The Bolds on Vacation

by David Roberts

  At the vet’s there were quite a few animals in the waiting room with their owners. Several dogs of various sizes and ages wagged their tails at Stinky and strained on their leads to get a better sniff of him. There were also quite a few cats in travel cages and a rabbit in a cardboard box. You couldn’t see it was a rabbit, but the Bolds’ noses knew the truth and it smelled delicious.

  A big, fluffy cat with very intense green eyes and an expensive diamond collar sat on a lady’s lap and hissed menacingly at Stinky. “Now, Maureen,” said the cat’s owner. “Be nice.”

  Stinky thought it best to avoid eye contact and shrank back under a chair to avoid provoking Maureen.

  Then a lively Labrador puppy came in and bounded up to Stinky wanting to play.

  “Is your dog friendly?” asked the puppy’s owner. “Poppy is only young and can be a bit boisterous.”

  “Yes, he’s very friendly,” said Mrs. Bold. Meanwhile Poppy got a grip on Stinky’s nose with her needle-sharp teeth and pulled with surprising strength.

  “Ouch! Get off!” said Bobby involuntarily. Suddenly all the other pet owners and most of the pets looked with amazement at Stinky. Had that dog just spoken? To cover himself, Bobby then made a few similar-sounding doggy noises. “Er, groff! Grrroff!”

  “Oh my goodness, I actually thought your dog just said ‘Get off!’ ” said Poppy’s owner, eyes wide with amazement.

  “Ha ha!” said Mrs. Bold. “He does make some funny noises. Always, er, g-roffing instead of woofing, aren’t you, Stinky?”

  Luckily Poppy had stopped biting and was looking at Bobby with her head on one side, a little confused.

  “Bad dog, Stinky!” said Betty, which Bobby thought was a little uncalled for.

  To distract everyone from looking at Bobby, Mr. Bold thought it wise to tell a few jokes to the people in the waiting room:

  This had the desired effect and soon everyone was so busy laughing, Stinky’s “talking” was quickly forgotten.

  Eventually it was the Bolds’ turn to see the vet—a Mr. Fleabag.

  “What do we have here?” he said, looking down at Bobby. “He’s an ugly little fella, isn’t he? Is he as daft as he looks?”

  “Not at all. He’s very loving and intelligent,” said Mrs. Bold, bristling with indignation.

  Mr. Fleabag shrugged. “Oh yes. I’m sure he’s got a great personality. He’d need to, looking as scruffy as that.” He laughed.

  Scruffy? Mrs. Bold was furious and was ready to give the vet a piece of her mind but Mr. Bold nudged her. There was no point giving the game away. They needed the vet’s help.

  “So. Got an injured leg, has he?” continued the vet, seeing how cross Mrs. Bold was starting to look. He picked Bobby up and plonked him on the examination table. “Haven’t seen a dog like this before. A crossbreed, is he?”

  “No, he’s very happy,” said Mr. Bold.

  “Something frightful got over the fence, that’s for sure,” said Mr. Fleabag, shaking his head. He glanced at Bobby’s private parts. “We ought to take those off as well, while he’s here. One dog like this in the world is quite enough. Who knows what any pups of his might look like!” He laughed again and tweaked Bobby’s ears.

  Betty snickered and Bobby curled his lip.

  “We’ll think about that,” said Mrs. Bold. “Could you just look at his leg for now, please?”

  “Hmmm,” said the vet, feeling Bobby’s leg, pulling it and twisting it. “I don’t think anything is broken, but we’d better do an X-ray to be sure.”

  Bobby began to quiver.

  “It’s nothing to worry about, Bob—I mean, Stinky,” said Mrs. Bold.

  “It won’t hurt, but we’ll need to anaesthetize him to keep him still, then lay him on his side,” said Mr. Fleabag. “He’ll have to stay here a few hours . . .”

  “Oh, no need, he’ll keep still if you ask him to,” explained Mrs. Bold.

  “Really?” asked Mr. Fleabag.

  “Oh yes. He’s a very clever dog. Watch this. Which side would you like him to lie on?”

  “Right,” said Mr. Fleabag. “But I really don’t think—”

  “Lie on your right side and play dead, Stinky, there’s a good dog,” said Mrs. Bold.

  Bobby at once did as he was told, lying flat out on his right side, not moving a muscle, eyes firmly shut.

  “Remarkable!” said the vet, scratching his head. “Will he stay like that?”

  “Oh yes,” said Mrs. Bold. “Won’t you, Stinky?”

  Bobby nodded.

  “I’ve never seen a dog like it!” exclaimed Mr. Fleabag. “He might be scruffy but he’s one of the most intelligent creatures I’ve ever come across.”

  Mrs. Bold looked very proud and Bobby gave Betty a knowing wink.

  After the X-ray had been taken, Mr. Fleabag looked at the results. “Hmmm,” he said. “Good. It doesn’t seem to be anything serious.”

  Bobby’s leg wasn’t broken, fortunately, so there was no need to put a plaster cast on. But it was badly sprained and needed to be bandaged.

  “He’ll need to rest it for at least forty-eight hours,” explained the vet. “No running about. Just short, slow walks on a lead. We’ll give you a crate to keep him in. And because he won’t be getting much exercise, cut down on his food. About half of what he usually gets.”

  Bobby was aghast and let out a groan.

  “All the more for me,” said Betty primly.

  “You don’t eat dog food, do you, young lady?” laughed Mr. Fleabag.

  “Just joking,” said Betty awkwardly.

  Mr. Bold jumped in with a joke:

  Mr. Fleabag ignored him. “If he’s not showing any improvement, or if he keeps limping, bring him back in to me, and I’ll have another look.”

  “Will we still be able to go on vacation next week?” asked Mrs. Bold anxiously.

  “I don’t see why not. A bit of sea air will do him good.”

  The Bolds all thanked the vet, and Bobby was put back down on the floor, where he sniffed at his bandaged leg.

  “And to stop him from biting his bandage, he’ll need one of these,” added Mr. Fleabag, reaching for a big, pink, cone-shaped plastic contraption that he fixed round Bobby’s neck. “He won’t like it, but it’s for the best.”

  The other Bolds couldn’t help but laugh. “Looks like a lampshade!” shrieked Betty.

  “Keep it on day and night,” recommended the vet.

  Bobby was not happy. He’d been called “ugly,” told he ought to have his “bits” cut off, told that he was going to be half starved and kept in a crate—and now this!

  “And when he’s better, I do recommend that he has the snip. You’d never find homes for any pups that look like him,” laughed the vet.

  Bobby had just about had enough of Mr. Fleabag’s insults. He concentrated for a moment, then let out a big, noisy wet fart.

  Chapter 6

  It didn’t take long for Bobby’s leg to start feeling better. A few days’ rest, as the vet had said, but without needing to be shut in the crate (which was left in the garden, unused), and he was almost back to normal, although he still limped a bit. It was definitely easier for him to stay on all fours, though. His injured leg was still weak, and when he tried to stand on two legs like a human being it was very painful. So it was decided Bobby would stay as Stinky for the two weeks the Bolds were on vacation.

  Bobby was quite pleased about this. Now that his leg was starting to feel better, being a dog was good fun. Minnie, who so much wanted a dog of her own, liked to take him out for walks in the park with Betty. Betty thought it was very funny to lead her twin brother around on a lead, make him sit before they crossed the road and tell him off when he was a “bad dog.” Although he could hear and understand everything said to him, Bobby, as Stinky, just pretended he couldn’t.

  “Don’t roll in the mud, Stinky,” said Minnie as they approached a big puddle.

  What do you think Stinky did? Yes, of course. Splat! It was lovely. He also
loved chasing and play-fighting all the dogs they met, sniffing, barking and eating tasty morsels left in trash cans. He was having a lovely time.

  Finally the day of departure to Cornwall arrived. Everyone got up early (Minnie had stayed the night) and all eight of them—Mr. and Mrs. Bold, Uncle Tony, Mr. McNumpty, Betty and Bobby, Minnie and Miranda—piled into the blue car. It was crammed with luggage and camping equipment. Even more stuff was heaped high on the roof rack. As the car was so full, Miranda, being a monkey, decided she’d be quite happy traveling on the roof.

  “Sure you won’t fall off?” asked Uncle Tony, concerned.

  “Me monkey, me no fall off!” squealed Miranda, poking her head out from under the tarpaulin.

  “All aboard?!” asked Mr. Bold. “Seat belts on, everyone.”

  It was a very long drive to Cornwall, and after the initial excitement of setting off on their first vacation together, and a rather dreary game of I Spy—“I spy with my little eye something beginning with R.” “Road?” “Correct.” “S.” “Sky?” “Correct.” “M.” “Motorway?” “Correct.” “C.” “Clouds?” “Correct.” “C.” “Cars?” “Correct.” And so on—boredom was beginning to set in.

  Any ideas what Mr. Bold did to amuse everyone for the next five hours? Yes, that’s right. He told jokes, of course. Hundreds of them. I’ll pass on a few for you now. Whether these are the “best” or the “worst” is up to you. But I can’t tell you them all, or there wouldn’t be room for the rest of the story. And this tale has barely started. It does get most exciting, and that’s because the Bolds are one of those families that exciting things happen to, remember? But I was going to tell you some of Mr. Bold’s seaside jokes, wasn’t I? Stand by.

  By the time they got halfway there everyone had laughed themselves silly, and their sides were beginning to hurt. Mr. McNumpty thought he might be getting a headache—and poor Uncle Tony appeared to be asleep, although he had a big smile on his face.

  “You might have to stop with the jokes soon, Dad,” pleaded Betty. “So much laughing is making me feel sick.”

  “We don’t want any mess in the back of the car, dear,” said Mrs. Bold. “Perhaps we’d better have a rest from your jokes.”

  “Just one more for luck, then,” said Fred.

  The rest of the journey was an almost joke-free zone, although there was much giggling when Miranda popped her head into view through the window, upside down. They passed the last couple of hours singing show tunes, which they rather enjoyed, although none of them were in tune and “howling” might be a better description. It certainly didn’t do Mr. McNumpty’s headache much good.

  Eventually they arrived at their destination, the Sunnyside Campsite at St Ives in Cornwall. It was a very pleasant spot, with plenty of room for lots of happy campers and a small shop selling fresh milk and the sorts of things people forget to pack—like toothbrushes, toilet paper rolls, sunscreen, and canned soup. There was a crèche for when parents and children needed a break from each other; toilets and showers; a playground; and a club room for dancing, sing-alongs, bingo and other entertainment in the evenings.

  The Bolds chose an area under a clump of pine trees, with the sandy beach and the sea just a short walk away along a grassy track—and decided to pitch their tent there.

  One of the benefits of spending the vacation masquerading as a dog was that Bobby didn’t have to help with any of the unloading or tent erecting. As soon as they got there he was off, bounding around the other tents, chasing about with the other dogs, sniffing and having a lovely time.

  Betty was furious. She was having to unpack the car and collect wood for the campfire. “It’s so unfair,” she shrieked. But as her mother reminded her: “Stinky is a dog. And doggies do what doggies do.”

  “And he’s doing a doggy-do-do right now,” pointed out Mr. McNumpty. “Go on, Betty, dear. You’d better go and clear it up.”

  So as Betty and Minnie trudged back and forth, and Betty had to pick up Stinky’s “business” in a poo bag, Bobby had a whale of a time. A little wire-haired Jack Russell called Taxi chased him round the campsite and down the grassy track and there, suddenly, was . . .

  . . . the sea!

  Bobby had never seen the sea before and he stopped and gasped. “Wow!” he couldn’t help but exclaim at the vast sapphire-blue expanse glistening in front of him, like a watery field of jewels.

  Taxi gave him a little nip and raced toward the waves. Feeling the soft, warm sand under his paws was a wonderful new sensation for Bobby—and then the salty, foaming waves!

  He plunged in after Taxi, the cool water easing his leg and making him feel wide awake after the long journey in a hot car. He had enjoyed swimming in ponds before—but never in a beautiful, endless sea! The only thing missing was Betty, but of course Bobby would never admit that. Brothers rarely do.

  But as Taxi and Bobby played and chased and tumbled around in the water, they were being watched.

  Watched by creatures you and I have probably never met. Creatures we would probably like to meet. And creatures we will eventually meet in this story . . .

  So just be patient.

  Chapter 7

  Meanwhile back at the Sunnyside Campsite the rest of the Bolds were standing around the unpacked tent scratching their heads. The tent—yards of blue and orange canvas—was billowing about in the sea breeze while Mr. Bold and the others held up various hollow steel poles amongst the pine needles and wondered how on earth they were supposed to fit them together. Several nearby campers watched with amusement. A few of them had felt similarly confused about their own tents when they had arrived.

  Miranda climbed a tree and peered down, occasionally throwing pine cones down on her friends’ heads—which really wasn’t helping matters.

  “Aren’t there any instructions?” asked Minnie.

  “It’s a secondhand tent I got at a garage sale,” explained Mr. Bold. “The man said we wouldn’t need any instructions! It was all perfectly straightforward.”

  “A-ha!” cried Mr. McNumpty, who had successfully slotted one pole into another.

  “But if we don’t know what sort of tent it is and what it’s supposed to look like, how do we know where to start?” was Minnie’s next question. “I mean, is it a tepee? An A-frame? An igloo?”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “This is intense,” said Betty.

  “Ha ha!” laughed Mr. Bold. “See what you did there? Intense—in tents?” Everyone laughed politely, but joking wasn’t, for once, going to help the situation.

  Uncle Tony picked up some of the canvas, found a window in it and poked his head through. “Yoo-hoo!” he said weakly.

  Mr. McNumpty and Minnie were the most sensible in the party, so they paired up to try and make sense of things.

  “You fitted two poles together, didn’t you?” Minnie reminded Mr. McNumpty.

  “I did, yes,” said Nigel proudly.

  “Well, let’s carry on with the poles and then maybe it will take shape.”

  “Good plan,” he agreed. “All poles over here, please!”

  Betty and Mr. McNumpty busied themselves collecting the aluminium poles that had been scattered about, then laid them in a row as directed by Minnie. She and Mr. McNumpty began to tentatively try and slot them together.

  “I’ll unpack the camping stove and see if I can make us all a nice cup of tea,” said Mrs. Bold.

  “I’ll have a rest,” decided Uncle Tony, and he sat against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.

  Just then a soaking wet Bobby galloped back to them, panting with excitement, and then shook himself, spraying salty water over everyone.

  “Oh, Bob—I mean, Stinky!” complained Betty. “You naughty boy!”

  Mrs. Bold checked Bobby’s injured leg and put a clean, dry bandage on it, then poured Bobby a nice big bowl of water, which he enjoyed lapping up noisily, before sitting himself next to Uncle Tony in the shade for a nice rest.

  “Aren’t you going to hel
p?” asked Betty crossly, but Bobby just shrugged at her.

  “Dogs can’t help put up tents, silly,” said Mr. Bold, aware that their neighbors might be listening. “Whoever heard of such a thing? Animals aren’t that clever, remember.”

  “Let’s have a break for tea and doughnuts,” suggested Mrs. Bold, holding the teapot. “Or there’s lemonade if you prefer.”

  Bobby’s ears pricked up at the sound of lemonade and doughnuts. He stood up expectantly. Betty shook a finger at him. “Dogs don’t drink lemonade, remember!” she told him with glee. “Have some more water and a dog biscuit if you’re hungry.” Bobby lay back down, his stomach rumbling. There were some disadvantages to being a dog, after all, he decided.

  After tea, lemonade, and doughnuts, Minnie and Mr. McNumpty persevered with their attempts at putting up the tent. They had joined most of the poles together now, it was true, but it didn’t look very tent-like. More like a wonky fence, or a piece of wobbly, rather dubious, modern art.

  “Well, I think that looks very—er—interesting!” declared Mr. Bold proudly. “Much nicer than a boring tent!”

  Minnie sighed. “Oh dear. It’s almost impossible!”

  “Always nice to be different,” said Uncle Tony, waking up from his nap. “No one else has a tent like that, do they?”

  “True,” said Minnie, without conviction. “Maybe it will look better once we put the canvas bit over the poles . . .”

  “Let me take over,” said Mr. Bold. “You two have done enough.”

  The construction was rather tall, so after several failed attempts at throwing the canvas high enough, with lots of huffing and puffing, Fred got on top of the car and threw the material over the poles. Everyone helped pull it down the sides and then they stood back to look at their handiwork.

  “Umm . . .” said Mrs. Bold, lost for words.