Horace & Bunwinkle

by PJ Gardner

  “I wish we could taste it.”

  Horace quickly changed the channel before she could lick the screen.

  “Look!”

  A cartoon dog raced across the TV screen, his markings a perfect match to Horace’s. He was followed by a black-and-white pig. She and Bunwinkle could be twins; all she needed was a little heart on her snout.

  “Suey, Spot,” a young girl with glasses called to the animals. “Someone stole the statue of Athena. We’ve got to find it before they can destroy it!”

  The dog and the pig touched paw to hoof and shouted, “Pet-tectives investigate!”

  “What is it?” Bunwinkle asked in an awed whisper.

  Horace watched as Spot jumped into the top hatch of a submarine.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, dropping down on the floor next to her. “But I intend to find out.”

  They spent the whole day watching the show, which they quickly discovered was called Andie’s Adventures. They couldn’t get enough of Spot solving riddles and Suey defeating bad guys with her hooves of steel. Horace and Bunwinkle always knew where to find the clues and who was guilty. After a few episodes, it turned into a competition to see who could figure it out first. By the end of the day they were joining in each time the animated characters called out their catchphrase, “Pet-tectives investigate!”

  It was, without a doubt, the greatest show Horace had ever seen. His favorite part was the way Spot cleaned his fur to give himself time to come up with a brilliant plan or to trick the villain into underestimating him, and no one said anything about O.L.D.

  They had a lot in common, Horace thought. They were both handsome and smart, they both liked order and tidiness, and they both lived with a rambunctious pig with a tendency to make messes. Yes indeed, they were practically the same dog. Maybe if Horace traveled the world, he could be a detective righting wrongs and keeping things orderly. He drifted off to sleep imagining himself at the Tower of London, searching for the crown jewels.

  Horace and Bunwinkle woke up the next morning, still in front of the TV, ready to solve more mysteries, but Eleanor wouldn’t let them.

  “It’s a beautiful day. You should be outside.” She scooted them out the back door.

  Horace immediately covered his sniffer. “Good heavens, it smells even worse than usual.”

  Bunwinkle inhaled deeply. “Smells good to me.”

  Horace shook his head and tried to sneak into the house.

  “Oh no you don’t.” Eleanor blocked the way. “You stay out here. I don’t want you turning into couch potatoes.”

  Bunwinkle paused on the porch to stretch. “I didn’t see any potatoes in the couch, did you?”

  “No,” Horace answered, scratching behind his ear. “Eleanor must have hidden them so we wouldn’t spoil our breakfast.”

  “That’s too bad.” She sighed. “I could really go for some food right now.”

  He snorted. “I could really go for some food right now” was Bunwinkle’s favorite sentence. She must have said it a hundred times in the last day. He was about to answer when she suddenly started tapping her front hooves. “Horace! Let’s find them. Let’s find the couch potatoes. We’d be pet-tectives, just like Suey and Spot.”

  Horace sat up straight. Pet-tectives. He liked the sound of that. Perhaps he didn’t need to travel to be a detective. He could start where he was. The Homestead definitely needed someone with a cool head to solve problems and enforce law and order, which in turn would make it easier to protect Eleanor.

  “Very we—” He was interrupted by a distant quack. Were there ducks in the pond behind the barn again? Since he’d arrived, he’d warned them repeatedly to stay away. That was his pond, and they’d better not be polluting it with their horrible feathers. Why, those—

  “Horace?” Bunwinkle waved a hoof in front of his face.

  “Uh, hmm.” He cleared his throat. “Very well. You may be my assistant.”

  “No way! We’re partners, like Suey and Spot. Besides, it was my idea.”

  He sat up straight and held his head high. “Yes, but I’m older and much wiser than you. Therefore, I should be the detective.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Older and grumpier, you mean.”

  “Idiots!” a raspy voice called out.

  They both turned to see who’d spoken, but no one was there.

  “You two are so dumb, it hurts.”

  The voice was coming from under the porch. Horace glanced at Bunwinkle and jerked his head toward the stairs.

  “What’s the matter?” She gave him a funny look. “Is your neck bugging you?”

  It was Horace’s turn to roll his eyes.

  “Ha! You really are a numbskull. He’s trying to tell you to look for me.”

  A dark gray cat emerged from under the porch, a nasty grin on her face—Smokey. Horace had heard about her from one of the goats. She was a stray with a habit of starting fights.

  He turned to tell Bunwinkle it was time to leave, but the piglet wasn’t next to him anymore. She was halfway down the stairs.

  Horace shook his head. “Hey, isn’t that Eleanor calling us? We should probably go back to the house now.”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Bunwinkle said.

  Honestly, she had no sense of self-preservation. Couldn’t she sense she was heading into danger? He had no choice but to follow. He couldn’t leave her alone with Smokey.

  “Why don’t we go look for those couch potatoes?” Horace tried again.

  Smokey gave a dry, rattling laugh. “Those aren’t real. It’s just a saying humans have.”

  Bunwinkle stamped her hoof. “They are too real.”

  “Right. Like bigfoot is real.” Smokey sneered. “Are you like that dim-witted horse? You think monsters roam the neighborhood eating couch potatoes and stealing animals from their homes?”

  The cat sauntered away without waiting for an answer.

  “What an unpleasant creature,” Horace said, loud enough for her to hear.

  “Yeah, and a liar. Saying couch potatoes aren’t real. And what was she even talking about with that whole stealing-animals thing?”

  Horace shook his head. “I’m not sure, but animals aren’t the only things missing, apparently. Look.” He gestured with his paw at the mess in the yard. The fencing around the goat and alpaca pens had collapsed. Most of it was in a heap near the road for garbage pickup.

  Bunwinkle gaped at the mess. “So that’s what that loud crash was yesterday.”

  “No wonder Eleanor let us watch TV the whole day. She had to clean it up and move the animals into the barn.”

  As they stood there, the back screen door opened, then slammed shut, and Eleanor stomped down the steps, talking into her cell phone.

  “Clary, I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was higher than usual. “I can’t find my keys anywhere, and I have to be at the bank in an hour to sign those papers or the deal won’t go through. Right, I’ll check there now.” She rushed off to the barn.

  Bunwinkle turned to him, and they said at the same time, “The keys!”

  “Forget the couch potatoes—we’ve got a bigger mystery on our hooves.” Bunwinkle wiggled her body in excitement.

  This was the opportunity Horace had been looking for. He could teach Bunwinkle how to be a proper pet and save Eleanor from her worries.

  “It means, my dear assistant, that we are going to solve the case of the missing keys.”

  “Partner.” Bunwinkle sat down with a loud thump. “You’re not better at finding clues, Horace. I figured out Andie’s mysteries as fast as you.”

  Why must she be so difficult?

  “Oh, all right.” He sighed. “We’ll be partners.”

  From the other side of the barn, a round of quacking filled the air. Horace whipped his head around. Those wretched ducks had returned to the pond.

  “Where are you going?” the piglet asked him as he walked past her.

  “To rid the Homestead of ducks,” he replied over his sho
ulder.

  “Uh-uh!” Bunwinkle ran in front of him and blocked his way. “If you go to the pond, you’ll spend the whole day there. Who cares about ducks when we’ve got a mystery to solve?”

  “I do.” He continued around her.

  “Fine.” Bunwinkle wrinkled her snout. “Then I’ll just investigate on my own.”

  Horace stopped, torn between protecting his domain from feathered menaces and protecting the case from Bunwinkle’s tendency to chew first and ask questions later. She was sure to mess up the evidence.

  The mystery won out.

  “Very well, then.” He turned up his nose with a sniff. “But after we’ve found the keys, I insist on clearing the pond. Otherwise the ducks will feel they have a claim to it.”

  “What is it with you and ducks?”

  “I’m glad you asked. Du—”

  “You know what? Never mind. Let’s go check the couch.” She trotted away without waiting for Horace’s lecture on the awfulness of birds.

  Bunwinkle stopped at the door. “Wait. Before we start, we have to do the catchphrase.” She put out her hoof.

  “Yes, good thinking. We want to do things properly.” He tapped his paw against her hoof, and together they said, “Pet-tectives investigate!”

  A thrill went through his body, and she giggled.

  “Let’s go find those keys,” he said.

  Unfortunately, the keys weren’t in the couch. Horace and Bunwinkle pulled off all the cushions to be sure. They found a few pieces of candy—which the piglet ate before he could stop her—plus a great number of pens, and a dish towel, but no keys.

  Nor were the keys on the kitchen counter. According to Bunwinkle, anyway. Since they weren’t tall enough on their own to see up there and neither of them could jump high enough, they’d come up with a new plan—one that involved Bunwinkle crawling on Horace’s back and standing there for what seemed like hours. She was heavier than she looked.

  “Where do you think they could be, Horace?” she asked as her back hooves gave out and she thumped down on top of him.

  “Oof.” His knees buckled, and they crashed to the floor.

  Bunwinkle scrambled to her hooves, an excited expression on her face. “I know. The barn. It’s totally obvious.”

  Horace stood and stretched his back. “She’s probably already looked in the barn. That’s where she was heading earlier.”

  “Yes, but we can talk to the other animals and she can’t. I bet we could get some clues from them.”

  She brought up an excellent point. “All right. Let’s go to the barn.”

  On their way they passed Eleanor sitting in the car and mumbling to herself.

  Fortunately, the barn door was open wide enough for them to slip through. Horace’s eyes immediately began to water, and his sniffer quit working. Eleanor had moved all the animals except the chicks to indoor pens because of the fence issue, and the smell of all those bodies was overpowering.

  “Oh, wow. This place is awesome. It smells like dung.”

  Horace shuddered.

  “Now listen,” he said, “before we go any further, I think we should get organized.”

  “Let’s start with them.” She pointed her snout at the alpacas.

  “Sadly, they don’t speak English,” Horace said.

  Bunwinkle shrugged. “Well, I bet the horses will know.”

  “Before we meet them, there’s something I should tell you. The horses are quite large, so it would be wise to stay back from the stalls. Wouldn’t want to get stepped on, right?” He cleared his throat. “And they’re also a bit . . . odd. Well, Smith isn’t odd so much as he is hard of hearing. But Jones . . . well, it might be tricky to get good information out of him.”

  “Horace! Horace, is that you?” Jones called out.

  “Don’t worry.” Bunwinkle grinned at Horace. “It’ll be fine. Everybody loves me.”

  Naturally, it wasn’t fine.

  When Horace introduced her, Smith snorted loudly, then turned to Jones and neighed, “Huh. Coulda sworn he called the piglet Fun Finkle. Ridiculous name for a pig, in my opinion.”

  “No, her name is Bunwinkle,” Horace corrected him loudly.

  “Huh?”

  “BUNWINKLE!” he shouted.

  “Butt wrinkle? Huh, can’t say as I think that’s much better.”

  Horace groaned. Talking to the horses was a huge mistake.

  Bunwinkle moved closer to the stalls. “THAT’S NOT MY NAME! I’M WINKIE!”

  Jones leaned down and studied her. “Winkie? Did you say Winkie?” he asked Horace.

  “Er . . . yes?” Horace braced for the weirdness that was sure to come.

  “You do know what a Winkie really is, don’t you?”

  “A pig,” Bunwinkle answered. “I’m a pig.”

  “Oh no, it only looks like a pig,” Jones said, backing away. “Winkies are actually evil sprites who can shape-shift to look like common farm animals. They sneak in and enchant the real animals, then lead them away to die painful, horrible deaths.”

  Horace sighed. They were never going to find the keys this way. “Yes, thank you, Jones. I think it’s time for us to go now. Come on, Bunwinkle.” He nudged her, but she didn’t move.

  “I . . . I wouldn’t hurt anyone,” she cried.

  The sound of her small, shaky voice stopped Horace. “Oh no. Not the crying.”

  He leaned close to her face, ready to lick away any tears, but she put her head down so he couldn’t see her eyes. He sighed to himself. He didn’t know what to make of Bunwinkle sometimes. One minute she raced off without a care, and the next she cried because her feelings were hurt.

  “And I’d never ’chant nobody.” She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  She looked so sad and pathetic, he couldn’t do anything but comfort her.

  “There, there. No need for tears.” he said kindly. “I mean, did William Dawes cry when he fell off his horse? Of course not.”

  “Who’s that?” Bunwinkle hiccupped.

  “He rode the same night as Paul Revere to let people know the British were coming. Just one of the many brave New Englanders during the Revolutionary War. You know, I’m from New Engl—”

  A loud bleat distracted him. Horace glanced over his shoulder to where the sound had come from. The nanny goats. Of course! He should have thought of that earlier.

  “Come on, partner. We’ve still got a set of missing keys to find. Maybe the nanny goats can help us.”

  Bunwinkle sniffed again, then nodded. “Okay.”

  The nannies weren’t the friendliest animals on the Homestead. In fact, they could be downright rude. Except for Minnie—she had wonderful manners. As Horace and Bunwinkle neared the fence, one of the nanny goats whispered in the long brown ear of her friend, a nasty gleam in her eye.

  Maybe this wasn’t a good idea either.

  Horace decided to try a little flattery. “Ladies, it’s lovely to see you today.”

  “Ladies, it’s lovely to see you today,” the nanny closest to the fence mimicked in a high voice.

  “Hey! That’s not nice,” Bunwinkle snapped.

  “Thpbt. Thpbt. Thpbt.” The other nanny blew raspberries at them.

  Horace stepped close to the fence. “Stop that!”

  “Stop that!”

  “Thpbt. Thpbt. Thpbt.”

  “Thaaat’s enough!” This came from Minnie. She moved out of the shadows. “You two aaare a disgrace.”

  The nasty nannies made faces at her as they walked away.

  “They’re just lucky I wasn’t in there with them. I would’ve bitten their legs,” Bunwinkle muttered.

  Horace smiled. The old Bunwinkle was back.

  Minnie stared at them through the fence. “Whaaat can I dooo for you?”

  “We’re trying to help Eleanor find her keys. You haven’t seen them by any chance, have you?”

  “Eleanooor’s the one who miiilks us?”

  They nodded at the same
time.

  “Goooood woman. Alwaaays warms her haaands before milking.” She nodded to herself. “Veeery thoughtful.”

  “She’s the best!” Bunwinkle agreed.

  “I saaaw her with the keeeys. Took them with her out into the coooop.”

  “The coop!” Bunwinkle jumped up and down. “They have to be out with the chickens. Thank you!” she called over her shoulder.

  “Thank you, Minnie,” said Horace.

  When he arrived, the little pig had her snout pressed to the chicken wire as she stared into the coop.

  “I don’t see them from here. We need to get inside and dig around, but the gate won’t open.” She turned her head toward him. He snorted. The wire had left an impression on her nose.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He looked up so he wouldn’t stare at it.

  And there they were.

  The keys were resting on the corner of the WELCOME TO CLUCKINGHAM PALACE! sign.

  “Bunwinkle, look!”

  Horace raised his chin and took a deep, satisfied breath. They’d found them. Of course, he’d done most of the work, but the piglet had helped . . . a bit.

  “Yay! Now all we gotta do is knock them off that thing and take them to Ellie. And I know just how to do that.” She backed up, put her head down, and charged at the fence.

  Why wouldn’t she listen to him? She was bound to hurt herself.

  Bunwinkle hit it and bounced back. She shook her head, then backed up again. “I know why it didn’t work. I didn’t do the thing.” Bunwinkle reared back on her hind legs and shouted, “HOOVES OF STEEL!”

  “No, we don’t need hooves of steel.” Horace snorted impatiently. “We need to get Eleanor’s attention. She can get them off the sign herself.”

  But Bunwinkle wasn’t listening. He moved in front of her. “Will you sto—” Unfortunately, with her head down, she hadn’t seen him move, which meant that instead of hitting the fence, she hit Horace.

  He flew back into the fence. Stinging pain shot up his back, and he yelped. At the same time, the sign on the fence came loose and fell on Bunwinkle’s head. She squealed shrilly, and six little chicks scurried out of their hutch.