by Nancy Krulik
The mother and baby jump a little. They waddle away as fast as they can.
Mick stops smiling. “I don’t think they want me,” he says.
Poor Mick. I wish I could do something to make him happy.
I see a little white ball sitting in a hole. Nothing cheers up a dog like playing ball.
“Hey, Mick!” I cry out. “Do you want to play ball?”
Mick picks up his head. He doesn’t look so sad now. “Sure!” he exclaims.
He runs over to where I am standing. He opens his mouth wide and gets ready to pick up the ball. And then . . .
Wiggle, waggle, wait a minute. What’s happening? The ball is moving. All by itself!
“Crikey!” Mick cries out. “How’d you do that, Sparky?”
“Me?” I ask. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Then how . . . ,” Mick begins. Suddenly, he stops talking and stares at the ball.
I’m staring, too. Because now the ball is cracking open.
Hey! There’s something inside there.
Crack. Crack. Crack. There’s a mouth. A little pointed mouth.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Now there’s a face.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Hey! It’s a bird! A teeny, tiny penguin bird.
“Hello, little penguin,” I bark to it. “That’s a great trick. How did you get inside the ball?”
The penguin doesn’t answer.
Haaa! Haaa!
But a bigger penguin sure does. She starts making haaaing noises. Really, really loud haaaing noises.
We don’t need to speak penguin to know what she’s saying.
“She wants us to get out of here,” Mick says. He starts to run.
Haaa! Haaa!
That bird sure is loud. And her sharp mouth looks scary.
“Wait for me!” I call to Mick. “I’m coming with you!”
CHAPTER 5
Mick and I don’t stop running until we reach a park with green grass and trees.
“I don’t know why that big penguin didn’t want us to play with the little penguin,” I say.
“She probably thought we were going to hurt him,” Mick says.
I shake my head. “We just wanted to play.”
“She didn’t know that,” he says. “That baby penguin is lucky he has a mum to protect him. I wish . . .”
Mick is still talking, but I’m not listening. I can’t listen to anything when my nose smells something yummy.
Sniffety, sniff, sniff.
Fish! I smell fish! It smells yummy, yum, yum. I just gotta have some.
My paws must smell it, too, because the next thing I know, they are running toward the smell.
Now I am standing by something very, very hot. And very, very smoky.
Mick runs up beside me.
“What kind of fish is that?” I wonder out loud.
“It’s fish on the barbie,” Mick replies.
“What’s a barbie?” I ask him.
“You’ve never heard of a barbie?” he asks. He sounds surprised. “It’s a barbecue grill.”
Barbecue! “Why didn’t you say so?” I ask him. “I had barbecue meat in Texas. It was yummy, yum, yum.”
“I don’t know where Texas is,” Mick says. “But I bet they don’t have anything as delicious as fish right off the barbie!”
I smile. “There’s only one way to find out,” I tell him.
I start to follow my nose. And Mick starts to follow me.
Sniffety, sniff, sniff. My nose leads me to a small group of two-legs.
I sure hope the two-legs here on Kangaroo Island are good sharers. That barbecue fish smells yummy, yum, yum.
I spot a little two-leg. She is sitting on the lap of a big two-leg.
Little two-legs are the best food sharers. They drop their food all the time! I sneak over and stand beside her.
Plop. Sure enough, a big piece of fish falls onto the ground. I scoop it up in my mouth!
Oh boy! This fish is delish!
I look up at the two-legs. They don’t even notice me. They are too busy smiling. And laughing. They look really nice.
Hey . . .
“These two-legs could be your family, Mick!” I exclaim.
“Do you really think so?” Mick asks me.
“Sure,” I say. “Two-legs make great families.”
“I guess it’s worth a try,” Mick agrees.
I watch as my friend smiles up at the group of two-legs.
“G’day, mates!” Mick barks in his loudest voice. “Will you be my family?”
Mick leaps up to sit on the lap of one of the big two-legs.
The big two-leg’s eyes open wide. His face turns bright red. He isn’t smiling anymore.
Uh-oh. That big two-leg does not like having a dog on his lap!
The two-leg stands up.
Thump!
Mick falls off his lap. He tumbles to the ground!
“Crikey, mate!” Mick shouts at him. “That hurt!”
I don’t get it. Josh always likes it when I jump onto his lap. He laughs and pets my head. But this two-leg is not laughing. He’s not petting Mick on the head. Instead, he’s waving his arms and shouting.
I do not have to speak two-leg to know what this one is saying. He doesn’t want to be Mick’s family.
“Let’s go,” I say to Mick.
The two-leg reaches toward the ground. Mick looks up at him.
Uh-oh. I think Mick is hoping the angry two-leg will pick him up and take him home.
I don’t think that will happen. Angry two-legs do not take dogs home. They take them to the pound.
“Come on, Mick,” I bark. “That is not the right family for you.”
“But . . . ,” Mick starts.
“Trust me,” I tell Mick. “Run! Now!”
I guess Mick trusts me. Because the next thing I know, Mick is running.
And so am I. My paws are moving. Fast. Faster. Fastest.
My paws have no idea where they are going. Neither do I. I just know we have to get out of here.
CHAPTER 6
Yikes.
I don’t know where I am. All I know is it’s dark in here. Really dark. Scary dark.
I can’t see a thing!
Thumpety, thump, thump.
My heart is beating really, really hard. It must be scared of the dark, too. Which is weird, because my heart doesn’t have eyes. It can’t see even when it isn’t dark.
I wonder if Mick has followed me into this dark, dark place.
I sure hope so. I don’t want to be in here alone.
“Mick?” I call into the darkness.
“Sparky!” he shouts. “Am I glad to hear you.”
“Not as glad as I am to hear you,” I assure him.
I blink my eyes a few times. Now I can see—a little bit. And I don’t see any two-legs at all. Phew.
But . . .
“Hey, that’s weird,” I say.
“What’s weird?” Mick asks.
“Those rocks,” I say. “They’re hanging from the ceiling. That doesn’t make any sense. Rocks are supposed to be on the ground.”
“That is weird,” Mick agrees. “I don’t . . .”
Squeak. Squeak.
Mick stops talking.
“Did you hear that?” he asks me nervously.
Squeak. Squeak.
Gulp. There’s someone in here with us. Someone who doesn’t speak dog.
I wonder if that someone even likes dogs?
What if Mick and I are stuck in this dark place with a squeaky dog hater? This could be baddy, bad, bad!
Squeak. Squeak.
Mick turns around slowly. Then he smiles. “No worries, mate,” he says. “It’s just some birds h
anging upside down from the ceiling.”
Huh?
Birds don’t hang upside down.
They don’t squeak, either. Birds tweet.
I look up at the ceiling. Hey! Wait a minute.
“Those aren’t birds,” I tell Mick. “They’re bats. I know. I met a bat once when I was in the Amazon Rain Forest.”
“They look like birds,” Mick says. “They have wings.”
“Bats have wings, but they don’t have feathers,” I tell him. “They have fur. Just like dogs.”
Hmmm. That gives me an idea.
“Maybe this is your new family,” I say to Mick.
Mick shakes his head. “I don’t know how to hang upside down.”
“You could learn,” I say. “Dogs are better than anyone when it comes to learning new tricks.”
To prove it, I do my tricks: Sit. Lie down. Roll over.
“Did your Josh family teach you that?” Mick asks me.
“Yup!” I say.
“Do you teach Josh things?” Mick asks.
“Sure,” I answer proudly. “I trained Josh to give me a treat every time I do a trick.”
“Wow!” Mick says. “That’s a good trick!”
“Maybe you can teach your new bat family to give you a treat whenever you hang upside down,” I say.
“It’s worth a try,” Mick agrees. He looks up at the bats. “Will you be my family?” he asks them.
My heart is thumpety, thump, thumping. I hope the bats will be nice to Mick. I hope they won’t yell or fly away.
The bats stay very still. They just keep hanging around, upside down.
“I bet they would like me better if I could hang upside down,” Mick says.
“Give it a try,” I tell him.
“Okay,” Mick agrees. “First I have to get up on the ceiling.”
Mick starts jumping as high as he can. But he does not reach the rocks.
“I’ll never be able to do that,” Mick says.
“Don’t give up,” I tell him. “You gotta—”
Just then, we hear a tiny bug buzzing in the air. Then a bat comes flying across the room.
Gulp. The bat swallows the bug.
“Crikey!” Mick exclaims. “What did that bat just do?”
“I think he ate the bug,” I tell Mick.
“Bats eat bugs?” Mick asks me.
“I guess so,” I say.
“Well, that’s that,” Mick says. “This is not the right family for me. Just imagine how many of those little bities I’d need to eat to fill my tummy!”
I think bities must mean bugs.
Mick is right. The bats aren’t the right family for him. And this dark place with the hanging rocks isn’t the right home for him, either. Because home is where you can always fill your tummy.
Grumble, rumble.
That’s my tummy talking. And I know what it’s saying, because I talk tummy.
“Come on, Mick,” I say.
“Where are we going?” he asks me.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I sure hope wherever it is, there’s food. Because I’m hungry!”
CHAPTER 7
“It’s too bad my mummy isn’t here,” Mick says. “She always knows where to get food.”
Poor Mick. He misses his old family so much.
I don’t want him to be sad. I want to make him feel happy. But how? Thinkety, think, think.
I know! I will show him how to find food all by himself. Food always makes dogs happy!
“Do you want to learn how to find food?” I ask him.
“Yes!” Mick barks excitedly. “Can you show me?”
“Just follow your nose. Like I did when we found the fish on the barbie.” I hold my head high in the air and sniffety, sniff, sniff. “Yum! Do you smell that?”
Mick holds his head high. He sniffety, sniff, sniffs. “I smell something sweet,” he tells me.
“Yup!” I say. “Now all we have to do is walk toward the sweet smell. The stronger the smell, the closer we are to the food.”
“Wow!” Mick says. “Did your Josh teach you that trick?”
I shake my head. “My nose learned how to sniffety, sniff, sniff all on its own.”
“Let me try!” Mick barks excitedly. He holds his head high and sniffs. “I think it’s coming from over there.”
That sweet stuff smells yummy, yum, yum. I gotta get some.
My paws start running. Fast. Faster. Fastest!
I am running so fast, my fur flies in my eyes. I can’t see.
But my paws keep running. Fast. Faster . . . CRASH!
Uh-oh!
I feel something ooey and gooey flowing all over my paws.
Sniffety, sniff, sniff. That ooey-gooey stuff sure smells sweet.
I lick my paws. Yummy, yum, yum! That ooey-gooey stuff is delicious. Some of my fur is stuck in it. But that’s okay. A little fur in the food never hurt anybody.
“Mick!” I call to my friend. “I found the sweet stuff!”
Mick comes running over. He starts licking up the ooey-gooey sweet stuff that has dripped onto the ground.
“I’m happy to bog in!” he barks excitedly.
“To what?” I ask him.
“Bog in,” he repeats. “You know. Eat it really fast!”
I didn’t know. But now I do. And Mick is right. This is the kind of treat a dog can really bog into! Yummy, yum . . .
“You two are gonna get it!”
It’s a dog’s voice, and she doesn’t sound happy.
“Wait until our two-leg finds out you knocked over his honey strainer,” another dog says. “He’s going to be mad.”
I turn around. There are two huge border collies standing behind us.
“Our two-leg doesn’t like anyone touching his honey strainer,” the first collie says.
“I think you better go home,” the second collie says.
Mick’s tail droops. His ears fall. “I want to go home. But I can’t,” he says.
The border collies both give him a funny look.
“Mick is trying to find a new home and a new family,” I explain. I walk over and sniff their butts to say hello. “By the way, my name is Sparky.”
“I’m Matilda,” the first collie says. “And this is my sister Phoebe.”
Phoebe sniffs Mick’s butt to say hello. “Why can’t you get home, Mick?” she asks.
“The giant puddle is too big for me to swim across,” Mick explains.
Phoebe and Matilda both give him another funny look. I don’t think they have any idea what he’s talking about.
“How about you, Sparky?” Phoebe asks. “Are you looking for a family, too?”
“I have a home and a family,” I say. “But I sure would like more of this ooey-gooey sweet stuff . . .”
“That could take a while,” Matilda says. “You have to wait for the bees to make more honey.”
I have no idea what they’re talking about.
“I have to wait for the what to make more what?” I ask.
“The bees,” Matilda repeats. “They live over there, in the hives. It’s their job to turn nectar from flowers into sweet, sticky honey.”
I turn around and look for a bee house. But all I see is a bunch of big yellow blobs.
“This stuff is delicious,” Mick says as he licks some honey off his paw. “I would eat it for brekkie, lunch, and supper if I could.”
“Maybe you can,” I tell Mick. “If the bees were your family, they could feed you honey all day long.”
“I reckon you’re right, Sparky!” Mick says excitedly.
“I reckon Sparky’s wrong,” Matilda warns Mick. “You can’t be part of a bee family.”
“Why can’t he?” I ask her.
“Well,
for one thing, Mick’s too big to fit inside the hive,” Phoebe says. “And for another . . .”
Mick and I don’t hear the rest of what Phoebe says. We’re already standing next to the bee house. Mick is looking for a family. I’m just looking for more of that ooey-gooey sweet honey stuff.
As soon as we get close to the yellow bee house, Mick puts on his friendliest doggie smile.
“Will you be my family?” he asks the bees.
At least that’s what I think he is asking. It’s hard to hear over the weird buzz, buzz, buzzing noise coming from the bee house.
BUZZZZZZZZ!
Suddenly, the noise gets really loud. And then . . .
OUCH! Something stings me. Right on the ear!
“Owie!” Mick yelps.
I guess something has stung him, too!
“I told you the bees weren’t a family you would want to be a part of,” Matilda barks.
“Bees are mean,” Phoebe adds. “Especially when they’re mad.”
BUZZZZ!
OUCH! The bees are definitely mad now. One just stung me on my bee-hind.
I’m not waiting around for any more ooey-gooey sweet stuff. It’s not worth it.
“Come on, Mick,” I bark over all the buzzing. “It’s time to bee-t it!”
CHAPTER 8
“It’s weird the way someone so mean can make something so sweet,” I say to Mick a few minutes later.
We are far, far away from the bees. But I still have a little bit of ooey-gooey honey stuck to my paws. I lick it off. There’s dirt and fur mixed in. But it’s still yummy!
“My leg hurts where a bee stung me,” Mick says. “I wish my mummy were here. She would lick it and make it all better.”
“A mummy can do that?” I ask him.
“Sure,” Mick tells me. “A mummy can do anything. If you’re cold, she can cuddle with you until you’re warm. And if you’re tired, she can lie down and let you rest right on top of her.”
“Like a dog bed?” I ask him.
“Better,” Mick tells me. “Much better.”
Wow. That mummy thing sounds wiggle, waggle, wonderful!
