hug and taking the drawing. ‘I knew you’d know what to do.’
Chelsea and I grin at each other. I can’t wait for Saturday.
When Chelsea gets home from ballet the next night she is carrying a very heavy-looking bag. ‘Phew,’ she says, wiping her forehead. ‘For the first time ever, I’m really glad my brothers had the radio turned up full bore when they picked me up. This poor cat has been growling all the way home. I didn’t even know they could growl.’
‘I’ve actually been making a list of the different noises I’ve heard cats make and I’m pretty sure growling is on it.’ I flip open my Vet Diary and check. It is.
We sneak past Dad while he’s reading the paper on the verandah. Dad doesn’t like pets. I know, it’s kinda funny that he married a vet.
Luckily, Mum is still in her clinic next door.
We lock Curly in the kitchen, then sneak the cat into my bedroom and shut the door behind us.
We set up a cat bed on a chair near the window, then smuggle a bucket of sand in from Max’s sandpit for the litter tray.
‘What’s this?’ asks Chelsea, dragging out something that’s half-buried in the sand.
‘That’s Max’s rubber dinosaur egg.’
I chuck it onto the pile of clothes on my floor with a snort. It really is time Max grows up and thinks about something other than dinosaurs. Honestly!
‘Should I open the bag?’ says Chelsea. ‘Maisy said the cat’s pretty wild.’
‘Yeah, I think she’ll be right to come out,’ I say. ‘I have a calming effect on animals, you know. It’s something you’re born with.’
When everything is ready, we unzip the bag a little to look inside.
A black fluffy thing explodes out of the bag with an almighty yowl (I make a mental note to add ‘yowl’ to my list of cat noises) and tears around the room. It leaps onto my curtains and claws its way to the top, peering down at us with terrified, yellow eyes.
There is a tap at the door and we both yelp. Chelsea nudges me into action.
‘Who is it?’ I say, trying to sound calm and relaxed.
‘It’s me,’ says Mum. ‘I have your clean washing.’
‘Umm . . . thanks, Mum. Can you just leave it outside the door? We can’t be disturbed in the middle of decorating.’
Chelsea gives me the thumbs-up. But I notice she has her fingers crossed on the other hand.
There is a bit of a pause, then we hear Mum’s footsteps moving away. The cat lets out a loud meow, and within seconds Mum is back at the door.
‘Juliet, did I just hear a cat meow?’
‘No!’ I yell, a little too quickly. ‘Um . . . Chelsea just . . . caught her finger on a staple.’
‘Meow,’ says Chelsea through the door.
There is a longer pause this time. ‘I hope you’re not getting too carried away in there and making more of a mess, are you?’
‘Nooooo,’ Chelsea and I say together.
We hold our breath until we hear Mum walk back down the hall.
I chew my lip. ‘It might be a while before this one’s ready for grooming. I’ll give her a check-up tonight and work on calming her down and perhaps tomorrow you could take over?’
‘Great,’ says Chelsea. We high-five. Our pet business is off to a flying start.
‘By the way,’ says Chelsea, ‘have you got any ideas for a name for the cat?’
We turn to see it slink down the curtain and wee on the carpet beside the litter box.
I look at the holes in my curtains.
‘How about Shredder?’
The doorbell wakes me with a start at 6.30 a.m. the next morning.
A customer! I think excitedly.
I slide out from under my quilt so as not to disturb Shredder. After yowling for half the night (I had to put music on to cover the noise) she finally curled into a ball at the end of my bed and fell asleep.
Mum and Dad are already in the kitchen in their PJs. Unfortunately, they get to the door first.
Mitchell, a large red-haired boy from my class, is standing there in his football gear. He’s holding a cage with a very fat ginger guinea pig in it.
‘Hi, Juliet!’ he grins. ‘Sorry I’m early but I’ve got footy. Is this where we bring our pets for the health check?’
Mum starts to tell him that the surgery doesn’t open until nine, so I jump forward and grab the cage. ‘I’ll take that, Mitchell.’
My parents stare at me with their mouths open.
‘Don’t worry,’ I beam, ‘it’s just a little guinea pig. She can go in with mine. It’s only for one night. What’s her name?’
‘Meatloaf,’ he says, backing down the stairs. I think the look on Dad’s face is starting to freak him out.
I poke my finger through the bars of the cage. Meatloaf looks at me with large red eyes. We bond immediately. Mum and Dad don’t look so happy.
‘You don’t have to worry,’ I call over my shoulder as I hustle towards the back door before they can say anything. ‘You won’t even notice she’s here. I’ll look after her all by myself, I promise. After all, I’m nearly a vet, you know.’
A few minutes later, the doorbell rings again. Dad is even quicker off the mark this time. I can hear him saying something about a misunderstanding as he taps his rolled-up newspaper on his leg. The girl on the verandah doesn’t think so.
I rush to the door.
It’s Tahlia. She is holding a cage with two adorable Indian Ringneck Parrots inside. She holds up our flyer to Dad.
Dad snatches it from her and reads it aloud slowly. He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head as if he can’t believe his eyes.
Tahlia is almost crying now. ‘Only Ringo is talking so I’m worried Bingo might have a problem. They’re both the same age and it doesn’t seem right.’
Mum comes to the door and Dad hands her the flyer. She looks completely gob-smacked.
She turns to me, waving the paper. ‘Juliet, what were you thinking?’
‘It’ll be fine, Mum. Chelsea’s going to help me and we’ll clean up everything. You won’t even know they’re here and it’s only for one night.’
Mum goes to speak, but at that moment one of the parrots squawks in a loud, grating voice, ‘Ringo wants a cracker? Cracker, cracker, cracker!’
I look at Mum and Dad pleadingly as I ease the cage from Tahlia’s hand and back away.
I can see they’re going to take some time to get used to this idea. Parents are always afraid of new things.
It takes no time at all to settle Meatloaf and the birds in. Meatloaf seems excited to be in with my guinea pigs. I wonder if she’s just been lonely. Guinea pigs like company, you know. They are all running around together making happy squealing sounds. I don’t know why my parents were worried. It’s going to be easy looking after them.
I run into the backyard and call out to Chelsea until she sticks her head out the window. Sometimes I wonder if Chelsea brushes her hair in her sleep. Does anyone look that neat when they first get out of bed?
‘Quick, get dressed,’ I say excitedly. ‘Our first customers have arrived.’
Chelsea grins and disappears inside.
We set up a little table just beside my house in case anyone else stops by. That way, they won’t have to go to the front door and bother Mum . . . and Dad.
Chelsea has brought her grooming kit. It is fabulous. It’s a large pencil case filled with combs, clips and elastics of all shapes and sizes. I love the fact that, like me, Chelsea takes her work seriously.
While we wait, I rule up my Vet Diary and make a grid for the animals. We don’t have to wait long to fill it in. By 9.30 a.m. we have received . . .
‘This is going to be a great vet practice,’ I say to Chelsea as we scan down our list.
‘Boy, we’re going to be busy,’ says Chelsea, sounding like she is suddenly doubting our very clever plan. ‘We’d better put up a FULL sign straightaway and work out what’s going where.
’
‘The birds can go on our front verandah and the rats will be fine in my bedroom,’ I say, making notes.
Chelsea isn’t at all keen on having the snake.
‘I think that’d really send Mum over the edge if she found out,’ she splutters. ‘She hates snakes, and I don’t think I could train it in one night.’
‘Right,’ I say, tapping the end of my pencil. ‘I’ll take the snake, the parrots and the rats. It’d be great if you could put the guinea pigs in your yard so you can groom them, and maybe take Shredder, too. Do you think you can sneak her in?’
‘Sure,’ Chelsea smiles broadly. ‘Who’s going to hear a cat meow in our house?’
‘Great! That just leaves the chooks,’ I say.
We look around my backyard. There isn’t much there except the old circular above-ground pool. It used to be a great pool until Max took his dinosaurs for a swim in it. They had some stupid battle which ripped the vinyl pool liner. So now we have an empty pool and the battle-torn liner is still in the shed waiting for Dad to repair it.
Suddenly an idea comes to me. A very clever idea, I have to say. At last something good is going to come from those rotten dinosaurs.
‘I know! Our empty pool is the perfect scratching area for a couple of cute Bantam chickens.’
Chelsea claps in delight. Then she looks at our list.
‘I can’t believe we have all these pets!’ she squeals.
We jump around excitedly for a few minutes but then we have to get serious. After all, there is a lot to do.
We put the parrots on the verandah first. Dad looks over his newspaper and narrows his eyes as I put the cage on the outside table. I move it a little further away from him and give him my sweetest smile. I don’t think it makes a difference.
The chooks love their new pool area. We throw a bed sheet over one half to give them some shade and fill up their water. I use one of Mum’s really heavy crystal bowls so they can’t knock it over. The chooks seem to like the pattern it makes on the side of the pool when the sun shines on it.
The Great Pet Plan Page 1
