Horace & Bunwinkle
Page 10
Horace nudged Winkie. “I told you it wasn’t the vets.”
She rolled her eyes.
Clary stared at Eleanor. “Eleanor? What are you doing here?”
“Apparently, I’m collecting my missing pig.” Mal bumped her leg. “And goat. Isn’t that right, girls?”
They looked at each other, then started crying. When no one moved to comfort them, they put their arms around each other.
“They’re totally faking it,” Bunwinkle whispered to Horace. “You can tell ’cause there’s no tears.”
And because they kept peeking to see if it was working.
Clary pulled the girls apart and turned them to face her. “I want to hear the whole story. Right now.”
It was a good story. Actually, it was several good stories. According to Linn, it all started when they found a poor, defenseless dog lying on the dirt road outside their farm. They rescued him and brought him to the barn. But he got lonely, so they had to find him a friend . . . and it just grew from there.
Nea’s story was a bit more creative—there were witches and unicorns and evil magicians who wanted to steal the animals and turn them into evil henchmen. Horace had a feeling Nea and Jones would get along.
“Maybe your father can get the truth out of you.” Clary sighed.
Linn shook her head. “You can’t tell Poppa. He’ll never let us help on the farm again.”
“We only took the animals to show him we’re good at taking care of them,” Nea added.
Eleanor glanced around. “How did you find them all?”
“Mostly we just found them in the neighborhood,” Lin said.
Nea nodded. “Except for Mario.” She pointed at Princess Sofaneesba. “We got that one on account of Dr. Schwank. He showed us his picture to cheer us up when old Trav got real sick. So we went and got him.”
Bunwinkle leaned over to Horace and whispered, “I knew those creepy vets had to be involved somehow.”
“And we missed old Trav, so we tried to take Ms. Higgins’s gray horse, but he was too hard to get. So we took the goat.” Linn patted Mal on the head.
A gleam came into Mal’s eye, and he reared back. If Eleanor hadn’t wrestled him down, Horace had no doubt, Linn would’ve had an enormous lump on her head.
Nea continued the story. “We really did find Blue Sparkles on the road around the bend. That part was true.”
When he heard his name, Blue ran to stand by the twins.
Clary stared at him. “Why did you put all that stuff on them?”
“Well, once we got a bunch of animals together, we started thinking it would be fun to open a special petting zoo, but then they needed to be more special.” Linn said it as if it should’ve been obvious.
Eleanor patted her friend on the shoulder. “I think I’m going to take my group and head home. But before I go . . .” She knelt down to look Linn and Nea in the eyes. “I want you two to know what you did was wrong. You can’t take things, especially animals, from other people. I spent the last few days worried sick. I’m sure the owners of these other animals felt the same way.”
The twins looked down and mumbled, “Sorry.”
“I know you wanted to show your parents you could be responsible, but you didn’t do that. You didn’t take care of these animals. You used human products on them and kept them trapped in cages.”
The girls clasped hands but said nothing.
“Eleanor, again”—Clary sighed—“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Eleanor smiled at her friend. “And the girls can make it up to me by helping out on the Homestead two days a week, so they can learn to take care of animals properly. How does that sound?”
The older woman nodded. “Sounds good to me. Doesn’t it, girls?”
“Yes, Mama,” they said in unison.
Eleanor patted Clary on the back. “Good luck with all this.”
Bunwinkle talked the whole way home. She told Horace about her abduction, Blue Sparkles, a weird dream she’d had about gravy. She didn’t stop talking until Eleanor said, “Okay, you two, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Bunwinkle’s ears perked up, and she tapped her front hooves in her happy dance. “Cleaned Up. That’s my best game.”
Turned out it was Mal’s best game as well. He excelled at falling over into the mud and getting chastised by Eleanor. They played it for a long time. Whatever makeup the twins had used was meant to last.
Horace laughed when Bunwinkle and Mal fell and splashed Eleanor with mud.
“Okay, I think we’re done with that game,” she said, winding up the hose.
Finally they were clean—well, as clean as they were going to get without nail polish remover and industrial-strength soap. Mal went back to his pen. Minnie greeted him with a friendly headbutt.
Mal blushed. “Och, Minnie, ye missed me.”
Horace and Bunwinkle sat in the sun on the porch while she dried off. A breeze picked up, and she shivered. Horace moved closer to keep her warm.
They sat together, watching Eleanor putter around the Homestead for quite a while. Horace’s eyes were just starting to feel heavy when Bunwinkle nudged him with her shoulder.
“Thanks for coming to get me.” She gave him a big kiss on his peaches. “I love you, Horace.”
He cleared his throat. “I love you too.”
“Hey, let’s do something. How about we check the pond for ducks?” she suggested.
“Actually, I thought we might play a game of Name That Smell. If you wanted to.”
Bunwinkle grinned at him. “If you don’t mind getting your butt kicked.”
“You can’t beat me. I’m older and wiser.”
“I go first.” She stuck her snout in the air and breathed in. “I smell . . . potatoes.”
Horace sniffed. “I smell . . . lipstick.” He smirked at Bunwinkle.
“Hah hah.” She bumped him with her shoulder. “Go again, but do it right.”
Horace inhaled again, and a wonderful aroma filled his sniffer. “I smell garlic and olive oil and . . .”
They looked at each other. “Food!”
Bunwinkle hopped up and raced toward the door. “Come on, Horace,” she called over her shoulder.
“I’m coming, Winkie.”
But Horace didn’t move right away. He looked around at the Homestead, then lifted his sniffer again and took a deep breath. They were all there—the chicks in their coop, the goats and alpacas in their pens, Smith and Jones in the barn, and strongest of all was the scent of Bunwinkle.
Warmth filled his chest, and he smiled. “I smell our family.”
From inside the house Winkie yelled, “Horace, get in here! I think Ellie’s making couch potatoes!”
A Note from the Author
Thank you so much for reading Horace & Bunwinkle. If you’re like me, you’ve fallen in love with Boston Terriers and potbellied pigs. But before you go rushing off to buy one, there are some important things you should know.
First, there’s no such thing as Teacup pigs or Pixie pigs or pigs that stay small. All pigs get big, like 100–200 pounds big. Yeah, that’s small compared to farm hogs—they weigh about 900 pounds—but it’s still big. If you want to adopt a super-awesome pig like Bunwinkle, remember to do research and ask the breeder lots of questions. Or even better, adopt from a piggy rescue.
Second, all dogs and pigs may not get along as well as Horace and Bunwinkle do. Dogs are hunters by nature and pigs get hunted, which means you may have problems if you put them together. Not all dogs are proper and polite Boston Terriers like Horace.
Third, every kind of pet has specific needs, like diet and exercise. Make sure you know what those are before you adopt one.
—PJ
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I have to thank my spectacular husband, Neil. All that I am today is because of you. And thank you to my boys, Jeff, Zach, and CJ—you make me laugh and inspire me with your weirdness.
Speaking of inspirati
on, I have to give a shout-out to my wonder pooch, Rosie, the source of most of Horace’s and Bunwinkle’s silly antics.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to the amazing Kari Sutherland, agent extraordinaire. I’m so glad you’re in my corner. Thanks for always building me up and keeping me on track.
A million more thank-yous to Kristin Rens. I love how much you love my silly but sincere characters. Thank you, and the whole team at Balzer & Bray, for taking a chance on us.
And I will always be grateful to Dave Mottram for your illustrations. You truly brought Horace and Bunwinkle to life.
Special thanks to Better Piggies Rescue of Phoenix, Arizona, for letting me hang out with your crew. I learned so much and gained a huge appreciation for what you do.
I am eternally indebted to all the members of Team PJ who’ve supported me since I began my writing career. Chris Packard and Natalie Sanchez, thank you for reading terrible early drafts and still telling me I could do it. Namina Forna, Nan Marie Swapp, and Liz Dorathy, thank you for always championing me and boosting me up when I was ready to quit. Janet Clark and Wendy Jorgensen, thank you for believing in Horace and Bunwinkle from the beginning. Stephanie Usrey and her fourth grade class, thank you for allowing me to read that early draft to you. There were many times when your faith in the characters sustained me.
Lastly, I wish to express my gratitude to a loving Heavenly Father, who has guided me on every step of this journey.
About the Author
Photo by Natalie Durfee
PJ GARDNER earned an MA in art history from Rutgers University in New Jersey. Currently, she lives in Gilbert, Arizona, with her husband and sons as well as Rosie the Boston Terrier. For research purposes, PJ spent hours playing with the pot bellied pigs that live down the road from her. Visit her at www.gardnerpj.com.
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Copyright
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
HORACE & BUNWINKLE. Text copyright © 2020 by PJ Gardner. Illustrations copyright © 2020 by David Mottram. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art © 2020 by David Mottram
Cover design by Amy Ryan
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Digital Edition SEPTEMBER 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-294656-0
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-294654-6
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FIRST EDITION
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