‘Hey! Here, doggy!’ Jackson said urgently, suddenly holding out a slightly fluffy and bent jelly baby he must’ve found in his pocket.
Like me, he knew how dangerous the situation was getting. A parent could hear. Magic could happen.
Thank goodness Frodo wasn’t put off by the jelly baby being a tiny bit grubby. He dropped on to all fours and sniffed the sweet in Jackson’s hand.
Which gave Jackson the chance to grab hold of his collar so—
Uh-oh.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw something glitter.
There it was again.
Noooo! The jelly-baby distraction had come too late – the seriously spectacular weirdness had already started.
Thing’s rubbish magic was in the air and there was nothing we could do to stop it.
Flickers of light danced round us, as if someone had set off a sparkler and that sparkler had gone cartwheeling off each of the five straggly trees.
Then, just as soon as this amazing mini fireworks show started, it stopped.
Rubbing the splings and sparkles from my eyes, I slowly opened them and dared myself to see what had happened.
Maybe Thing had turned the dog into a tree root?
Or a giant squirrel?
A massive, wobbly jelly baby, maybe?
Er, nope. None of those things had happened to Frodo. In fact, Frodo was nowhere to be seen. He’d disappeared. And so had Jackson. Where they had just been standing was now a giant pile of leaves.
‘Thing … what did you do?’ I asked.
‘Um, not know, Rubby!’ Thing purred nervously, peering down from the now-bare branch.
Ah, so that was it.
The tree Thing was perched in; it was suddenly naked. All of its greenery had fluttered into a mound on the ground.
A mound that was now shivering and shaking as two heads – one blond, one black and white – poked out of the top.
‘What happened?’ asked Jackson, holding on tight to Frodo’s collar as the dog did a spin-cycle shake to rid itself of leaves.
‘What do you think happened?’ I replied, nodding up at Thing.
Thing was blinking its moon eyes in our direction.
‘Sorry, Boy. Sorry, Rubby,’ it purred in a tiny, shaky voice. ‘But, Rubby – you take barker away now, yes, please?’
‘Don’t you want me to stay here with you?’ I asked it. ‘Jackson could take Frodo home, like last time.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Thing, ever so politely. ‘Barker come back. Boy not do it right.’
Poor Jackson.
Of course I knew he was a useless donut.
But now even Thing had come to that conclusion.
It would be quite funny, if Jackson didn’t look so hurt.
‘Come on, we’ll take Frodo back together,’ I said, linking arms with my big, useless donut …
‘It’s not my fault Frodo turned up again,’ grumbled Jackson, as he plodded along the pavement next to me, holding on to his belt-lead.
What Jackson said was true.
The trouble was, he’d mumbled that same grumble about a zillion times as we headed off through the housing estate, towards Frodo’s home.
‘I mean, how can it be my fault if—’
‘Is this it?’ I deliberately interrupted.
We had just arrived in front of a house, which looked exactly the same as all the other new houses. All that made it different was the number on the door – 39.
I walked up the path and ding-donged the doorbell.
‘Yeah. But Frodo just turning up like that; I couldn’t help that, could I, Ru—’
‘Shush! Someone’s coming!’ I told him, picking a stray leaf off his head.
Through the wavy frosted glass I could see the wibbly-wobbly outline of a woman and a skippy little kid looming towards us.
‘Woof!’ barked the dog as the door was pulled open.
‘Frodo!’ exclaimed a frazzled-looking woman with a paintbrush in her hand.
‘Ha ha!’ giggled a small, smiley girl, clutching a doll with no head.
‘It’s not my fault!’ said Jackson, as he unravelled his belt from Frodo’s lead.
Not surprisingly, the frazzled-looking woman seemed a bit confused.
OK, it was time for me to talk, rather than the boy-shaped baboon by my side.
‘Hello, I’m Ruby, Jackson’s friend,’ I said, introducing myself as Frodo galloped off into the house, followed by the skippy girl and her headless doll. ‘Your dog got itself lost again. We found it over where we live.’
‘Really? Oh dear …’
The frazzled-looking woman was obviously having a baby soon. (Any minute now, by the hugeness of her tummy.)
Wearily, she rested the hand with the paintbrush on her bump and ran her other hand through her tumbling-down, paint-splattered hair.
‘I’ve been so busy getting the baby’s room ready that I didn’t even notice he was gone,’ she sighed. ‘How on earth did he get out? And why does he keep running away in the first place?’
‘We could find out for you, if you like!’ Jackson suddenly suggested.
‘Sorry?’ said the woman.
‘We could find out why Frodo’s running away!’ Jackson carried on. ‘Me and Ruby have this friend who can talk dog language.’
Noooooo! What was he doing? OK, so he wanted to help Frodo and his owner, but Jackson was in serious danger of splurging our small furry secret.
‘You mean … like an animal behaviour expert?’ asked the woman.
‘Yes! Exactly!!’ I practically shouted.
An animal behaviour expert sounded good. Sensible. Believable.
A tiny talking creature who lived at the bottom of the garden didn’t.
‘Well, that’s very kind of you to offer,’ said the woman, ‘but I couldn’t really afford it and I haven’t the time to take Frodo anywhere at the moment. It’s hard enough finding time to play with Posy.’
Posy … the smiley, skipping girl, I guessed. What a sweet name. And she had to be a pretty sweet kid; who else could love a doll with no head?
‘Our friend would do it for free,’ Jackson offered enthusiastically. ‘And me and Ruby could take Frodo to see it right now!’
‘“It”?’ repeated the woman, crinkling up her nose.
‘The animal behaviour expert, Jackson means,’ I filled in quickly.
‘Oh, that would be too much to ask of you …’ said the woman.
‘We don’t mind,’ Jackson replied. ‘Do we, Ruby?’
Before I got the chance to say anything, the frazzled-looking woman sighed and said, ‘Well, I suppose it couldn’t do any harm!’
Oh yeah?
As the woman whistled for Frodo and rootled round for a proper lead, I shot Jackson a killer look.
His plan was all very well, but there was one small hitch – a hitch called Thing.
How were we supposed to get it within translating distance of the barker?
As if he could read my mind, Jackson gave me a Cheshire cat grin and a big ‘trust-me’ wink.
Ha!
The only thing I could trust Jackson Miller to do was something completely dumb …
Amazingly, Jackson had a good idea. Honest.
In amongst the straggle of trees (and the giant mound of leaves), sat me, Frodo and a plastic carton of mini cocktail sausages.
A safe distance away, Thing tippetty-toed along a line – a line of jelly babies. Each one Thing came to, it stopped and ate it.
And with each stop, it warily eyed the dog.
‘Barker not going to chasey-chasey, Rubby?’ Thing asked, edging closer.
‘I’m holding Frodo’s collar really tightly,’ I promised. ‘And anyway, he’s more interested in these sausages than you.’
I fed Frodo another one, just to prove my point. As he slobbered over my fingers I looked up and gave Jackson a hopeful smile.
Yes, the bribes of sausages and jelly babies had been his idea, amazingly.
‘Ther
e. I just here,’ Thing said suddenly, stopping dead with several jelly babies clutched to its chest. ‘Not nearerer barker.’
‘OK,’ Jackson agreed, sitting down cross-legged. ‘And I’m right beside you if you get scared. Yeah?’
‘Yes, please,’ purred Thing, leaning up against Jackson’s bare knees. ‘Now what is you wanting me to say to barker?’
‘Can you ask Frodo why he keeps running away?’ I told it.
Thing took a last bite of jelly baby, then made a funny ‘huh-huh-hurr’ noise.
At first I thought it was choking.
In fact, I was just about to order Jackson to turn Thing upside down and whack it on the back when I realised Frodo had – surprisingly – lost interest in the sausages.
‘Huh-huh-huh-hurrr-huh,’ panted the dog.
Ah! So that’s what Thing and Frodo were doing – panting at each other!
Me and Jackson exchanged glances, as the breathy conversation continued.
Then – at last – it seemed to be over.
With one final pant, Frodo stuck his silly spaniel snout into the plastic carton of tiny sausages and ate the last ten in one huge, happy gulp.
‘So, what did he say?’ Jackson asked Thing.
‘It say small human mad.’
‘Small human?’ Jackson frowned.
‘Posy, I suppose?’ I muttered, though I found it hard to picture that pretty, skippy little girl being mad.
‘Small human sometimes put nice food in barker’s mouth,’ Thing carried on. ‘Off her plate. Or from something called “bin”.’
‘Well, that doesn’t sound very mad,’ I said. Actually, it sounded like every dog’s dream.
‘But then small human also put bad stuff in barker’s mouth.’
‘Like?’ said Jackson.
Thing blinked and wobbled, searching for unfamiliar words.
‘Stuff called “perfume” and “toot-paste” and “Lego”.’
Oh … so maybe Posy wasn’t quite as sweet as her name.
‘And small human do bad games.’
‘What sort of bad games?’ I asked, giving poor Frodo a cuddle, even though his breath was a bit meaty.
‘Small human tie “lastic bandies” around tail till tail go numb-numb. What lastic bandies, Rubby?’
‘Sort of stretchy bits of string, see?’ I told Thing, pinging my hair bobble.
‘Stretchy …’ muttered Thing, practising another new word.
‘Anything else?’ Jackson asked.
‘Yes, please. Barker say small human break stuff called “toys” and “plants” and “remote control” and say, “Barker did it!”.’
‘Maybe that’s what happened to the doll’s head?’ I suggested to Jackson.
He shrugged a suppose-so back at me.
‘Huh-huhhhh-hurrrr-a-hurr.’
Me, Jackson and Thing all turned to listen to what Frodo was now panting, though only one of us understood.
‘Barker say small human also like to lock him.’
Me and Jackson frowned at Thing, while Thing frowned back, wondering how to make us understand.
‘Lock barker in room,’ it added. ‘Lock barker in small space called “cupboard”. Lock barker out of home.’
‘So Posy is the one letting Frodo out of the house,’ Jackson exclaimed. ‘And then he just wanders off!’
‘Well, that makes sense,’ I agreed.
Posy was only little; she didn’t realise how badly she was behaving.
And her mum had been too busy lately to notice what was going on.
‘We’ll go straight back round and tell Frodo’s owner,’ Jackson announced. ‘Can you let Frodo know, Thing? Can you tell him everything will be all right?’
Thing nodded, then panted in the dog’s direction.
But instead of panting back, there was a sudden explosion of barking.
Thing huddled in the baggy leg of Jackson’s shorts, its paws over its ears.
‘Barker say “Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!”, but too loud,’ it squeaked.
‘Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!’ Frodo carried on, excitedly.
‘Shush, doggy!’ I tried to quieten him, but it didn’t do any good.
‘Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!’
If only pets had ‘Off’ buttons like Go Go Hamsters or Baby Annabels …
‘Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!’
‘What’s going on down here, eh? What’s all this noise?’
That deep, tall voice belonged to a man peering over Jackson’s fence.
‘Hello, Mr Miller,’ I mumbled, remembering my manners, even though I was about to faint with panic.
‘Uh, this is Frodo, Dad!’ said Jackson, as he shuffled a bundle of Thing further up the leg of his shorts.
‘What – the dog you were telling me you found the other day?’ Mr Miller asked amiably. ‘Don’t tell me it’s got itself lost again!’
‘Well, yeah,’ Jackson shrugged. ‘And me and Ruby were trying to find out why it keeps running away.’
‘Maybe it’s because you’re feeding it!’ he said with a grin, nodding at the empty, family-sized carton of ‘fifty cocktail sausages’.
‘We, uh, just wanted to get its trust before we asked it what was wrong,’ Jackson mumbled.
Mr Miller totally cracked up at that.
‘You and Ruby are dog-whisperers now, are you?’
I’d heard that phrase on TV. People who had a way with animals were called horse-whisperers or dog-whisperers or whatever.
I guess you could do that for any creature.
Maybe not fish, though.
Being a fish-whisperer could be tricky. You might drown, for a start.
Still, me and Jackson didn’t have a talent like those whispery guys. But if it’s what Mr Miller wanted to think, that was fine.
‘We just wanted to help,’ I told him, hoping I sounded honest and true, and not like someone who knew that his son was hiding a shocking secret up his shorts.
‘Tell you what,’ said Mr Miller. ‘I’ll get my shoes on and meet you round there in a minute. Then we can walk that runaway hound back home together.’
‘OK, Dad!’ Jackson said brightly, with his hand covering the strange-shaped bump on the side of his thigh.
Mr Miller turned to go, and my shoulders had only just started to sag with relief, when he swivelled round and peered over the fence again.
‘Hey, I just noticed – what’s going on there?’ he asked, pointing to the nearly nude tree nestling shyly amongst the others.
‘Freak tornado?’ Jackson suggested.
He may be a donut, but at least Jackson made his dad laugh.
In fact, we heard his dad laughing all the way up their garden as he wandered safely away from us.
‘Fnuffff!’ snuffled Frodo.
‘I know I don’t speak dog,’ I whispered to Jackson. ‘But that sounded a lot like “Phew” to me!’
‘No, thank you,’ came a muffled, purry whisper from Jackson shorts. ‘Barker just say “sausage!”’
I fondly ruffled Frodo’s ears, wondering if I’d just found something with a smaller brain than Jackson’s …
‘Boing! Boing! Boing!’
‘Shush, now, Posy – Mummy’s talking.’
We were sitting in Frodo’s living room; that’s me, Jackson, Mr Miller and Valerie (Frodo’s owner).
There were others in the room, only they weren’t sitting.
Frodo was lying on his back, tongue hanging out, fast asleep after an exciting time getting lost/found/translated/fed cocktail sausages.
Posy was doing the opposite of sleeping; she was using an armchair as a trampoline and swinging her headless doll round by the leg.
There was another someone in the room, though only me and Jackson knew about that. Thing – and a few jelly babies – were nestled in the inside pocket of Jackson’s jacket.
‘Er, was that a good idea?’ you might be wondering to yourselves.
Probably not.
Bu
t while we’d waited by the trees for Mr Miller to join us, Jackson had convinced me that Thing should come along with us to Walnut Grove, in case Frodo panted any more important information.
To be honest – even though it was hidden – I felt a tiny bit sick about taking Thing out into the big, wide world.
Then again, nothing awful could happen in such a short space of time, so close to home.
Right?
(I crossed my fingers, which made it kind of hard to hold the biscuit and juice carton Valerie had just given me.)
‘Boing! Boing! Boing!’
‘Posy! Are you listening to me?’ her mum sighed.
(Answer: no.)
‘So,’ Mr Miller carried on, in spite of the boinging, ‘as I was saying, Valerie. there was no “animal behaviour expert”’. It was just two kids who were keen to help out.’
Mega-pink.
That was the shade of my cheeks, and Jackson’s too.
The way Mr Miller was explaining the situation, me and Jackson sounded like silly three-year-olds.
‘Boing! Boing! Boing!’ yelled the silly three-year-old in the room.
‘Well, I appreciate the thought,’ said Valerie, smiling at us both.
She had a smudge of apple-green paint on her nose, I noticed.
‘And we did find out what’s happening,’ Jackson announced.
‘Oh yes?’ said Valerie, with an I-don’t-THINK-so raised eyebrow.
Jackson threw a quick look at Posy. But she seemed so caught up in her boinging and doll-swirling that she wasn’t listening to what boring grown-ups and ten-year-olds were saying.
‘It’s Posy who’s been letting Frodo out. She’s been bugging him in lots of other ways too!’
‘Now, Jackson’s just guessing all this, Valerie,’ Mr Miller jumped in.
‘No, I’m n—’ Jackson started to protest, till me and his dad shut him up. Me by glaring at him to keep our secret and Mr Miller by holding up a firm hand to him.
The Great Expanding Guinea Pig & Beware of the Snowblobs! Page 2
