Armadillo and Hare and the Flamingo Affair

by Jeremy Strong

  ‘Don’t be annoying,’ said Hare. ‘You should exercise too. It keeps you healthy.’

  ‘So you keep telling me.’ Armadillo shook his head. ‘It quite wears me out just watching you. If I had to do them as well as watch you I’d be flat on my back and panting in no time at all.’

  Hare laughed. ‘Well, I have some new breathing exercises that are really good for you – and easy too.’

  Armadillo’s head lifted sharply. ‘Breathing? Hare, I breathe all day. Look – in, out, in out. If I wasn’t breathing I’d be dead.’

  Hare could hardly speak. ‘Stop it, Armadillo. I can’t do the exercises if I’m laughing. This is good for your lungs. You hold your breath for a minute. Come on, I bet you can’t do it.’

  Armadillo shuffled back into his armchair. ‘Of course I can. Go on. I’m ready.’

  Hare settled down. ‘Take a deep breath, slowly breathe in and hold it – now.’

  They both held their breath. After a few seconds Armadillo’s whiskers started to fidget. After a few more seconds his snout turned purple, then blue. He opened his mouth a fraction on one side and took a sneaky new breath.

  Hare didn’t notice. His eyes were closed and his ears had drooped down over his shoulders. He was so still that Armadillo began to wonder if his friend was still alive. ‘Hare? Hare?’

  There was no answer. Armadillo was worried. He went across to his friend and poked him.

  Hare opened one eye. ‘You’re hopeless, Armadillo. You’re supposed to be holding your breath.’

  ‘I did, for about a week. I was worried about you. I thought you’d died.’

  Hare frowned and shook his head. ‘It’s an exercise. I know you think it’s all a waste of time, but it’s good for you and I want you to stay healthy.’

  Armadillo patted Hare’s shoulder. ‘You’re so thoughtful, Hare, but I don’t think armadillos are built for exercise. It’s not an armadillo kind of thing. You do your workouts. I have got a little project of my own in mind.’

  ‘Really?’ Hare’s ears perked up.

  ‘Yes. I have decided to grow some vegetables. I was rather hoping I might be able to grow cheese too, but sadly you can’t. However, I can make a vegetable garden. You carry on breathing, Hare, there’s a good chap. I’ve got some digging to do.’

  Later on that morning, Hare cleared away the breakfast things. From time to time he glanced out of the kitchen window. Armadillo was digging.

  Armadillo dug the ground for at least an hour. Every so often he would stop for a moment to rest and catch his breath. Eventually he had a good-sized rectangle of earth ready for planting.

  Inside the kitchen, Hare watched Armadillo and smiled. What a lot of exercise his friend was getting!

  At last Armadillo put aside his spade and came back to the house. He pulled up one end of his cardigan and wiped the sweat and mud from his beaming face.

  ‘There! Have you seen my vegetable patch?’

  ‘Well done!’ said Hare. He wanted to point out to Armadillo how much exercise he had done while digging, but he knew it would have simply made Armadillo rather cross. Instead he asked Armadillo what he was planning to grow.

  ‘Ah!’ Armadillo’s eyes twinkled. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Lettuce and carrots! I know those are two of your favourites. Tomatoes, beans, onions, herbs and anything else I think of.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Hare. ‘Let’s sit on the porch. You look as if you need a cool drink.’

  ‘And a cheese sandwich,’ Armadillo added. ‘With tomato jam.’

  So they took glasses, a big jug of water and a cheese sandwich from the fridge and went out to the front porch. There they sat gazing across the peaceful meadow to the Big Forest which seemed to be dozing under the morning sun.

  Armadillo sank happily back into his armchair. ‘This is the life,’ he murmured.

  ‘Lettuce and carrots,’ Hare repeated dreamily. ‘That is definitely the life.’

  At that moment there was a loud crashing noise from the edge of the Big Forest. The trees and bushes shook crazily. Suddenly a large, hulking brown shape burst out of the trees. It stood for a moment, then set off at high speed, thundering across the meadow. The ground shook and the porch of the log cabin trembled.

  Armadillo sighed. ‘Oh dear. Angry Bison is back.’

  Hare frowned. ‘Angry Bison?’

  Armadillo nodded. His snout wrinkled. ‘He turns up every now and then. We haven’t seen him for ages. He never stays long, just comes and goes. Try and keep out of his way, Hare.’

  Hare’s ears twitched nervously. ‘Is he dangerous?’

  Armadillo considered this. ‘It’s best to avoid him if possible. He’s rather big and he likes to charge straight at you. Look, look! There’s Wombat on her bike. She hasn’t seen him, but he’s seen her!’

  ‘Will Wombat be all right?’ asked Hare, his ears twisting into knots.

  ‘Hmmm. Probably.’

  Hare’s eyes grew round. Probably? That was not very reassuring.

  Angry Bison charged at full speed towards Wombat. She had stopped in the middle of the meadow. Bison thundered to a halt in a cloud of dust right in front of her.

  Armadillo and Hare could clearly hear him bellowing at her, ‘Get out of my way!’

  They saw Wombat carefully move her bike to one side. Angry Bison snorted and went thundering on, back to the forest. Wombat got back on her bike. She spotted Armadillo and Hare on the porch and waved at them cheerfully. Then she went on her way.

  ‘There,’ said Armadillo. ‘Now you know what Angry Bison does. After a few days he’ll go away and huff and puff somewhere else. He always does.’

  ‘But he had the whole meadow to run around in,’ Hare complained.

  ‘Exactly.’

  Hare folded his arms crossly. ‘That’s stupid.’

  ‘It’s what he does, stupid or not, and I’m not going to pick an argument with an angry bison.’ Armadillo examined the crumbs on his plate. ‘I think I might have another one of those,’ he murmured.

  But Hare was upset. There was the meadow, blossoming with flowers and humming with soft bees. There was the quiet blue sky and warm sunshine. It was all so peaceful. How could anyone be so angry, and rude? Hare’s ears scratched each other. It was all rather strange and bothersome.

  ‘Cucumbers,’ Armadillo said, out of the blue.

  ‘Sorry?’ Hare was quickly brought out of his thoughts.

  ‘Cucumbers,’ Armadillo repeated. ‘In the vegetable patch. What do you think?’

  ‘Yes, definitely.’ Hare got to his feet. ‘I’m going to do my afternoon exercises now.’

  ‘Oh goodness!’ said Armadillo. ‘Just watching Angry Bison dashing about has worn me out. I’m going to have a snooze.’

  Hare smiled to himself. He knew exactly why Armadillo was so tired, and it had nothing to do with bisons.

  A Wardrobe and a Lamp Post?

  Flamingo had sung her dream-song all through the night. Her lullaby had caressed every creature, and every leaf and blade of grass of the Big Forest. The stars had glittered in their billions until dawn arrived. Now the forest shimmered in the heat of the early morning. Elephant was going through his morning routine.

  Stretch trunk.

  Roll in the mud.

  Noisily blow bubbles

  Wash mud off and get dry.

  Skipping (fifty times).

  Elephant found skipping the most difficult. After all, he was an elephant and skipping does not come naturally to pachyderms. One end of a long rope was tied to a tree. The other was tied to his tail. Swishing his tail whilst jumping at the same time was not easy. The most skips Elephant had ever managed was three. However, the most important part of the exercise was not to give up.

  But today Elephant was faced with a problem. He had a favourite tree that he liked to tie his rope to. But this morning there was a wardrobe standing in the way.

  Elephant stared at it. He looked at it from the right and then from the left. He even looke
d behind it.

  Nothing changed Elephant’s opinion that this was indeed a wardrobe. And it was in front of his favourite tree. What was he to do?

  ‘That’s a big wardrobe,’ said Jaguar, slipping silently out of the nearby bushes.

  ‘Phoowee! Jaguar! You made me jump.’

  ‘I noticed,’ said Jaguar, cleaning her whiskers. ‘Is it yours?’

  Elephant shook his head. ‘I have no idea whose it is or how it got here.’

  A tiny voice spoke up. ‘Look inside!’ It was Invisible Stick Insect.

  ‘Oh, hello, Stick Insect,’ said Elephant. ‘I thought you were there somewhere.’

  ‘I’m waving. Over here.’

  Elephant didn’t bother to look too hard. When you looked for Invisible Stick Insect you only ever saw a bunch of twigs. ‘Oh yes, there you are,’ he said, not wanting to hurt Stick Insect’s feelings.

  Elephant knew that even the smallest things have feelings. And even though they might be small feelings, if you are actually small those small feelings are pretty big.

  The three of them looked at the wardrobe and the wardrobe silently gazed back at them. It was so big. What might be hiding inside?

  ‘I think we’d better tell the others,’ suggested Elephant, and so they set off for the meadow and Armadillo’s log cabin. On the way they met Giraffe, Lobster and Wombat.

  Having heard Elephant’s story, Armadillo and Hare wanted to see the mysterious wardrobe themselves. When they reached the wardrobe they found Bear (of the polar variety) and Tortoise, both staring at it.

  ‘This is very strange,’ remarked Bear.

  ‘Hmm. Is there a lamp post nearby?’ Tortoise wondered.

  The others looked at him quizzically.

  ‘Tortoise, why might there be a lamp post?’ asked Jaguar.

  Tortoise smiled nervously. ‘It was just an idea of mine.’

  ‘I think we should look inside,’ said Armadillo. Several of the others moved back, even Elephant, until his rear came up against a tree.

  Armadillo turned the handle of the wardrobe. ‘It’s locked,’ he said, and the animals shuffled forward again. ‘If we had a twig we could try and pick the lock.’

  ‘I’m a bit like a twig,’ said Invisible Stick Insect. ‘Maybe I could climb inside the lock and open it.’

  ‘Sheesh! That is very brave of you,’ said Elephant admiringly.

  So Invisible Stick Insect climbed inside the lock. She soon found out how to make the catch spring back. The door of the wardrobe swung open.

  ‘Phoowee!’ whistled Elephant.

  ‘Well I never,’ murmured Tortoise.

  ‘Extraordinary,’ said Hare.

  ‘I say,’ muttered Giraffe, from on high.

  Armadillo nodded. ‘It’s quite a collection.’

  The wardrobe was full of clothes, feathers, boxes of make-up and jewellery galore. There were necklaces by the dozen, bracelets and bangles, tiaras, crowns, finger- toe- ear- and nose-rings – all glittering in the sunlight.

  And the clothes were not ordinary. There were exotic cloaks, strange eye masks, wonderfully coloured shoes, jackets with hundreds of little jewels sewn onto them and boots – boots that would only fit someone with very long, thin legs.

  As the animals stared at the contents of the wardrobe they heard a fluttering from above. They looked up and saw a pink angel slowly descending between the trees. The angel had a large beak and very long, thin legs.

  ‘Darlings!’ Flamingo cried with delight. ‘You’ve found my wardrobe! I knew it was around here somewhere. Isn’t it wonderful? Oh, I’m so happy to be reunited. Here are all the costumes for my brilliant shows.’

  Flamingo pulled out a long feathered boa and flung it round her neck. She swept up several necklaces and bracelets, handing them to her audience and blowing a kiss at Armadillo.

  ‘Pops! Your cardigan! Buttons undone all over the place. You’re such a rebel! I love it! Have a brooch or three! And Giraffe, oh my goodness, those necklaces go so well with your spots.’

  Lobster eyed Flamingo suspiciously. She tapped the tall bird’s ankle, which was about as high as she could reach. ‘How did you get this wardrobe here?’ she grumbled. ‘First of all you produce a bath out of nowhere, and now a wardrobe – full of jewellery! Is it stolen? How do we know it’s yours?’

  Flamingo bent down and spoke in a low voice. ‘Lobster, sweetheart, a lady never tells her secrets.’

  Lobster was unimpressed. ‘Well, I’m a lady too, and I don’t think ladies should have secrets. I certainly don’t.’

  Flamingo gasped with horror. ‘But darling, you poor thing! You can have some of mine! Lean closer so I can whisper in your ear.’

  Lobster, fascinated, leaned in and listened. Her eyes almost popped out and she turned bright red. ‘No! I don’t believe it!’

  Flamingo nodded slowly and silently. Lobster blushed ever more deeply. She didn’t ask any further questions.

  ‘Now then, darling Elephant,’ said Flamingo. ‘You look like a sturdy chap. Lovely, lovely legs. So shapely! Like a grand piano I once knew. Do you think you might help get my wardrobe down to the lake, sweetie?’

  Elephant stepped forward proudly. ‘I shall be honoured to help,’ he announced.

  ‘I can help too,’ droned Giraffe. ‘I’m – quite strong in the muscle department.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Hare, whiskers and ears twitching at the thought of helping such a fantastically pink and glamorous creature.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Hare,’ said Armadillo. ‘Wardrobes are beyond you.’

  ‘Darling, gallant Hare, a little bird told me you play a magical tuba. How perfectly wonderful. Why don’t you get your tuba and play us a marching tune,’ cried Flamingo. ‘Then we shall be at the lake in no time at all.’

  Hare fetched his tuba. Soon everyone was stomping along, with the wardrobe tied to Elephant’s back.

  Flamingo sang to Hare’s marching tune, and out of the tuba floated a military band, magicians’ hats, tiny white rabbits, three toilet rolls, several coat hangers and five pairs of long evening gloves with fake-fur cuffs.

  The wardrobe was placed near the bath.

  ‘Darlings, thank you, thank you. And now I am so happy I shall give you a little show.’

  Flamingo gave a deep curtsy, disappeared inside her wardrobe and pulled the door shut. For a few moments there was silence.

  Then the wardrobe began to sing. Of course the animals knew it was Flamingo inside – but suddenly something extraordinary happened.

  Flamingo’s head appeared out of the top of the wardrobe. Her beak was pointed at the sky and both her eyes and beak were closed. But the wardrobe was still singing!

  Flamingo rose higher and higher. As her wings cleared the wardrobe sides they spread wide, showing all the glittering feather extensions.

  And still she rose into the air, wings slowly beating, with the song ringing from the wardrobe. The audience burst into wild applause.

  ‘How does she do that?’ Hare whispered to his companion.

  Armadillo was in raptures. ‘Ventriloquism. She’s a ventriloquist. She’s a singer, an acrobat, a performer and she’s absolutely divine!’

  Hare looked at his friend. One long ear was astonished. The other was surprised. As for his whiskers, they were flabbergasted.

  An Invitation

  Armadillo was on the porch. He was listening to Flamingo’s soft singing weave its way amongst the swaying trees of the Big Forest. He was still in his dressing gown. Somehow, this morning, he had managed to wear it the right way round.

  Now he stood with his hands in his pockets, swaying a little like the trees of the Big Forest. And at that moment an idea popped into his head.

  Armadillo smiled to himself. It was a good idea. He went into the cabin, found some paper and a pen and began to write. As he concentrated, his snout wiggled and his tongue stuck out at one side.

  He began:

  Dear Flamingo, I hope you are well. I am well.

 
That was how Hare found his friend, crouching over the paper. ‘Ah,’ said Hare. ‘I was just thinking of doing something like that myself. Where did you find the paper?’

  Armadillo grunted. He didn’t want to be disturbed. ‘There’s more paper around somewhere,’ he told Hare. ‘What do you want it for?’

  ‘Oh, just an idea,’ murmured Hare. ‘What are you doing?’

  Armadillo sighed. He put down his pen. ‘If you must know, Hare, I am writing to Flamingo. I am inviting her for dinner this evening.’

  Hare’s eyes turned into saucers. His ears did a rapid whirligig movement which left them twisted into the most complicated knot.

  ‘But, but, but that is exactly what I was planning to do!’ he cried, waving the paper he had just found, and a second pen.

  ‘And I’ve already started,’ Armadillo pointed out.

  Hare was speechless. He collapsed back into a chair and his ears collapsed with him.

  Armadillo stopped writing. He looked at his beginning. Dear Flamingo, I hope you are well. I am well. It didn’t sound very interesting. He glanced across at his friend, slumped in the armchair. He couldn’t invite Flamingo to the log cabin and leave Hare just hanging around, twiddling his ears. Armadillo sighed.

  ‘Why don’t we both ask Flamingo to dinner?’ Armadillo suggested. ‘You can play your tuba and I can tell her the history of cheese since dinosaur times.’

  Hare sat up. His ears sat up. Even his whiskers sat up. He wasn’t sure if dinosaurs had dined on cheese but he was grateful to hear Armadillo’s offer.

  ‘Thank you.’