The Case of the Missing Dinosaur Egg

by June Whyte

  Jack wandered off while I stared at the professor’s fence, high chain wire, topped with three strands of barbed wire. This was totally weird. No-one built a fence like this unless they had something to hide.

  Unable to make sense of the professor’s eggs or his fence, I knelt in the dirt beside the log and started work. The wire was thick and awkward. It cut into my fingers as I threaded it through the hole on top of the number then tried bending it around the log.

  Gloves. I needed gloves to twist the wire. I stuck my hand in the wheelbarrow and hunted through the gear. No gloves. It was as I sucked blood from my sore finger and thought—hey, I might wait until Jack comes back, let him twist the stupid wire—that I heard the noise. A sort of faint whimpering sound. At first I thought it must be a bird but when the whimper changed to a bark, then a yelp, I scrambled to my feet. It was a dog. But where was the sound coming from?

  “Hey, Cha! Come here! Quick!”

  “What is it, Jack?” I raced across to where I could see Jack kneeling on the ground.

  Beside him a small furry animal snarled and struggled to get free from the fence. It was caught in the wire.

  “He won’t let me touch him,” complained Jack. Blood dripped from his hand onto his shirt. “Every time I try to untangle his leg from the wire, he bites me.”

  I moved closer and gasped in surprise. “It’s Pedro! Oooh, what happened, darling?”

  “Who in the name of Zorro is Pedro?”

  “It’s the professor’s guard-dog,” I answered, kneeling down to stroke the little Chihuahua’s head. “Quick, go get the wire-cutters from the wheelbarrow. Every time he struggles the wire digs deeper into his leg. And look—it’s bleeding.”

  “So’s my hand,” muttered Jack.

  While Jack went off to get the wire-cutters, I tried to calm Pedro. I told him he was a big brave dog, the wire was a nasty wicked monster, and I’d give him one of Leroy’s black jelly beans if he was a good boy. His eyes, wide with fear and pain, never left my face. His whimpers grew louder. If he could speak human I’m sure he’d be saying, ‘It hurts, Cha—please help me.’

  “Hang on big guy,” I sniffed, as his long raspy tongue licked its way up my hand. “We’ll have you out in no time.”

  The wire from the fence had wrapped itself around the dog’s back leg and I guess the more he pulled, the tighter the wire pulled back.

  “Ooh…be careful, Jack,” I said when he returned with the wire-cutters and knelt down ready to cut the wire. I couldn’t watch. With one hand over Pedro’s eyes and the other holding the dog still, I sucked in a deep breath and turned my head away.

  “Okay, you can both look now.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” With Pedro’s hot smothering kisses making it hard to see what I was doing, I gently unwound the piece of wire from his leg. “There you go, boy. All free now.” I scooped the little dog up and tucked him under one arm. “Now, let’s take you home.”

  Then it hit me.

  “Hey, Jack. We do have a plan.”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “We just walk up to the professor’s door and knock.”

  “Check.”

  “And it’s not like we’ll be trespassing.”

  “Check.”

  “Because we have a good reason for being on the professor’s property.”

  “Check again.”

  Jack scrambled to his feet and grinned like a three-year-old at a birthday party.

  “And do you know the best part of this plan?”

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t even have to smoke a pipe!”

  ELEVEN

  I snuggled the little dog closer to my chest. “Okay, Pedro, let’s go see if Uncle Tad can fix your leg.”

  Jack and I wriggled under the razor-sharp fence at the front of the property, brushed off the dirt and marched up the path toward the professor’s front door.

  All long legs and clumping boots, Jack was striding along in front of me, when suddenly he stopped. He turned around, his eyes wide, his mouth slack. When he spoke, his voice was all croaky and breathless.

  “Wh-what about the b-bull?”

  Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, I produced two carrots from my pocket. “Da Da!” I grinned. “Don’t worry, Jack. I grabbed these carrots for us to munch on while we were building the jumps. If Barnaby shows up, I guess you won’t mind giving him you carrot.”

  Jack whooshed out his breath in relief. “Barnaby’s welcome to mine. I hate carrots. They taste like orange dirt.”

  Tired from his fight with the fence, Pedro lay quietly in my arms, his black eyes blinking owlishly up at me.

  It was about then I spotted the professor’s two-ton guard-bull. He was trotting toward us, snorting, tossing his head, springing from hoof to hoof. And he looked even bigger than the last time I’d met him

  Jack and I froze.

  Who did I think I was? I must be going soft in the head. Why did I think a couple of carrots would stop Barnaby from killing us and tossing bits of our bodies all over the paddock, like confetti?

  Pedro lifted his head and whined. He’d seen Barnaby too.

  Please be telling your big mate we’re friends, I prayed. And please, God, don’t let me wet my pants.

  The bull trotted closer. A few inches from becoming mincemeat, I jerked my arms out in front of me and showed Pedro to Barnaby. “L-look, Barnaby, it’s your mate, Pedro! He’s been hurt. We’re taking him to your boss. Okay?”

  Immediately Barnaby’s eyes went soft. He nuzzled Pedro gently. Pedro yapped and whined in reply. Still shaking, I tucked the little dog under my arm and held out a carrot.

  “Yum! Yum! Carrots, Barnaby.”

  At the first bite the bull looked like a little kid being fed his first chocolate Easter-egg. All gooey eyed and slobbery. I dropped the two carrots on the ground and whispered to Jack, “Let’s go!”

  Although we wanted to bolt, we walked like a couple of robots toward the front door of the house, forcing ourselves not to look back. One important thing I’d learned about Barnaby was that he loved to chase things. Balloons—floating leaves—trespassers.

  On the way to the house, Jack and I had to pass the professor’s egg shed. The door was wide open. We stopped and looked at each other. Surely that was a sign—an invitation to go inside.

  “Do you think we should see if the professor’s in here?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

  “You bet.”

  Pretending to be Rebecca Turnbull, the fictional P.I. character in my short stories, I slid around the door frame, scuttled inside and flattened my body against the wall. My trusty assistant followed.

  When Jack caught sight of all the eggs his eyes widened.

  “Where’s the baby platypus?” he whispered.

  I shrugged and shook my head.

  The door to the back room was slightly open which meant the professor was either getting very slack or he was in there.

  I caught Jack’s eye and pointed.

  On tiptoe, with Pedro settled into the crook of one arm, I inched across the cement floor. Then, almost at the door I stopped and frowned. What if we found a body in the back room? What if the body was stiff and covered in blood?

  My breath caught in my throat. My heart skittered like possums in a tree. I needed to ‘go’ badly.

  Perhaps we should just sneak back out again and leave Pedro at the professor’s front door. As Kate wisely said, ‘What the professor is doing on his own property is no business of ours.’

  My mind on dead bodies and mad professors, I let out a loud and breathy Oomph as Jack’s hard-as-cement head punched me between the shoulder blades and sent me flying. Geez. How could anyone trip over fresh air? If Jack wanted to continue as my star-assistant he’d have to learn to pick up his feet.

  In an effort to save Pedro from more pain, I flung out my one free hand and connected with the wooden door in front of me. The resulting noise echoed through the shed as the wooden door crashed open, bounced against the wa
ll, shuddered and juddered several times and then came to a stop.

  In the silence that followed I poked my head around the doorway. The professor sat on the floor, blinking like a startled rabbit, legs stretched out in front of him. He’d been feeding a featherless baby cockatoo with what looked like porridge. A baby crocodile had crawled up onto his shoulder and three tiny pink jellybean-like creatures were cuddled together on a hot water bottle, asleep in his hat.

  “Er…h-hello,” I stammered, grinning nervously.

  The professor frowned, the wrinkles on his forehead gouging into deep furrows.

  “Not you again!” he growled.

  “Um—sorry to scare you, Professor, but Jack and I found Pedro caught in the fence. It looks like he’s hurt one of his back legs.” I smiled at the little dog in my arms. Two sad doleful eyes blinked back up at me. “He’s in pain.”

  “Pedro? Hurt?” The professor dropped the bowl of porridge on the floor beside the baby cockatoo and grabbed his walking stick. “Time out,” he told the bird then pushed himself upright. As he hobbled toward me I noticed the tiny leathery reptile on his shoulder adjust itself more securely.

  “Pedro?” The end of the dog’s skinny tail wagged piteously. “You were supposed to be guarding the shed door. What were you thinking—leaving your post and trying to dig under the fence?”

  Pedro closed his eyes and snuggled deeper into the soft folds of my plaid shirt.

  “Perhaps he heard something?” I suggested. “There’s been lots happening in the paddock next door. We’re setting up a Cross-Country course in there.”

  “Put Pedro on the table,” ordered the professor pointing to a shiny steel examination table just like the one you see in a vet’s surgery.

  At first I’d been too worried about the professor being angry to check my surroundings. Now, I gazed around the room and felt a shiver skitter up my spine. Had we stumbled into Dr. Jekyll’s lab?

  The back room behind the shed seemed to be set up like a laboratory. Expensive equipment that I didn’t know the name of covered tables and shelves. The only thing I recognized was a large state-of-the-art microscope which the professor had set up on a table by the window. Was he into germs? DNA? Cloning?

  Beside the microscope I could see lots of see-through test tubes containing a mysterious red chemical…

  Or was it blood?

  With a gulp, I clutched Pedro closer and shivered again. Cages lined every wall of the room. Cages with living creatures that squeaked, cheeped, slithered, or squawked. This egg mystery was getting curiouser and curiouser.

  And scarier and scarier.

  As I lay Pedro gently on the cold table I tried to stop my hands from shaking. For a moment it felt like a scene from a horror movie. You know, just before the two innocent victims are captured, tortured and hacked into tiny pieces.

  Don’t make a scene. Don’t say anything to upset the professor. Put the dog down and scram. Fast.

  I could see Jack studying the cages, the microscope, the test tubes; his expression as confused as mine.

  “Get ready to run!” I whispered from the corner of my mouth. If I’d been closer I’d have grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him through the door.

  Not getting my message—Jack’s jaw set in a stubborn line.

  Uh! Uh! Trouble!

  I watched him square his shoulders and take a step forward. “Excuse me, Professor,” he said politely. “What’s with the weird lab? I hope you’re not doing live tests on animals? ’Cos if you are—I’m dead against it. In fact, I’ll report you to the police.”

  What was wrong with Jack? Couldn’t he see we were in a big heap of trouble here? Didn’t he realize we could be the professor’s next experiments?

  For several long silent seconds the professor gazed at Jack with strange unfocused eyes.

  Ooh no…he was going to turn from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde. Any minute now he would burst through his clothing, develop muscles the size of dumbbells and sprout long black hair all over his body.

  Without a word, the professor slowly reached into a drawer and drew out a pair of long shiny pointed scissors.

  My eyes almost popped from my head.

  Jack tripped over his feet as he took a hurried step backwards.

  “Hey, if you feel that way, Professor,” I gabbled, my throat dry with fear, my heart racing like an out-of-control motorboat, “we don’t know a thing.”

  The professor put the scissors on the table and took out a small steel bowl and a bottle of disinfectant.

  “Seeing as you are here,” he said, his voice quiet and dead flat. “You may as well make yourselves useful.”

  Like a snake his eyes held mine. “You,” he said, “hold Pedro still while I clean and bandage his leg.”

  His hypnotic gaze fell on Jack. “And you…whoever you are… can finish feeding Alex.” He indicated the bald baby bird squawking indignantly on the floor. “Remember though, after every mouthful of porridge, Alex needs his face wiped. You can use that damp cloth next to the bowl.”

  I couldn’t believe it. There was something like amusement tugging at the corners of the professor’s mouth now. Was he playing with us like a snake plays with a mouse before gobbling it up?

  It seemed to take Jack a few moments to shake off the scissors-scare. At last he peered down at the gaping mouth of the hungry bird under his feet and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Me? Yeah. Cool.” Jack tried to dodge the baby cockatoo, fold his flapping arms and legs and lower himself to the floor—and almost sat in the bowl of porridge.

  “Ever heard of a native animal sanctuary?” With a gentle hand the professor bathed the blood and dirt from Pedro’s leg and applied some sort of yellow disinfectant to the wound.

  Geez…what was this scary man hinting at? Finding a nearby animal sanctuary so he could feed us to the crocodiles?

  “Um—I guess it’s a place that looks after native animals, like koalas, kangaroos and bilbies.”

  “Right. But my sanctuary will have native birds and reptiles too,” added the professor as he deftly wrapped a white gauze bandage around Pedro’s back leg.

  And then the professor smiled at me. A smile that lit his face up—like a Christmas tree, when you turned on the colored lights.

  “Contrary to what you think—I am not a mad professor.”

  Could have fooled me.

  “I am setting up a small sanctuary for all native fauna,” he went on, his glance resting on the animals in their cages. “I have the council’s approval, the funding is in place and in a few weeks’ time the builders will arrive. They will build runs and shelters for these little creatures to live in when they are old enough.”

  “And the laboratory?”

  Ugggh…Jack couldn’t let it go, could he?

  “Simple. I am a Professor of Veterinary Science. No good running an animal sanctuary without veterinary back-up.”

  “But why eggs?” Jack asked. “Why not full-grown animals?”

  “These little darlings were born here. They won’t miss the wild because they have no knowledge of it. Isn’t that better than capturing full-grown animals, birds and reptiles and subjecting them to the trauma of captivity?”

  Okay, I could go along with that. But I was still confused.

  “Animals don’t hatch from eggs,” I argued. “Only birds and reptiles.”

  “It is surprising the number of people who think that.” Filling a syringe with something from a small bottle, the professor injected Pedro, then picked him up and settled him into an empty cage lined with shredded paper. “There are three Australian egg-laying mammals. The platypus, and two species of Echidna.”

  Excitement bubbled inside of me.

  “Echidnas? Can we see a baby echidna?”

  “None have hatched yet, I am afraid. However, there are six echidna eggs under heat lamps in the shed. Maybe there will be a new-born puggle for you to see next time you come.”

  “Puggle?”

  “That is wha
t baby echidnas are called,” he said, “Even a baby platypus is sometimes called a puggle. Here, help me put these little guys back to bed.”

  Bending down he scooped one baby platypus up in his hand and passed it to me.

  “Put him in the end cage, the one with the blanket over it. Platypuses prefer the dark.”

  I looked down at the creature sitting in the palm of my hand. So warm—so odd looking. Afraid I’d squash the tiny bundle, I carried it carefully to the end cage and placed it on the clean straw.

  “Later I will add other native animals, like kangaroos, wallabies and koalas to the sanctuary. Baby animals that have lost their mother,” the professor continued as he put the other two platypuses to bed. “But this lot will be enough to get me started.”

  “Wow!” said Jack, looking completely blown away. “All those eggs in the shed. They’ll hatch into snakes and lizards and other cool stuff. Right?”

  “That is right. Now, I think Alex has had enough porridge.” The professor picked up the baby cockatoo from the floor, wiped him down and settled him back in his cage. “You too, Larry,” he said, unhooking the lizard from his coat and tucking him into another cage with three other baby blue-tongues. “And I think it’s time I walked you two children back to the front gate. You don’t want the riding school to send out a search party. Do you?”

  While we walked, Jack bombarded the Professor with questions about the sanctuary. He didn’t even stop talking when Barnaby trotted up behind him and butted his pocket, looking for more carrots.

  You know, one thing I’ve always liked about Jack—when he gets caught up in a project, he always gives it his full attention.

  TWELVE

  One eye on the stable clock, I pulled a notebook from my horse gear bag and flicked it open at the page headed: ‘Professor’s Egg Mystery’. The cartoony horse’s head on the front of my horse gear bag glared at me. ‘Hurry-up-you’ll-be-late-for-Kate’s-lesson’, the glare seemed to say. Turning my back on the bag, I read the following:

  Why does the professor have so many ‘No Trespassing’ signs on his property?