“Will Part One Jack be there?”
“I reckon. Jack’s been a Sprout for years. But plenty of others will be there too.”
“Girls?”
“Lots.”
The pickup stopped at the Grange. Aunt Sally took Tooter inside and left her with the leader, a lady with a “Miss Piggy for President” button.
When Aunt Sally left, Tooter was smiling.
When Aunt Sally came back an hour later, Tooter was frowning.
Tooter climbed into the pickup. “What’s that smell?”
Aunt Sally sniffed. “I don’t smell anything. So, how’d it go?”
“Not so good,” Tooter replied.
“How so?”
“Because I had to stand up in front of everybody and say, ‘Hi. My name is Tooter Pepperday. I’m a Sprout!’ And everybody waved back and shouted, ‘Howdy, Sprout!’ ”
“So?” said Aunt Sally. “They were just being friendly.”
“That’s not the point,” said Tooter. She sniffed and looked behind her seat. “I don’t like being called a Sprout. It sounds like I’ll grow up to be a turnip.”
Aunt Sally sighed. “Well, if that’s how you feel, I guess you don’t have what it takes to be a farmer. I guess that’s all you want to be … a turnip.” She tweaked Tooter’s nose. “Turnip Tooter.”
Tooter laughed. “Hey,” she said, “I forgot. What’s part three?”
Aunt Sally turned into the driveway. She shrugged. “What does a turnip care about part three?”
“Tell me!” Tooter pleaded.
Aunt Sally turned off the motor and got out. Leaning into the open window, she said, “While you were Sprouting, I drove twenty miles.” She was grinning now. “Part three is under your seat. That’s what you’ve been smelling.”
Tooter reached down and pulled out a box. Square. Flat. Warm. A smell she hadn’t smelled in two months. Her joyful scream reached every corner of the farm.
“Pizzaaaaaaaaa!”
5
A Very Fine Goat
Tooter was having breakfast with Aunt Sally the next morning when they heard a loud commotion. A terrible squawking.
“The chickens!” said Aunt Sally.
They ran outside.
Three chickens fussed on the roof of the coop. The others were in the branches of a nearby tree. Tooter saw something move at the top of the hill. A flash of hind legs and tail disappeared into the woods.
“Harvey!” she called.
“Arf!” Harvey replied.
Tooter turned. Harvey was right behind her.
So if Harvey was here, then what was up there?
Aunt Sally was staring at several brown feathers on the ground. She looked toward the hill. “Coyote,” she said.
“Coyote?” said Tooter. “You mean like Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner?”
Aunt Sally picked up a feather. “Yep. Only this coyote is real. And he ain’t funny.”
“I thought coyotes were out west,” said Tooter.
“They’re showing up in these parts,” said Aunt Sally. “Jack Hafer’s father said he saw one the other day.”
Tooter stared at the feather in her aunt’s hand. Suddenly she realized what had happened. “The coyote took a chicken!”
“Bingo.”
Tooter clung to her aunt. She looked fearfully at the hilltop. “Do they take kids too?”
“No,” said Aunt Sally. “But they scare the devil out of goats.”
They found Aunt Sally’s goat standing on its hind legs under a tree. Its front hooves pawed at the trunk, ripping bark.
Tooter forgot her own fear. She helped Aunt Sally bring the goat’s front feet down. The poor thing’s eyes were bulging with terror. It was trembling in her hands. She petted it. She talked to it. “It’s okay … it’s okay. The coyote is gone. You’re safe.”
She led the goat back to the barnyard. She discovered she didn’t want to leave it.
“Aunt Sally,” she said, “what’s the goat’s name?”
Aunt Sally scratched her ear. “Guess it don’t rightly have a name. I usually just call it ‘hey you.’ ”
Tooter stepped back to look the goat over. It was the color of dirty white socks before they went into the washer. She was thinking of naming it “Socks” when suddenly she burped. And the burp tasted like last night’s pizza.
“I got it!” she cried. She leaned in nose to nose with the goat. “Pepperoni!”
Aunt Sally nodded. “Pepperoni Pepperday. I like it.”
Now that Tooter had named the goat, she felt closer to it. She put her arm around its neck. “This is a nice goat,” she said.
“A fine goat,” said Aunt Sally.
“A very fine goat,” said Tooter.
“Too bad nobody else ever gets to see her,” said Aunt Sally. “Stuck away in this here barnyard.”
Tooter looked at Aunt Sally. Aunt Sally was grinning. Tooter said, “I know what you’re thinking.”
Aunt Sally looked surprised. “And just what am I thinking?”
Tooter pointed at her aunt.
“You think I want to show Pepperoni at the county fair.”
“Well, bumble my bees,” said Aunt Sally. “A mind reader. Anything else?”
Tooter put her hands on her hips. “And you’re going to help me.”
Aunt Sally saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
6
Learning to Walk
That afternoon they stood in front of Pepperoni.
“Now this,” said Aunt Sally, “is a goat.”
Tooter laughed. “I know.”
“You also have to know the parts of your goat,” said Aunt Sally. “You’ll be tested at the show.”
“No problem,” said Tooter. “I already know the parts.” She pointed. “Legs. Tail. Mouth. Nose. Ears. Udder.”
Aunt Sally nodded. “Very good. Now where are the wattles?”
Tooter stared at Aunt Sally. “Wattles? What’re wattles?”
“You tell me,” said Aunt Sally.
Tooter looked over the goat. She whispered in its ear. “Pepperoni, where’re your wattles?”
Pepperoni didn’t answer.
Tooter stepped back. Frowning, she studied the animal. “Okay,” she said. “I give up. Where’re the wattles?”
Aunt Sally pointed to two furry flaps of skin, one on each of Pepperoni’s cheeks. She grinned. “Wattles.”
A bicycle came around the barn and clattered through the dust. It was Jack Hafer.
“What’s he doing here?” said Tooter.
“He’s the real goat expert,” said Aunt Sally. “He won the blue ribbon last year. I asked him to come over and teach you how to show your goat.”
When Jack came near, Tooter grabbed his cheek and shook it. “Wattle!” she declared.
Jack did the same thing to Tooter. “Wattle yourself.”
Aunt Sally laughed. “Well, it beats shaking hands.”
“My goat has a name now,” Tooter said. “It’s Pepperoni.”
“Pepperoni?” said Jack. “What kind of name is that?”
Tooter ignored the question. “And Pepperoni is going to be in the goat show. And she’s going to win the blue ribbon.”
Jack laughed. “Your goat is going to beat my goat? I don’t think so.”
“Not only that,” said Aunt Sally, “but you are going to teach Tooter how to show her goat.”
“But, Miss Sally,” said Jack, “why should I help somebody else beat my own goat?”
“Because you want your new neighbor to be a fine farmer, just like yourself,” said Aunt Sally.
Tooter batted her eyelashes. “And because I’m so nice.”
Aunt Sally clapped her hands. “Okay, you two. Get down to work. I’ve got honey to pour.” She handed the goat over to Jack and headed for the honey house.
“Guess what?” Tooter said to Jack. “A coyote ate one of our chickens.”
Jack shook his head grimly. “Here too, huh? Last week it got one of my rabbits.”
“Aunt Sally says they don’t go after kids.”
“I sure hope not,” said Jack.
Tooter had had enough talk of coyotes. “So,” she said, “are you going to teach me how to show my goat?”
Jack shrugged. “Why not? I can teach you all Miss Sally wants, but your goat will never beat my goat.”
Tooter whispered in Pepperoni’s ear. “Hear that, Pep? Are you gonna let him say that to you? Let’s show him who’s the best goat around here.”
Jack just shook his head. “Can we begin now?”
Tooter stood at attention. She saluted. “Yes, sir.”
Jack pulled Pepperoni along by the yellow plastic rope around her neck. “This is how you walk the goat.” He led the goat in a circle. “Walk slow, like this.”
“What if my goat wants to walk fast?” Tooter asked.
“Make her walk slow,” said Jack. “Show her who’s boss.”
Tooter wagged a finger in Pepperoni’s face. “Hear that, Pep? I’m the boss.”
Jack went on. “Keep her head steady, close to you.”
“Close to me?” said Tooter. “How close is close? What if she sneezes on me?”
Jack groaned. “She won’t.”
“But what if she does?” Tooter insisted. “Should I bring a hankie?”
Jack glared at her. “Yes, yes. Bring a hankie. Bring ten hankies. Now can I continue?”
Tooter curtsied. “Be my guest.”
“Okay,” said Jack. “You’re walking slow. See? You’re keeping her head close to you. And steady. And don’t pull her head down. Keep it high.”
“Why?” said Tooter.
“Because you’re supposed to look proper,” said Jack.
Tooter walked around with her nose in the air. “This isn’t proper. This is snooty.”
“Whatever,” said Jack. “And don’t look at the goat.”
“Don’t look?” Tooter screeched. “What kind of rule is that?”
Jack said, “How do I know? It’s a rule, so just obey it.”
“But what if Pepperoni looks at me?”
“She won’t.”
“But what if she does? Am I supposed to ignore my own goat? That’s rude.”
Jack faced the honey house. “Miss Sally!” he called. “Your niece is being silly! She won’t listen!”
“He’s being grouchy!” Tooter added.
Aunt Sally’s voice came from the honey house. “Be nice!”
Tooter wagged her finger in Jack’s face. “See? Be nice.”
Jack bit his lip. He took a deep breath and went on with the lesson. He showed Tooter how to stand the goat for the judge’s inspection. “Front and back legs apart,” he said. “Form a perfect rectangle.”
“I like triangles,” said Tooter.
“Fine,” growled Jack. “Then get yourself a three-legged goat.”
Tooter laughed. “Hey, that was a good one. You’re a funny farmer, Jack.”
“I’m a blue-ribbon farmer too,” Jack shot back.
Tooter poked him in the arm. “We’ll see about that.”
7
Pepperoni Parts
After Jack left, Tooter found her father at his computer. “Working on your story about the girl who moves to a farm?” she said.
“Yep.”
“Do you have it all figured out yet?”
“I can always use a good idea.” He looked up at her. “Know anybody who has one?”
Tooter grinned. “Mmm, I might.” She sat on his desk. “How about this? The girl has a goat. She names it Pepperoni.”
“Why not Baloney or Salami?”
“Dad, be serious.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay. So, she meets this boy from the farm next door. And he’s supposed to be a real hotshot. His goat wins the blue ribbon every year at the county fair. And he’s grouchy to the girl, even though she’s really, really nice to him. And so she decides to teach him a lesson. She enters her goat in the county fair. And”—Tooter clapped her hands—“she wins the blue ribbon!”
Mr. Pepperday nodded. “Sounds good,” he said. “But I think one thing is missing.”
“What’s that?” said Tooter.
Mr. Pepperday scrolled down to a blank screen. He tapped on the keyboard. Two words appeared on the screen:
hard work
“Right, Dad,” said Tooter. “I didn’t forget. It just slipped my mind. Here, I’ll help you out.” She climbed onto his lap. Searching the keys letter by letter, she tapped out a paragraph:
The girl worked hard every day with her goat. She taught the goat to stand like a perfect rectangle. And she taught it lots of other stuff. The goat won the blue ribbon. And the girl was famous.
She hopped off her father’s lap. “Okay, Dad, you can take it from there.”
Tooter went outside. As she walked through the barnyard, she couldn’t tell which chicken was Eggbert. They all looked alike. And all of them ignored her.
But not Pepperoni. Seeing her coming, the goat walked over to meet her. Tooter stroked her high, bony nose. She waggled her wattles. She looked into the goat’s yellow, slotted eyes, so different from her own. Pepperoni ate some grass from her hand.
She whispered, “We’re pals, aren’t we, Pep?”
Pepperoni seemed to nod.
“And we’re going to work hard and win that blue ribbon, aren’t we?”
She put her ear to Pepperoni’s mouth. She thought she heard the goat say yes.
Just then Chuckie and Harvey came running over. Chuckie was holding a book. He handed it to her. “Aunt Sally says you’re supposed to study this. It’s about goat parts.”
Chuckie and Harvey ran off.
Tooter opened the book. On one page she found a drawing. It showed the parts of a goat.
“Okay, Pep,” said Tooter. “These are your pin bones.” She pointed to spots on either side of Pepperoni’s tail. She spoke clearly and slowly into Pepperoni’s ear. She figured her goat should learn her own parts.
“And this is your dewclaw.” She pointed to a spot just above Pepperoni’s hoof. “That’s a funny one,” she said to herself. “Wonder if I have one of those.” She pulled up her pants leg and pulled down her sock. “Nope,” she said. “Just the old anklebone.”
She pronounced and pointed out other parts.
“Stifle.”
“Chine.”
“Withers.”
“Fetlock.”
And, of course, “udder” and “wattles,” which she already knew.
She walked around the goat pasture, studying the parts. A great way to test herself came to mind. She ran into the house and returned with a pad of yellow Post-It notes. She wrote down each part name on a sheet. She pressed each part name where she thought it belonged on Pepperoni’s body. When she checked the drawing in the book, she’d gotten them all right!
Behind her she heard laughter. And arfing.
Her mother stood there, paintbrush in hand, with Chuckie and Harvey. When her mother stopped laughing, she said, “I guess I owe Chuckie an apology. When he told me you wallpapered your goat, I didn’t believe him. Now I do!”
8
Haircut
Every day Tooter and Pepperoni worked hard. They pretended the barnyard was a show ring. They practiced walking properly. Tooter taught Pepperoni how to stand perfectly still with her feet in a perfect rectangle. She trimmed Pepperoni’s hooves and gave her a bath with a hose and scrub brush.
Two days before the county fair, Aunt Sally came to Tooter with hair clippers. “What’re those for?” asked Tooter. “I don’t need a haircut.”
“Maybe not,” said Aunt Sally. “But your show animal does.”
“Pepperoni? What are you talking about?”
“Before you show a goat, you shave off all its hair. Didn’t Jack tell you?”
“No, he didn’t tell me.”
“Well, I’m telling you now.” She held out the clippers. “Here you go.”
Tooter backed off. “No w
ay. I am not going to shave a goat.”
“If you don’t shave a goat, you can’t show a goat. If you don’t show a goat, you can’t win a blue ribbon.”
Tooter said nothing. She allowed herself to be led to the pasture, where Pepperoni was munching grass. Aunt Sally flipped a switch. The clippers buzzed. “Just like shaving a head bald,” she said. “Except you do it all over.”
“All over?” said Tooter.
“All over. The whole shebang. Whiskers. Eyebrows. Inside the ears.”
Tooter shrieked. “Eyebrows! Inside the ears!” The thought of it made her own ears tickle.
“Come to think of it,” said Aunt Sally, “there is one little spot you can let be.”
“What’s that?”
Aunt Sally went to Pepperoni’s back end. “The tip of the tail. Leave about an inch there. So there’s a nice little pom-pom on the end.” She waved the clippers. “All right, pay attention. Here’s how you do it.”
Aunt Sally ran the clippers along Pepperoni’s neck. Hair sprinkled to the ground. A strip of creamy white skin appeared. Aunt Sally handed the clippers to Tooter. “Your turn.”
It took Tooter an hour just to shave the rest of Pepperoni’s neck. She was afraid of hurting Pepperoni, but the goat stood still. She seemed to enjoy the haircut. Tooter was fascinated by the creamy smoothness of the shaved skin. She rubbed it with her hand. Then with her cheek. She hugged the goat. She whispered, “You are the world’s most beautiful goat, Pepperoni Pepperday.”
By afternoon the haircut was done. Tooter left Pepperoni in the pasture. “Now don’t you get dirty,” she said.
On the way back to the house, Tooter heard squawking in the chicken coop. Uh-oh, she thought. Coyote? A chicken ran out of the coop, but no coyote followed. All was now silent inside the coop.
Tooter tiptoed to the doorway. She peeked inside. Her little brother was bending over a nest. A can of paint sat on the floor. A brush was in his hand.
“Chuckie?” she said. “What are you doing?”
Chuckie turned. He held up an egg. The egg was blue. He grinned. “Mom said I can use the rest of the paint. I’m painting eggs.”
Blue Ribbon Blues Page 2