Barry Loser and the trouble with Pets

by Jim Smith

  I Future-Ratboy-zoomed my eyes in on a tiny cottage-shaped building. It was surrounded by loads of little bushes, which going on the name of the place, I guessed were gooseberry ones.

  ‘Oh well that is just perfect,’ I mumbled to myself.

  Gooseberry Bush Cafe

  ‘Ooh hello, dearies!’ warbled an old granny in a black and white waitress outfit as we opened the ancient wooden door and walked into Gooseberry Bush Cafe.

  A million wrinkly heads twizzled round like when you tap on a tank full of terrapins in a pet shop.

  ‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to bring your little friend in here, love,’ said the waitress, doing a wonky grin down at Hamburger. ‘But there’s plenty of room outside.’

  ‘Come on then gang,’ I said, swivelling on the spot, and my trainers squeaked against the shiny concrete floor.

  Hamburger barked, thinking my squeaky shoes were two little yapping dogs or something, which was kind of sweet of him I suppose, but also pretty stupid.

  ‘No offence Barry,’ said Anton, which always means someone’s about to say something annoying, ‘but it’s a bit chilly out there for me, and I forgot to bring a sweater.’

  Nancy rolled her eyes. ‘I told you to pack one, Mr Mildew,’ she sighed, sounding like my mum. ‘I don’t know, you’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on!’

  Fay did a shudder and clung on to Bunky’s arm. ‘It is a bit chilly. Let’s sit inside, shall we Nige?’ she said, and Bunky nodded like he was her own personal robot.

  ‘FINE,’ I said. ‘I’ll chat to the blooming gooseberry bushes.’

  ‘Poor old Baz,’ said Sharonella. ‘Want me to keep you company?’

  ‘Loser’ll be alright,’ said Darren, scraping a chair out. ‘Your throne awaits, Madame Sharalumbus,’ he grinned.

  I went outside and sat down at a table by the window. Through it I could see the six of them inside, chatting away about how much they were all boyfriends and girlfriends with each other.

  ‘Who needs them anyway,’ I mumbled down to Hamburger, who was curled up in my lap like a big hairy donut.

  ‘SOZZAGIS!’ he barked, and I chuckled all gooseBarryishly.

  ‘Did he just say sausages?’ warbled a grumpy voice, and I looked over at the next table. Sitting at it was an old lady wearing angry glasses. ‘I hate sausages,’ she said.

  ‘O-kaaay,’ I said, turning back round to look through the window at my ex-best friends.

  ‘So what’s his name?’ said the grumpy lady, and I twizzled my head back round to face hers.

  ‘Hamburger,’ I said.

  ‘Hamburger?’ she barked. ‘That’s a stupid name for a dog. What kind is he anyway?’

  ‘A sausage dog,’ I said.

  ‘Can’t stand sausage dogs,’ said the old lady, and I smiled at her, hoping that was the end of that.

  Not the end of that

  The grumpy old lady lifted her bum off her chair all shakily and wobbled over to where I was sitting.

  ‘Mind if I plonk meself down next to you two?’ she warbled.

  ‘Er, no?’ I said, even though I did.

  ‘Wish I had someone to cuddle like that,’ she said, peering down at Hamburger, and I wondered if she really did hate sausage dogs after all.

  The wonky-grinned waitress brought out a can of Gooseberry Fronkle for me, a pot of tea for the grumpy old lady and a bowl of water for Hamburger.

  ‘Name’s Margot,’ said the old lady, slurping her tea. ‘Margot Cranky.’

  ‘I’m Barry,’ I said, deciding not to say the ‘Loser’ bit, because everyone always laughs when I do. ‘Barry Harumpadunk.’

  ‘Well this is nice I spose,’ she grumbled, even though it wasn’t nice at all, it was weird. I was sitting outside a granny cafe chatting to a grumpy old lady I didn’t even know.

  Hamburger jumped off my lap, did a lap around the table, then started lapping at his water. Sorry for saying ‘lap’ so much in that last sentence, by the way.

  ‘What’s your dog’s name again?’ asked the old lady, even though I’d only just told her three seconds earlier.

  ‘Hamburger,’ I said, cracking open my Gooseberry Fronkle. I took a sip and went ‘ahhh’, the way Margot was doing with her tea.

  ‘Nice sit down and a cup of tea,’ she said, pretty much just saying what she was doing out loud.

  ‘Yep,’ I said, feeling like I was her husband and we’d comperleeterly run of things to say to each other because of how long we’d been stuck together.

  Hamburger stopped lapping and started trotting round and round in a circle like he’d turned into the last bit of water in a bath and was getting ready to swoosh down the plug hole.

  ‘Uh oh,’ said Margot. ‘You know what that means.’

  ‘What?’ I said, because I didn’t.

  And Margot Cranky smiled for the first time since I’d met her. ‘He needs a poo!’ she grinned.

  See through poo bag

  I won’t go into detail about what happened next, but let’s just say I walked Hamburger over to a tree where he did a ginormous dog poo that really really stank.

  Then I suddenly remembered I didn’t have any of those little black plastic bags dog owners carry around to scoop their dogs’ poos into.

  ‘Oh my goodness gracious me, we are in a pickle aren’t we, Burger,’ I said, wondering if I was turning into a granny myself.

  I ran back to Gooseberry Bush Cafe and stuck my head through the door.

  ‘This is an emergency!’ I cried. ‘Does anyone have a poo bag?’

  The wonky-grinned waitress passed me a couple of see-through plastic bags, which meant I’d be able to see Hamburger’s poo through it once I’d done the scooping.

  Which was just my blooming luck.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, rushing back outside with my six ex-friends following behind me, but only because they’d finished their Fronkles.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Barry,’ warbled Margot Cranky as I zoomed past her, and Darren chuckled.

  ‘So you HAVE got a girlfriend,’ he said, pulling the can of Jinx out of his back pocket. ‘Wanna spray, Loser?’

  I ignored Darren and marched over to the tree where Hamburger had done his poo, putting my hand into one of the see-through bags like it was a glove.

  I could feel the warm, squidgy dog poo in my palm as I scooped it up. And the weird thing was, I actukeely quite liked it.

  ‘Now all I need is a poo bin,’ I said, spotting one over by the gates. So we all started walking towards it.

  Mr Gooseberry

  Darren peered at Hamburger’s poo, swinging from my hand in its see-through bag. ‘You taking that home for din-dins, Loser?’ he chuckled.

  ‘Eww, gross!’ cried Fay. ‘Tell him to stop it, Nigel.’

  ‘Cut it out, Dazza,’ said Bunky, and Anton patted him on the back.

  ‘I’ve got to say, Nigel - Fay’s really helped you grow as a person over the last couple of weeks,’ he said. ‘Me and Mrs V were only talking about it last night.’

  Hamburger looked over at Anton like he thought he was a comperleet loseroid, which he is. ‘SOZZAGIS!’ he barked, and I opened my mouth to try and join in with the chat.

  ‘Yeah, it’s the same with Hamburger,’ I said. ‘He’s really helped me learn how to, erm . . . pick up poos.’

  Nancy peered at me through her glasses. ‘I don’t think you can compare a sausage dog to a real-life girlfriend or boyfriend, Barry,’ she said.

  Darren nodded as we walked up to the poo bin. ‘Yeah, Loser, are you saying I should be picking up Shazza’s poos or something?’ he snuffled, and Shazza punched his arm.

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Baz,’ she said. But Nancy was right. Having a sausage dog didn’t stop me being a gooseBarry. If anything, it’d made me into even more of one.

  ‘I think it’s time I got Hamburger back for dinner,’ I mumbled, chucking the poo bag at the bin.

  And of keelse, it comperleeterly missed.

  Evening poo

>   ‘How was Frankie Teacup today?’ said my dad when I got home.

  ‘His. Name. Is. Blooming. HAMBURGER!’ I cried, slumping into the sofa.

  ‘Language, Barry!’ shouted my mum.

  ‘And don’t forget to feed that dog, young man.’

  I trudged into the kitchen and splodged half a can of Feeko’s Dog Hamburgers into Hamburger’s bowl.

  Then I took him out for his evening walk, where he did three wees - one against a boring old lamp post, one against a tree and one straight down a drain.

  We were just strolling back to our house when he started to twirl round in a circle on the pavement, and we all know what that means.

  I pulled see-through plastic bag number two out of my pocket and slipped it over my hand. ‘Blooming sausage dog,’ I mumbled to myself, reaching down and grabbing the poo.

  Which is when I realised the bag had a hole in it.

  Barry Loser’s lonely Sunday

  Seeing as that day had been a Saturday, the next one was a Sunday.

  Hamburger had kept me up half the night with his barking, and because of that I was in a bit of a bad mood.

  Even though it was going to make me feel like a comperleet and utter gooseBarry, I decided to find out what my ex-best friends were up to and tag along.

  I dialled Nancy’s number and her mum answered.

  ‘Hi Mrs V, is Nancy there?’ I said in my talking-to-someone-else’s-mum-on-the-phone voice.

  ‘Ooh hello, Barry,’ she said. ‘Nancy just popped out with Anton. I think they were meeting up with Bunky and Fay.’

  ‘Okay, not a problem at all!’ I smiled, hanging up.

  My nose drooped and my eyebrows tilted into their angry positions.

  ‘Well that’s just fan-blooming-tastic, isn’t it,’ I grumbled.

  Hamburger woofed and tilted his head, smiling up at his master.

  ‘What’re you so happy about?’ I growled, grabbing his lead. ‘Spose I’d better take you out to do your morning poo.’

  We strolled down to Mogden Park, my eyeballs dotting around in all directions, secretly looking out for Bunky and Nancy and their stupid old girlfriend and boyfriend.

  But I couldn’t see them anywhere.

  I spotted a stick lying on the floor and remembered back to before I had a sausage dog, when I’d been planning to teach it tricks.

  I picked the stick up and threw it. ‘Fetch, doggy!’ I cried, even though fetching a stick isn’t even really a trick.

  Hamburger jumped off the ground and twizzled his legs in mid-air, the way people do in cartoons when they’re about to zoom off.

  Then he zoomed off - in the comperleet wrong direction.

  ‘Blooming brillikeels,’ I said. ‘Can’t even fetch a flipping stick.’

  After that we headed over to the Adventure Playground.

  ‘Barold!’ cried a smug, ugly voice, and I peered up at Gordon Smugly, about to jump on to the rope which Stuart Shmendrix was already swinging on.

  ‘WAAAHHH!!!’ screamed Stuart as Gordon landed on top of him.

  Gordon jumped off the rope and strolled over, Stuart wobbling after him.

  ‘Now there’s a pathetic looking beast if I ever did see one,’ drawled Smugly, pointing his nose at Hamburger, and I snarled at him, because nobody messes with a member of the Loser family and gets away with it.

  ‘Where’s Bunky and Nancy?’ asked Stuart, giving Hamburger a pat on the head.

  ‘I don’t think I’m in their gang anymore,’ I muttered, mostly to myself.

  Gordon stroked his chin and looked me up and down, as if I was a gooseberry he was thinking about chomping.

  ‘Me and Shmendrix are off to the cinema after this,’ he said. ‘Spose we’d let you come along if you behaved yourself.’

  And even though I don’t really like Gordon and Stuart that much, and sausage dogs aren’t allowed in Mogden Cinema, I immedikeely said yes.

  Mogden Cinema

  The keel thing about living in Mogden is that everything is twenty minutes away from everything else.

  The unkeel thing about Mogden Cinema as we walked up to it nineteen minutes and thirty eight seconds later was that my ex-best friends and their stupid girlfriend and boyfriend were STANDING OUTSIDE IT with the blooming Shazzonofskis.

  My legs started to wobble as I staggered up to them all, chatting to each other like a six-pack of Evil Fronkles.

  ‘What in the name of an entire punnet of mouldy gooseberries are YOU LOT doing here WITHOUT ME?’ I boomed.

  I knew they’d gone out somewhere together, but not the blooming cinema!

  ‘Barry!’ said Bunky, looking all guilty. ‘What’re you doing here?’

  Gordon chuckled to himself. ‘Well this is awkward,’ he smiled.

  Anton, who hadn’t forgotten his sweater this time, did a little cough. ‘Let me explain,’ he said.

  But I wasn’t in the mood. ‘Save your breath, “Mr Mildew”,’ I snarled. ‘I’ve had enough of you all!’

  I stared up at the poster for the film we were about to watch and shook my head.

  ‘Oh well that makes sense doesn’t it,’ I said, reading what it was called.

  Disaster Strikes!

  Darren pushed the big glass door of the cinema open. ‘Disaster Strikes! starts in five minutes,’ he said. ‘You losers can carry on your little squabble afterwards.’

  I stared at Darren and noticed he was carrying a six-pack of Cherry Fronkle, which was probably how many cans he needed to get through a film.

  ‘Come on Barold,’ said Gordon. ‘Forget about that lot - me and Stuart are your best friends now.’

  ‘Good point, Gordon,’ I said, tucking Hamburger into my hoodie and zipping it up so only his nose was sticking out.

  ‘No woofing for the next three hours please,’ I whispered to my pooch. Then I turned the volume up on my voice so Bunky and Nancy could hear. ‘Papa’s watching a movie with his NEW BEST FRIENDS.’

  Bunky rolled his eyes. ‘Oh come on Barry,’ he said. ‘Don’t be like that.’

  I opened my mouth to say something, but Darren’s voice came out.

  ‘Extra large sweet popcorn,’ he said to the spotty teenager behind the counter. ‘Just like my scrummy girlfriend!’

  ‘You calling me extra large?’ snapped Sharonella, and everyone in the queue turned round to start enjoying their argument.

  The cinema manager, who was a fat man wearing green-tinted glasses, strutted over and frowned down at Darren. ‘What exactly do you think you’re doing?’ he asked.

  ‘I am having an argument wiv my girlfriend,’ said Darren.

  ‘I’m talking about those,’ said the manager, staring at the six-pack of Cherry Fronkles. ‘You can’t bring cans into the Multiplex.’

  He pointed at a ginormous Fronkle machine where you could pour yourself a cup for nine million times the price of a can.

  Inside my hoodie Hamburger wriggled. ‘Shush puppy,’ I whispered, even though he wasn’t exackerly making any noise, it was just that the hoodie was jiggling around a bit.

  Now I don’t know if you know this, but when somebody’s hoodie jiggles around a bit, it kind of catches peoples’ eyes.

  The ones inside the manager’s green-tinted glasses swivelled over to look at me, and I imagined I must’ve looked even more like a gooseBarry than normal, what with the colour of his lenses.

  ‘Your hoodie is moving,’ he said, like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

  And that’s when Hamburger barked ‘SOZZAGIS!’ and stuck his head out of my jumper.

  Actual real life disaster strikes

  It was twenty minutes, I mean seconds, later and we were all standing outside Mogden Cinema. All of us apart from Gordon and Stuart that is, seeing as they’d snuck off before the Manager spotted Hamburger.