Just Crazy

by Andy Griffiths

  We all crawl out.

  Mum is standing there with her hands on her hips.

  ‘That’s the most pathetic excuse I’ve ever heard,’ she says. ‘When are you going to grow up and start taking responsibility for your actions?’

  ‘But, Mum . . .’ I say.

  ‘No, listen to me,’ says Mum. ‘I know you think it looks cool, and tough, and that it will make girls like you, but do you realise what smoking can do to your health?’

  ‘But . . .’ I say

  ‘It rots your lungs. It stunts your growth. It ruins your circulation. You’ll get gangrene and your toes will drop off. Is that what you want?’

  ‘Are you getting all this, Sooty?’ I say.

  ‘I’m talking to you!’ says Mum. ‘You two would be a lot better off playing outside in the fresh air than huddled under the house smoking. Why don’t you go to the playground? The exercise would do you good.’

  The playground? How old does she think we are?

  ‘But, Mum,’ I say, ‘playgrounds are for kids.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ says Mum. ‘Playgrounds are for everybody.’

  ‘Why don’t you go down there then?’ I say.

  ‘Well,’ says Mum, ‘because at my age swings and seesaws and whizzy-dizzys make me feel ill, but if I was your age I’d be down there in a flash.’

  I look at Danny.

  Danny looks at me.

  ‘That’s it!’ I say. ‘Great idea, Mum! Can we take Sooty?’

  ‘Sure,’ says Mum, a little surprised by my sudden change of mind. ‘But no more smoking!’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Did you hear that, Sooty? No more smoking!’

  Mum rolls her eyes.

  We grab Sooty and drag him down the driveway, across the street and down to the playground.

  ‘This ought to do the trick,’ I say to Danny. ‘Chocolate, smoking and swinging — a lethal combination. Even for a dog with a cast-iron gut like Sooty.’

  Sooty digs his claws into the footpath the whole way. Sometimes I swear he can understand English. I have to drag him by the collar while Danny pushes him along from behind.

  Finally we make it to the playground.

  ‘Gee,’ says Danny. ‘This place has changed.’

  He’s right. The playground is not what it used to be. They’ve removed all the old metal stuff we used to play on and replaced it with a load of brightly coloured plastic junk. It’s strictly for babies. There are still swings but they’re not the big ones — just the ones that look like rubber underpants with little safety chains across the front. Still, they’ll be perfect for Sooty.

  He’s not too keen on the idea, though. He’s straining to get away.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sooty,’ I say. ‘We’re not mad at you. We’re just going to have a bit of fun.’

  I try to pick him up, but he’s twisting and turning and I can’t get a proper grip.

  ‘Give me a hand, Danny,’ I say.

  But Danny is not beside me. I look up. He’s climbing across the top of a yellow dome.

  ‘Hey!’ he calls. ‘Your mum was right. This is pretty good! We should come here more often.’

  ‘Danny!’ I yell. ‘Get over here right now! Don’t you realise what’s at stake?’

  ‘Just one more go?’ he says.

  ‘Danny!’

  Danny jumps off the dome and comes running over.

  I put my hands around Sooty’s chest and hold him just above the swing. As I lower him into the rubber seat, Danny pulls Sooty’s hind legs through the legholes. I pull the chain across and lock it into position.

  I run around behind the swing, pull it back and push it as hard as I can.

  Sooty goes swinging up into the air. He barks crazily. The swing comes whooshing back and I push it even harder. He barks even louder.

  ‘Hey!’ says a voice behind us. ‘Take that dog out of there!’

  I turn around.

  It’s my neighbour, Mr Broadbent. He doesn’t like me very much, I think it’s got something to do with the time I accidentally set his fence on fire.

  ‘Let him go!’ he says.

  ‘But Sooty likes it,’ I say. ‘He just loves the swing.’

  ‘Then why is he barking like that?’ says Mr Broadbent.

  ‘He’s barking for joy,’ I say, giving the swing another push. All I’ve got to do is to keep Mr Broadbent talking. A couple more swings should do it. Just a couple more.

  ‘If you don’t let that dog out of there I’m going to ring the RSPCA,’ says Mr Broadbent.

  ‘Actually it’s the RSPCA who told me to do this,’ I say. ‘They said swinging is good for dogs. It makes them mentally happy. You should try it.’

  ‘I don’t have a dog,’ he says.

  ‘I meant for you,’ I say.

  I push Sooty again.

  ‘Are you going to stop that or do I have to come over there and make you?’ says Mr Broadbent.

  ‘Just one more and I’m through,’ I say.

  I give Sooty one last big push.

  Sooty flies up, up, up into the air.

  But he doesn’t come back down again.

  He keeps going.

  He flies out of the swing like he’s been shot out of a cannon. He travels across the park and lands out of sight behind some trees.

  Mr Broadbent shakes his head.

  ‘That poor dog,’ he says.

  ‘How could I know that was going to happen?’ I say. ‘This playground equipment is dangerous. The seatbelts are hopeless!’

  I grab Danny.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘We have to catch him. He could spew at any moment!’

  We run towards the trees.

  We find Sooty walking around and around the base of a large pine tree.

  ‘There he is!’ says Danny. ‘Looks like he’s going to be sick.’

  ‘Shush,’ I say. ‘I don’t want him to know we’re here. He might run off.’

  We hide behind a park bench and watch him.

  Sooty circles the tree.

  Then he stops.

  Maybe the combination of chocolate, smoke, swinging and flying through the air has done the trick. He’s finally going to be sick.

  But Sooty doesn’t throw up. He lifts his leg and wees on the tree trunk.

  Danny giggles.

  ‘Having fun, boys?’ says a voice behind us.

  I turn around.

  Oh no.

  I’m staring at a big slobbering Rottweiler.

  I look up.

  It’s Roseanne O’Reilly . . . and Lisa Mackney. They must be taking Roseanne’s Rottweiler for a walk.

  Roseanne turns to Lisa.

  ‘Spying on a dog having a wee is kind of pathetic, don’t you think?’ she says.

  ‘No,’ says Lisa. ‘It’s not kind of pathetic. It’s definitely pathetic.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ I say. ‘I can explain . . .’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Danny. ‘We didn’t want to watch him having a wee. We were hoping he was going to be sick.’

  Lisa and Roseanne look horrified.

  ‘That’s even worse,’ says Roseanne. ‘Come on, Lisa. Let’s get away from these psychos.’

  They walk off. Lisa looks sadly back at me over her shoulder.

  Damn. Of all the parks she could have come into, why did she have to come into this one? And why right now? I want to run after her and explain, but I can’t leave Sooty. Stupid dog. This is all his fault.

  Roseanne calls to her Rottweiler.

  He’s over at the tree sniffing at the place where Sooty just lifted his leg.

  Uh-oh.

  They start growling and circling each other. The hairs rise into spiky patterns on their backs.

  The Rottweiler lunges at Sooty and sinks his teeth into Sooty’s throat.

  ‘No, Slayer!’ screams Roseanne.

  I jump up and run towards them.

  I grab Sooty by the tail and pull him up into the air. But Slayer comes too, still attached to Sooty’s neck.
>
  For a moment I’m holding both dogs in the air, but then Slayer loses his grip and falls to the ground. He jumps back up and snaps at Sooty.

  I swing Sooty away from him, but he follows, lunging and snapping. I have to keep swinging Sooty around and around and around.

  ‘Do something, Roseanne!’ screams Lisa.

  ‘No, Slayer,’ calls Roseanne again. ‘Bad dog!’

  ‘Go, Andy!’ yells Danny.

  ‘Do something, Danny!’ I scream.

  Danny picks up a pine cone and throws it at Slayer.

  It hits me in the head. Ouch! Right where I bumped it earlier under the house.

  ‘Sorry!’ says Danny.

  He tries again. This one is a better shot. It hits Slayer in the side.

  Slayer stops trying to bite Sooty and starts trying to bite me instead.

  He sinks his teeth into my leg.

  ‘Aaggh!’ I yell.

  I drop Sooty.

  Sooty sprints away towards home.

  ‘Quick, Danny!’ I yell.

  I try to run after Sooty but I’m dizzy from spinning around and I run into a tree.

  Ouch.

  Danny helps me up.

  Lisa and Roseanne are just standing there shaking their heads and laughing.

  I want to tell Roseanne off for not keeping her crazy dog on a leash but I don’t have time for that now. We have to catch Sooty.

  Danny and I take off after him. We chase him all the way home.

  When we get there, Sooty is in the back yard, lying on the grass, panting.

  Danny and I flop down beside him.

  ‘Poor dog,’ says Danny. ‘Look at him. He’s exhausted.’

  Poor dog? What about me? I’ve been blasted by Dad, lost at least ten weeks’ pocket money, whacked my head, been blasted by Mum, been humiliated in front of Lisa, hit by a pine cone, bitten by a dog and had a head-on with a tree. And Sooty still hasn’t been sick. It’s not fair.

  ‘What now?’ says Danny.

  ‘I hate to say it,’ I say, ‘but I think we’re going to have to tell Ms Livingstone the truth.’

  ‘But you said . . .’ says Danny. ‘You said . . .’

  ‘I know, Danny’ I say. ‘But that was before we’d tried everything. He’s not going to spew. The only thing left is to wait until it comes out the other end, and there’s no way I’m going to touch that.’

  ‘Hang on,’ says Danny, grabbing my arm so hard it hurts. ‘Look!’

  He’s pointing towards Sooty.

  I don’t believe it.

  Sooty’s wandered to the edge of the lawn and is being sick.

  It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen!

  ‘Good dog, Sooty,’ I say. ‘Bring it all up. You’ll feel better.’

  He coughs a few more times and walks away.

  ‘Come on, Danny,’ I say. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

  We go over and kneel beside the pile of steaming, frothy goo. It’s a yellowy sort of colour with patches of brown.

  I grab a stick and start poking at it, looking for the flying saucer.

  Danny does the same.

  I find a piece of what I think is our assignment, but on closer examination it turns out to be part of a chocolate wrapper.

  Searching through Sooty’s vomit with a stick is not exactly my idea of a great afternoon’s entertainment. But what’s really bad is that there’s no trace of the flying saucer. Or the aliens.

  I push aside another lump of half-chewed chocolate and then I see something green. There they are! Our aliens!

  ‘Danny!’ I say. ‘I found them!’

  Danny stares down into Sooty’s sick and smiles widely.

  ‘I bet those guys are pleased to see us,’ he says.

  ‘EEERRRGGHHH! I don’t believe you two!’ says a voice behind us.

  I turn around. It’s Jen.

  ‘You are gross!’ she says. ‘I’ve never heard of anyone weird enough to play with their own sick!’

  ‘It’s not my sick!’ I say. ‘It’s Sooty’s!’

  ‘I’m going to tell Mum,’ she says, putting her hand up to her mouth. ‘You two need help. Serious professional help!’

  Jen turns and starts to run.

  I’m already in enough trouble. I don’t really think Mum needs to know about this.

  ‘Quick, Danny’ I say. ‘Help me stop her!’

  We get up and run after her. I grab Jen’s shoulder.

  ‘Get your spewy hands off me!’ she screams. She shakes us off and runs up the steps into the house.

  ‘That’s all I need,’ I say, turning back to Danny. ‘But at least we found the aliens.’

  ‘Oh no,’ says Danny, ‘look!’

  Sooty has returned to his vomit. And he’s eating it like he hasn’t eaten for a week.

  ‘Get away from that, you crazy dog!’ I scream.

  We run over to scare him away, but it’s too late. They’ve gone. He’s eaten them.

  Again.

  ‘You stupid dog!’ I yell. ‘You ate our aliens! Twice! I’m going to kill you!’

  I put my hands around his throat and start to squeeze.

  ‘Andy!’ says Mum sharply. ‘What is wrong with you today?’

  She’s standing outside the back door.

  I let Sooty go.

  ‘Nothing, Mum,’ I say.

  ‘Nothing?’ she says. ‘Your father told me about the chocolate. And Mr Broadbent has just been on the phone telling me what you were doing to Sooty in the playground. Then Jen comes in and says you were sick and she saw you playing with it. And now I find you strangling the poor dog.’

  ‘But . . .’ I say.

  ‘No more of your pathetic excuses,’ she says. ‘Please! Until you learn to treat Sooty better you can sleep in his kennel and he can have your bed.’

  She turns and storms back inside.

  I look at Sooty. This is all his fault.

  I kneel down, hold his head and stare into his eyes.

  ‘Are you happy now?’ I say.

  He wags his tail, leans forwards and licks my mouth.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  ’m standing in the middle of the school oval.

  I’m trembling.

  And I’m covered in sweat.

  Am I crazy to be doing this?

  No.

  In fact, I’d be crazy not to do it.

  This sort of opportunity doesn’t present itself every day. Besides, it’s a perfect morning for flying. The sky is clear and it’s not too windy.

  Mr Pickett, Danny’s dad, is running this year’s school fete. It’s on today. Danny and I have been here since 6 a.m. helping him set up. For the last hour we’ve been filling balloons with helium. We’re going to put them along the school fence and front gates. We’ve also got some weather balloons that were donated by the local army disposals store. We’ve painted a letter on each one. Put them together and they spell ‘FETE’. Mr Pickett’s idea is to attach them to four really long pieces of rope and float them high above the school to let people know the fete is on. Which is what’s going to happen. Eventually. But first I’m just going to take them for a little joy flight.

  Danny and I have tied two enormous bunches of party balloons to the front straps of my backpack, and the four giant weather balloons to the back of it.

  The balloons are tugging at my backpack, pulling me upwards. My toes are just touching the ground. The only thing keeping me from floating off is that Danny is holding on tightly to my arm and the rope around my waist.

  ‘Okay,’ I say to Danny. ‘Let the rope out about ten metres and then haul me back in. Got that?’

  ‘Are you really sure you want to do this?’ he says. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I say. ‘Of course it’s a good idea! It’s a great idea! It’s a brilliant idea! It’s perfectly safe. Just don’t let go of the rope.’

  Danny shakes his head.

  ‘I won’t let go,’ he says. ‘You can count on
me.’

  I’m not leaving anything to chance, though. That’s why I’m holding a long sharp stick. Just in case.

  If Danny does let go, then all I’ll have to do is burst a couple of balloons and I’ll descend slowly and safely. It can’t go wrong.

  ‘Come on, Danny,’ I say. ‘Before your dad gets back. He said he’d only be half an hour. We don’t have much time.’

  ‘Are you ready?’ says Danny.

  ‘Roger,’ I say.

  ‘Roger?’ says Danny, looking around. ‘Who’s Roger?’

  ‘Nobody,’ I sigh. ‘It’s what pilots say. It means yes.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ says Danny. ‘I forgot. I’m just a bit nervous. If Dad finds out about this he’s going to kill us.’

  ‘Come on, Dan,’ I say. ‘Your dad will never know. I’m just going straight up and straight down.’

  Danny nods.

  ‘All right, Roger,’ he says. ‘Have fun.’

  He lets go of my arm.

  My backpack pulls even harder against my chest and I quickly start floating upwards.

  I can’t believe it. It’s working, I’ve always wanted to fly, and now I am.

  I flap my arms and call down to Danny.

  ‘Look at me!’ I say. ‘I’m flying!’

  ‘Go, Roger!’ yells Danny.

  ‘Stop calling me Roger, you idiot!’ I yell.

  ‘Roger, Roger!’ yells Danny.

  I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m trusting this moron with my life.

  I look all around me. It’s a great view. I can see forever. The neighbourhood is laid out below me like a little toy village. And there’s my house! Wow!

  I wish I could stay up here all day, but it’s cold and the wind is much stronger this far up. I should have worn a jumper.

  ‘Danny!’ I yell. ‘That’s enough. Bring me down!’

  He looks pretty small from up here, like a little boy flying a kite.

  He waves back. Then he starts letting out the rope to make me go higher. He obviously can’t hear me.

  ‘No, Danny!’ I scream. ‘Not higher! Lower!’

  I point towards the ground.

  He points at me and points back to the ground and shrugs.

  I nod wildly.

  ‘Yes, Danny!’ I yell. ‘Down!’