The Bolds on Vacation

by David Roberts

  Can you guess who it was?

  Bobby recognized them first. It wasn’t, was it? It couldn’t be, surely? But of course he couldn’t speak. He gave an excited, high-pitched bark instead and pawed at Betty’s leg.

  “Not now, Stinky. I’m busy watching the surfers.”

  Bobby barked again, but this time he half barked and half spoke. “Wrrruff—Tgggrony—wruufff—Mirrruffanda!”

  At last Betty understood. “Mum! Dad!” she cried. “It’s Uncle Tony and Miranda!”

  “Where, dear?” asked Mrs. Bold.

  “Out there, on the surfboard—that surfing dude and the little one—it’s Tony and Miranda!”

  “G-g-g-goodness, she’s right,” said Mr. McNumpty, shading the sun from his eyes to get a clearer view.

  Just then the huge wave that Tony and Miranda were riding the top of began to change shape. It broke into a frothy wave at one end while the sea water spun around causing a barrel shape to form. Tony’s board disappeared under the waves for a moment, and the crowd gasped and held their breath. But a few seconds later he reappeared inside the wave. This time there was a gasp of amazement. People held their smartphones high in the air to capture the wondrous surfing display they were witnessing. And as if this wasn’t exciting enough, Miranda then performed a backward somersault and landed skillfully on Tony’s shoulders. The crowd whooped and applauded. The pair rode the wave, gaining speed, twisting and turning inside the barrel, never losing their balance.

  “These dudes are fearless!” said the teenager.

  Next, Tony turned the board and they spun round in a complete circle inside the wall of water.

  The Bolds watched open-mouthed, laughing with amazement.

  “Unbelievable!” said Mr. Bold, shaking his head.

  Tony and Miranda then surfed gracefully out of the giant tube of water and glided smoothly to the shore on a fizzing last wave. The appreciative throng applauded loudly and crowded into the water to meet them, patting Tony on the back and lifting Miranda up on their shoulders triumphantly. The Bolds rushed forward too, but it took them a while to get to the front.

  Uncle Tony was now a little overcome by all the attention and was sitting on the beach to recover, with Miranda on his lap. The crowd could now see that the “dude” was in fact quite a hairy elderly chap, and everyone was all the more amazed.

  Finally people began to wander off, and the Bolds were able to rescue Tony and Miranda and usher them back to the campsite and the safety of their tent, where Tony sat on his folding chair and explained what had just happened.

  “Well, I don’t really know, if I’m honest,” he said. “I was always a good swimmer back in Africa, but I haven’t done it for years and I’ve certainly never tried surfing before. But it just came so easily to me.”

  “Really?” said Mrs. Bold. “But what about your arthritis? And you only learned to stand on your hind legs a few months ago. How on earth were you able to balance like that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Tony. “It just happened.”

  “You’re a natural,” Betty said. “Wow, Tony, that was so cool.” And she gave him a hug.

  Tony looked very proud, but also a little bewildered. It was certainly very strange how easily he’d been able to surf. But for now his exertions that afternoon had clearly worn him out and his eyelids were beginning to droop. “I’ve still . . . got it,” he managed to whisper, just before his head fell forward. The next second he was asleep with a faint smile on his face.

  Miranda climbed gently onto his lap and rested her head on his chest, just as he began a contented snore. “Tony tired. Tony sleep. Me too,” she sighed.

  “And you’re a great surfer too, Miranda,” said Mrs. Bold quietly, as she placed a blanket over them before signaling for everyone to creep out of the tent and leave Tony and Miranda in peace.

  Chapter 11

  It was only then, when everyone was sitting outside the tent and Mrs. Bold was boiling water on the little stove to make some tea, that they realized Bobby wasn’t with them.

  “Where’s Stinky?” asked Betty.

  “Oh, his leg’s so much better now, he’s playing with Taxi, I expect,” said Mr. Bold, unconcerned.

  “No, he’s not with Taxi,” observed Mr. McNumpty, ignoring Mr. Bold’s joke. “Taxi is sitting over there, chewing on a squeaky toy.”

  “Bobby was on the beach with us, watching the surfing,” recalled Betty. “I expect he’s chasing around the sand dunes again. I’ll call him . . . Stinky!”

  This suddenly gave Mr. Bold an idea for another joke.

  Bobby didn’t respond to Betty’s call, so Mr. and Mrs. Bold, Minnie, and Mr. McNumpty decided to go with her and look for him, leaving Uncle Tony and Miranda asleep inside the tent.

  Mr. McNumpty looked all around the campsite, calling, “Stinky? Stinky!” in his deep voice as he went, and getting a few funny looks.

  Meanwhile, on the beach, Mr. Bold and Betty searched the sand dunes, and Minnie and Mrs. Bold walked all along the beach looking, calling, and asking anyone they met if they’d seen a rather scruffy dog with a bandaged leg. But no one had. Eventually they all met up again back at the tent. Uncle Tony and Miranda had finished their nap and Minnie told them the worrying news.

  “Me climb tree, looky long way,” said Miranda. Which she did, but she couldn’t spot him.

  “Maybe he’s fallen asleep somewhere, just like me?” was Uncle Tony’s suggestion. “He has been running around a lot today.”

  “But he wouldn’t sleep for this long,” said Mrs. Bold. “He’d be hungry by now. It’s almost his dinnertime.”

  “Perhaps he found a sandwich on the beach. Or a pork pie? I don’t think we should worry,” said Mr. Bold.

  “I do. I am worried, Fred. We’ve lost our little pup! Wherever can he be?” said Mrs. Bold, her voice beginning to tremble.

  Fred put his arm around her. “Now don’t get upset, Amelia. He’s going to come bounding up that path from the beach in a moment, covered in sand and reeking of seaweed. Mark my words.” Everyone looked hopefully toward the path for a few moments, willing Mr. Bold’s words to come true. But there was no sign of Stinky.

  Mr. McNumpty then had an idea and marched off purposefully to ask the Sunnyside Campsite manager to make an appeal over the loudspeaker. Minutes later, after a few loud clicks and bangs and a moment of high-pitched feedback, the announcement was made.

  Ahem. Good afternoon, campers. This is the camp manager speaking. Or should I say the manager of the camp?

  Er, anyways. It’s about a lost dog. Not been seen for a couple of hours. He’s described as brown and black and gray with lighter splotches. Round ears, lots of teeth and a big, wet nose and has his rear left leg bandaged. No one would want to steal a dog like that, so he must be lost.

  Stinky’s the name. The dog, that is, not me. He’s of a friendly, playful disposition. As am I, but that’s irrelevant.

  Have you seen Stinky? Could you please check your tents and trailers to see if he’s maybe wriggled in somewhere he shouldn’t have? Look under your cars. Anywhere you can think of. His owners are very worried about him. Stinky. Missing.

  If you find Stinky please bring him AT ONCE to the camp manager at the camp office. Well, I mean the manager of the camp at the, er, site office. Thank you.

  The Bolds sat patiently for half an hour, waiting to see if any of their fellow campers had found Stinky, but there was no news. While they waited they all called his name continuously, until they were quite hoarse.

  “What shall we do?” cried Mrs. Bold, tears streaming down her face. “Perhaps the tide came in and washed him away. His leg is still not fully recovered and he’s not as strong a swimmer as he should be.”

  “Bobby, Bobby, wherever can you be?” said Mr. Bold to no one in particular. He was feeling just as distraught as Mrs. Bold but he was trying not to show it. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Where was Bobby? He had to be somewhere. There must be an explanation . . .

 
“Maybe it’s a mistake to say we’ve lost a dog,” said Minnie. “I mean—he’s not a dog, is he?”

  “He’s not really a little boy either,” said Betty, stroking her arm. “He’s a”—she looked around to make sure no one outside of their group might hear her—“a hyena.”

  “We can hardly tell anyone that interesting fact!” said Mr. McNumpty. “Hyenas don’t have a good reputation, and everyone would think he’d escaped from a zoo or something.”

  “We’ll have to go to the police station,” said Mrs. Bold decisively. “It’ll be getting dark soon. My son is out there somewhere, and whatever it takes to find him must be done. We’ll have to tell the truth.”

  “But that will mean the end of everything,” warned Mr. McNumpty. “Once they discover we aren’t really people, do you suppose we’ll be allowed to stay living in our nice houses in Teddington? Of course not.”

  “I’ll be sent back to the safari park!” wailed Uncle Tony.

  “We all will!” joined in Mr. McNumpty.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Mrs. Bold. “What matters is that we get little Bobby back. I don’t care where we live. As long as we’re together.” She stood up and blew her nose, then inhaled loudly to calm herself. “Come along, Fred. Let’s get in the car.”

  “You’re right,” said Mr. McNumpty. “All that matters is that we find that pup.”

  Mr. Bold took several steps toward the car before suddenly stopping in his tracks. “That’s it!” he shouted. “You’re right. And Betty was right. Why didn’t I think of it before!”

  “What, dear? What didn’t you think of?” asked Mrs. Bold.

  “We’re hyenas, as Betty said,” replied Fred, lowering his voice. “What are hyenas good at?”

  “Digging?” said Minnie.

  “Scavenging?” said Mr. McNumpty.

  “Rubbing bum on plant?” squeaked Miranda.

  “Smelling things?” said Betty.

  “Exactly!” said Mr. Bold, punching the air. “We’ve been acting like humans for so long we’ve forgotten what we’re really good at. Back in the wild, if we lost a member of the family we would put our noses to the ground and track their scent!”

  “My goodness, you’re right!” said Mrs. Bold, clasping onto Mr. Bold with desperate hope. “I remember once, after a zebra hunt that had gone on for days, I lost the other members of the clan. I just sat patiently by the watering hole and they found me. Hyenas’ sense of smell is remarkable!”

  Betty concentrated for a moment. “I can smell Bobby now!” she declared.

  “Yes!” said Mr. Bold excitedly. “That’s the scent from when we were all here earlier. Now we just have to follow it.”

  “And we’ll find him?” asked Betty.

  “For sure!” said Mr. Bold, feeling proud that his daughter still had her hyena instincts intact, despite being born far away from the wild.

  Uncle Tony tried to catch the scent too, but got a bit of fluff up his nostrils and had a sneezing fit. “Oh dear. The old nozzle isn’t what it once was,” he said.

  Meanwhile Betty was indeed following her instinct: her nose pressed to the ground, she was already halfway to the beach. “This way! Quick!” she yelled urgently.

  “Hold up! One moment!” called Mr. McNumpty.

  The sight of what appeared to be a young “girl” sniffing the ground so determinedly was already attracting titters from some curious Sunnyside campers, Mr. McNumpty observed, so he came up with a rather ingenious plan.

  A few moments later the Bold party set off to find Bobby. Betty was their chief sniffer, but her animal behavior was hidden from view by a four-sided shield of towels, held in place by Mr. McNumpty, Mrs. Bold, Uncle Tony, and Minnie. Mr. Bold and Miranda meanwhile walked ahead, nodding and smiling at passersby to distract their gaze. “Evening!” Mr. Bold said cheerily. “Just trying to, er, dry our damp towels while having a nice family stroll. Fancy a joke?”

  Meanwhile, every now and then, you could hear the muffled voice of Betty giving directions.

  “Left! Left a bit more! Straight on!” And because Bobby had evidently been chasing about having jolly doggy fun, his scent was quite often leading them round in circles and figure eights.

  “Right!” came Betty’s voice from behind the towels. “Right again. In fact, keep going right. Now right again!”

  The towel-holding party shuffled around, following instructions as best they could. Uncle Tony started to get dizzy at one point.

  But eventually, after zig-zagging all over the beach and over and around the sand dunes, the scent led them in a straight line, right along the beach, past where the crowds had gathered to watch Tony and Miranda surfing, and along to the rock pools. Here the scent suddenly seemed to stop.

  Their arms aching, the towel holders lowered Betty’s shield, and everyone had a look around for Bobby.

  They all sniffed the air, but the trail definitely seemed to have ended.

  “Maybe he was so clean from swimming in the sea there was no scent left,” concluded Minnie.

  Everyone tried calling again. “Bobby! Stinky! Here, boy!” But to no avail. The sun was about to set on the horizon, and there was neither sight nor smell of Bobby anywhere.

  Mrs. Bold sat despondently on a ledge. “Oh, where can he be? Perhaps he fell into the sea? Perhaps he’s drowned!”

  “No no, not at all,” said Mr. McNumpty. “You mustn’t think like that. You really mustn’t. We know he’s here somewhere,” he added, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “We must be patient.”

  “He’s probably waiting for us back at the tent,” said Betty, who was starting to miss her brother, even if he did make her cross sometimes.

  “Betty’s right,” said her father. “Let’s all go back to the tent. Perhaps Bobby’s waiting for us back there.”

  Chapter 12

  The group trudged back to the campsite, but unfortunately there was still no sign of Bobby. Another announcement by the camp manager didn’t get any results either. It was decided that going to the police and revealing their true identities was too risky—just yet. Mrs. Bold agreed that they should rely on their animal instincts and animal friends to help find Bobby for now. Their whole lives and future depended on keeping their hyena identities hidden, after all.

  “He’ll turn up, the little rascal,” said Mr. Bold.

  Soon it was dark, and one by one the lights in all the tents were turned off as the campers went to sleep.

  But it was a disturbed night at the Sunnyside Campsite. A pitiful howling began to echo around the pine trees, piercing the moonlit night.

  “Hooooo-oowl! A-hoooowl! HOOOOW-OOOL!”

  Hyenas have very strong family bonds and cannot bear to be separated. If one of their clan is missing, it is the hyena way to call to them. And so, in the middle of the night, Mrs. Bold couldn’t help but sit up in bed and howl for her lost son.

  “Hoooowwwwl!”

  “Hoooowwwwl!”

  “Hoooowwwwl!”

  “Quiet!”

  “Keep the noise down!” shouted their neighbors crossly, but Mrs. Bold’s instinct would not be stopped.

  “Hoooowl! Hoooooowl!” she called.

  In the end the camp manager came to see them, wearing his dressing gown and slippers, and told Mr. Bold that there had been a lot of complaints about the noise.

  “This awful racket has to stop, Mr. Bold. It’s giving some of my campers nightmares.”

  “Mrs. Bold is not feeling herself, I’m afraid,” said Fred.

  “But she’s howling like a wild animal!”

  “I do apologize. Er, she’s having a bad dream, you see.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, keeps dreaming she’s a dog.”

  “How long has she been having these dreams?”

  “Ever since she was a puppy.”

  The camp manager gave Mr. Bold a stern warning. “Any more trouble and I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you Bolds to leave.”

  Mr. Bold knew he couldn’t allow that
to happen. Bobby might never find them if they had to move to another campsite.

  Minnie had heard all this. She knew the best way to cheer up Mrs. Bold and stop her howling was to come up with a plan of how they might find Bobby. After all, howling—unless Bobby was within earshot (and he clearly wasn’t)—was not going to get any results.

  “We need a proper plan, Mrs. Bold. In the morning, Miranda and Tony should search the beach again. I suggest that you, Betty, and I make some “Missing Dog” posters with a picture of Stinky on and put them up all around St Ives. Mr. Bold and Mr. McNumpty should go to the animal shelter. Bobby might have been mistaken for a stray and sent there.”

  “A wonderful idea!” agreed Mr. Bold.

  “But we don’t have any photos of Stinky,” Betty pointed out.

  “Then I could draw a picture. I’m rather good at drawing,” said Minnie.

  “Oh, I do hope we find him!” wept Mrs. Bold. But she did feel a bit better—or at least a little less like howling—now that she knew there was something she could do. In fact, she couldn’t wait to get started.

  The next morning no one felt much like eating any breakfast, but Mr. Bold said they would need to keep their strength up, so everyone had a bowl of cereal and some hot tea before the various parties went their separate ways, agreeing to meet back at the tent at tea time.

  Uncle Tony and Miranda wandered along the beach, looking, calling, and occasionally having a surreptitious sniff of the sand when no one was looking. Unfortunately lots of people remembered their surfing feats from the day before and their progress was constantly interrupted.

  “Hey, dudes! Gonna spin some more waves?”