by PJ Gardner
10
The Search Begins
Horace woke up late. He was used to Bunwinkle kicking him in the head around sunrise, but for some reason she hadn’t done it today. He glanced around while he did his morning stretches. Her bed was empty and she didn’t appear to be in the living room. She was probably eating breakfast.
“Morning, Bunwinkle,” he said as he entered the kitchen.
Her bowl was full, but she was nowhere to be seen. Horace’s chest tightened. Bunwinkle never left food in her bowl.
He walked over to his water dish, a frown forming on his face. Surely there was no reason to panic. She’d probably gone outside to take care of her business. He nodded to himself. That was it. He’d give her a few minutes, then join her.
She wasn’t outside either. He looked everywhere. Even under the porch, which was a filthy, spidery nightmare. She wasn’t there. Maybe she’d fallen asleep somewhere. That was possible, right? She could be snoring away in the barn, for instance, right now.
Horace could hear Jones’s hysterical voice as soon as he walked in, and he froze for a moment.
“Something’s wrong, Smith,” Jones ranted. “I’m telling you. I can feel it in my bones. Something is very wrong.”
He calmed down a bit when he saw Horace. “Oh, thank heavens! I was so worried.” He tilted his head to look around Horace. “Wait, where’s the little pig? Where is Winkie?”
“I don’t know. I can’t find her anywhere.”
Jones’s eyes opened wider and wider. He rocked against the door of the stall. “They took Winkie!” Jones cried. “They took her.”
Horace’s heart pounded. He’d known as soon as he saw that full bowl of food that something was terribly wrong.
“Who? Who took her?”
“The angels.”
“No,” Horace snapped. “No aliens. No angels. No more of your ridiculous stories. Bunwinkle is in danger. You have to help me!”
The gray horse dropped his head.
“That’s enough, Horace,” Smith cut in, frowning. “My brother doesn’t know who took her.”
Horace shook his head, his panic growing by the second. The petnappers had gotten her, and he had no idea where to look.
“But I might know,” Smith said quietly. “Heard a scream a while ago. Came from behind the barn. There might’ve been some laughter too. I think if you start by the pond, you’ll pick up the scent.”
Jones stared at Smith. “I thought you couldn’t hear?”
“Well . . .” Smith stumbled over his words. “It . . . sort of comes and goes.”
“You mean . . . ,” Jones sputtered, “you’ve been pretending to be stone deaf for . . . what’s it been? Five years?”
“Well, now.”
“What else have you lied to me about?” Jones demanded. “Are we even brothers?”
11
They’re No Angels
Worst. Day. Ever.
First she’d gotten pignapped, and now Winkie was stuck in some kind of cage—she couldn’t see anything on account of the blanket covering it. And she was out of things to chew on. She’d torn the duffel bag to shreds as soon as she’d crawled out of it, and there was nothing else in the crate.
A lump formed in her throat, but she wouldn’t let herself cry. Horace would figure out what had happened, and he’d come for her. And together they’d show those petnappers a thing or two.
Please, Horace, figure it out. Please. Please. Please.
Suddenly someone yanked the blanket off the cage. Winkie squinted, trying to get used to the light. Then she heard the door open. This was it—her chance to escape! Still half blind, she shot out of the kennel.
“Uh-oh, get her!”
Winkie knew that high-pitched voice. It belonged to someone she liked, someone she trusted. But who?
A small pair of hands grabbed at her. “Gotcha!”
Nuh-uh. Winkie squirmed and slipped away. I’m outa here.
She ran with all her strength, zigzagging around bales of hay and kennels. The other animals called out, but she couldn’t stop. She had to find a way out. Her heart beat faster and faster as she ran.
Where was the door? The thieves were going to catch her again if she didn’t find it. Maybe it was behind the big stack of hay.
Winkie squeezed between two bales and almost started crying—there was the door. She was almost free. She turned her head to check how close they were and got a good look at her captors for the first time.
White hair.
Freckles.
Overalls.
Winkie’s mouth fell open and she tripped over her own feet. No way. The rotten, no-good jerks who’d petnapped half the neighborhood and thrown her in a bag . . . were the Hogland twins?
The freckled twin plucked Winkie up before she could run away again. “No more running away, Pigella Pigerina. We don’t want you to get hurt.”
“No, Linn, her name is Pigerina Pigella. Remember?”
“No, it’s not. That’s sounds silly.”
Personally, Bunwinkle thought they both sounded silly.
“Oh, I just love that heart on her nose. I’m going to kiss it.”
“No way!” Bunwinkle squealed.
The girls laughed, then planted smooches all over her face. Bunwinkle resisted at first, but that only made the little monsters laugh more and kiss harder. She stopped fighting. It was too late, they totally loved her now.
But she didn’t enjoy the attention. Nope. And she definitely didn’t tilt her head so they could kiss her ears. No, sir. She was just playing along until she could escape.
“Mama’s going to want us back soon. Did you bring all the stuff? We need to get Pigerina Pigella ready.”
Winkie shivered. Ready for what?
“You’re going to be perfect, Pigella Pigerina.”
12
Scent Hound
After the conversation with the horses, Horace rushed out to the pond—which was full of ducks. He didn’t have time get rid of them at the moment, and from the smug way they stared at him while he put his sniffer to work, they knew it. He’d get them later.
He had Bunwinkle’s scent. Now all he had to do was follow it. In circles around the pond. To the barn. Around the barn. Then to the garage and a pile of partially chewed things he refused to get close to.
Where could she be? If the vets really had taken her, she could be anywhere by now. It wasn’t the vets, though. Horace knew it. The evidence simply didn’t add up.
Please let her be safe.
He went back to the pond and started over. This time he wound up under the porch again, at another pile of Bunwinkle’s treats.
Back to the pond again. The ducks laughed and quacked at him, but he ignored them. What was he going to do? Every time he searched for Bunwinkle, he wound up right back where he’d started from. A thought struck—what would Spot do? Spot would lie down, groom himself, and let his mind clear.
Horace dropped to the ground and began to lick his legs. He shut out the taunts from the rotten birds and pushed aside his fears.
Lick—finding Bunwinkle’s scent was easy.
Lick—because it was everywhere.
Lick—but the thieves’ scent wasn’t.
Lick—so what he needed to do was search for a combination of Bunwinkle and the thieves.
Lick—which would smell like animal fur and something sweet.
Horace jumped up. Spot’s method really did work. He put his sniffer down again. There was Bunwinkle’s scent . . . and something more. He inhaled deeper. Now there was cat fur—the princess and Smokey, to be precise. Horace closed his eyes and opened his nostrils. This time when he sniffed, he caught it, a scent that was both familiar and unique—a rich aroma that made him smack his lips. It was . . . it was . . . cheese! That delicious, homemade kind the Hogland twins fed him.
The twins? Horace frowned. That couldn’t be right. He put his nose down and inhaled again. It was easier to pick up their smell this time. He could hardly b
elieve it, but the sniffer didn’t lie. Those sweet little girls—who gave him treats and petted him—had taken Bunwinkle.
But why? Why take her? Why take any of the animals?
Those questions would have to wait. It was more important to find Bunwinkle, and the others, first. And now he knew that the animals had to be close by—the twins wouldn’t be able to take them far. But where would they keep all of them? It couldn’t be at Hogland Farm. Someone would’ve found them.
He’d have to follow the scent. He tracked it right up to the road in front of the house. It kept going, but he stopped. Eleanor had said never to leave the property. Horace looked back at the house, then at the road. He had no choice. Bunwinkle was in danger.
He followed the scent around the big bend in the road until he came upon a dirt road leading to an old barn, where local ranchers and farmers used to store hay. Paint flaked off the sides, the roof sagged, and the door to the hayloft hung from one hinge. It looked abandoned now. Eleanor had always avoided the place. She said it wasn’t safe. But Horace was going to have to risk it, because that was where the scent led.
At the doors of the old barn, Horace braced himself. Who knew what horrors lay inside this building? The girls didn’t seem mean, but they hadn’t seemed like petnappers either. His heart beat fast. This must be how New England native and Revolutionary War hero Alexander Scammell had felt before he led the charge against the British at the Battle of Princeton.
He took a deep breath, then squeezed his body through a gap in the doors. He paused inside, listening for screaming or diabolical laughter, but all he heard were a few voices, murmuring softly.
He rounded the corner of the haystack in the center, and his jaw dropped. The barn was filled with animals, some in kennels and a few in pens.
He trotted over to a goat pen. At least he thought they were goats.
“Horace, is that ye?” the creature closest to him asked.
“Mal?” Horace tried not to stare, but it was difficult. Someone had covered the billy goat in red nail polish and shiny red ribbons. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“Och, nothin’ can hurt this goat.” He walked over to the gate. “But I could use yer help with this.”
The latch on the gate was a simple thing. All Horace had to do was push a button with his head, and the gate swung open.
Mal turned to the other goats. “Come on, lads. Freedom!”
Horace jumped out of the way as the billy goats ran wild.
“Use yer noggins!” Mal shouted.
Time to move. Horace turned and bumped into a large kennel of cats. He recognized one of the cats right away.
“Princess! We’ve been so worried about you.”
“Horace, how lovely. Do rescue us, please.” She said it the same way she might invite someone to tea.
“Us?”
“You didn’t notice who’s beside me?”
The cat next to her had been shaved to look like a lion.
Horace laughed. “Looking good there, Smokey.”
She hissed, then turned her back on him.
The latch on this kennel was too complicated for him. “I’m sorry, but I can’t open it. But I’ll be back with someone who can. After I find Bunwinkle. Do you know where she is?”
Princess Sofaneesba shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid we don’t. But the dogs might know. They’ve been here the longest.”
Horace found the dog kennels on the other side of the hay bales. He approached one with a Husky in it. He stopped a few feet away. The smell of cheap cologne and hair spray was so strong, it made him dizzy. It tickled his sniffer too. He sneezed loudly.
“Bless you.” The big dog’s voice was deep and rumbly.
Even though it made his eyes burn, Horace moved closer to the kennel. “Hello,” he croaked.
“How’s it goin’?”
Horace stared at the Husky through watery eyes. The dog’s fur was shiny from all the hair spray, and there was a pretty, light blue ribbon tied around his neck. “You like it? It matches my eyes.”
“Y-y-yes . . . ,” Horace stuttered. “But how can you stand that smell?”
“It’s called Night Wolf,” the Husky replied, clearly offended. “And I happen to like it.”
“Oh yes. Of course,” Horace said, dabbing his eyes with a paw. “You haven’t seen a small pig, by any chance?”
“Top of the hay bundles behind you.”
“Thanks.”
Horace glanced behind him. He’d completely missed the kennels on top of the hay. He climbed it by leaping from spot to spot. Halfway up he heard Bunwinkle’s voice.
“No, I’m telling you, he said ‘barns.’”
“I believe you’re mistaken. He said ‘bairns.’ B-A-I-R-N-S.” Horace didn’t recognize the voice.
“Okay, so let’s say he did say bairn. He was still talking about this place, right?”
“No, no. You see, in Scotland the word ‘bairn’ means child. Malcolm was trying to tell you about the twins.”
“Hmm. Okay, I get it now. It’s kinda funny, when you think about it. The bairns are keeping the animals in the barn.”
Horace’s legs shook and threatened to give out under him. He leaned against the hay, relief flooding through him. Thank heavens she was alive and unharmed!
13
Rescue
Winkie was leaning back against the bars of the kennel, enjoying her little bairn-barn joke, when suddenly Horace popped up at the end of the hay.
“Winkie!”
“Horace!” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Am I ever glad to see you!”
He raced up her cage and licked her face through the bars.
“Stop,” she giggled. “You’re tickling me.”
He pulled back from the cage and glanced over her. “Are you okay? You look . . . you look . . .” Horace paused.
“I know, I know. I’m wearing a tutu.”
“And a tiara,” Horace added.
“And a tiara,” she agreed.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, hmmm, and lipstick.”
She leaned closer to Horace and whispered, “This is nothing. Check out Blue.” She nodded her head at the dog sitting next to her.
The twins had really outdone themselves with his new look. They’d dyed his fur blue and somehow added silver glitter to the mix.
In a normal voice, Winkie said, “Hey, Horace, this is my friend Blue Sparkles. Blue, this is my brother, Horace.”
Blue looked at Horace, then at Winkie. “Your brother?”
“We’re adopted,” she said.
Horace pawed at the lock. “I’ll get you out of th—”
“You can’t.” Winkie stopped him. “You gotta have thumbs.”
Horace squeezed his lips together so tight, his mouth looked like a straight line. He worked at the lock again, even though she’d told him it wouldn’t do any good. She put her hoof on his paw.
“You have to get Ellie.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but then he shook his head and said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”
She smiled at him. “I know.”
After Horace left, Winkie turned to Blue. “Don’t worry, Horace will have us out of here in no time.”
Blue laughed. “Not me. I’m staying.”
“What about your humans?”
“Are you kidding? I love it here!” He took a big bite of his food. “This is real steak they’re feeding me.”
14
Home Again, Home Again
Horace raced back to the Homestead. He ran through the house looking for Eleanor, but she wasn’t there. Same thing with the barn and the garage.
Where was she?
He stopped running and stood in the center of the property, barking as loud as he could. Eleanor ran up from behind the barn. “Horace, thank goodness. I was so worried.” She looked around him, just as Jones had done earlier. “Where’s Bunwinkle?”
Now was the moment. He yipped at her, then ran back out
to the road. He did it twice more before she figured out he wanted her to follow him.
The trip back was so much easier with Eleanor running alongside him. They paused in front of the old barn. Eleanor looked down at him. “She’s in here?”
He scratched at the door as an answer. Eleanor nodded. “Okay.” Then she pulled the chain off the handles and opened the doors.
They got about five steps in before Mal trotted up. “Och, don’t forget yer billy!” he bleated loudly.
A huge smile spread across Eleanor’s face. Her joy quickly turned to horror when she noticed the red goop all over him.
“Mal, are you all right?” She dropped to one knee and ran her hands over his body. It didn’t take long for her horror to turn to confusion. “Is this . . . nail polish?”
He answered her with a gentle headbutt to her sternum.
Bunwinkle must have heard the commotion, because she squealed, “Ellie!” so loud it echoed around the old barn. Then Ellie dropped everything and scaled the hay bundles to get to her. “Oh, baby, what have they done to you?” She sat on the top bundle and unlocked the cage.
Horace could’ve cried. It was going to be all right.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now, little one,” Eleanor promised, pulling Bunwinkle out and squeezing her close. Horace crowded in so he could lick his sister pig’s face.
And that’s when the twins walked in, pulling a red wagon full of food behind them.
“Let’s give Blue Sparkles his treat first. He’s going to love it.”
“Linn? Nea? What are you doing here?” Eleanor asked.
The girls jumped and screamed, “Run!” But there was nowhere to go, because their mother blocked the way.
“I knew you two were up to something. You’ve been too . . . quiet. . . .” Her words trailed off as she looked around the barn. “What have you done?”
“Taken animals from the neighbors.” Eleanor tucked Bunwinkle under her arm and climbed down the stacks of hay. She set Winkie on the barn floor next to Horace.