Pranks a Lot!

by Martin Howard

  SHAUN is the leader of the Flock. He’s clever, cool and always keeps his head when the other sheep are losing theirs.

  BITZER

  The Farmer’s faithful dog and a good friend to Shaun, Bitzer’s the ever suffering sheepdog doing his best to keep Shaun’s pals out of trouble.

  THE FARMER

  Running the farm with Bitzer at his side, the Farmer is completely unaware of the Flock’s human-like intelligence … and their shenanigans.

  THE FLOCK

  One big happy (if slightly dopey) family, the sheep like to play and create mischief together, though it’s usually Shaun and Bitzer who sort out the resulting mess.

  TIMMY

  He may be the baby of the Flock, but Timmy is often at the centre of things. It’s a good job his mum is always there to keep him safe.

  TIMMY’S MUM

  The very loving – if sometimes absent-minded – mother of Timmy, she is recognizable by the curlers in her fleece.

  THE OWL

  A bit of a night owl, this observant bird is usually found in the barnyard tree. He is known for being wise – or at least wisecracking.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  DRAWN INTO A PRANK

  CHAPTER TWO

  A FACE FULL OF COWPAT

  CHAPTER THREE

  DYE, SHAUN, DYE!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JAMMING

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE UN-FUNNY BONE

  CHAPTER SIX

  SPOT THE PLOT

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LAUGH TILL IT HURTS

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SICKBED SHAUN

  CHAPTER NINE

  ROOM SERVICE

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE LAST LAUGH

  ACTIVITIES

  CHAPTER ONE:

  DRAWN INTO

  A PRANK

  Dust danced in the film projector’s beam of light. Sitting on rows of hay bales in the dark barn, the Flock munched popcorn and gazed up at the evening’s film, an educational movie called How to Grow a Prize-Winning Turnip. A few years ago, the Farmer had bought the film because he dreamed of winning the gold cup at the Mossy Bottom Turnip Festival – a dream that had died when he presented the turnip that he had raised all summer with love and care. It was exactly the same shape as a very small bottom. Instead of winning the cup, the Farmer had been awarded a plastic mug bearing the words “WORLD’S STUPIDEST TURNIP”.

  In disgust, he had tossed the movie, the mug and the turnip into the back of the shed and sworn that he was finished with root vegetables for ever.

  Shaun grinned as he remembered that the Farmer had started planting radishes just a week later, vowing that they would be the biggest radishes ever grown. When it came to root vegetables, the Farmer just couldn’t stop.

  Balancing on the edge of his hay bale, Shaun watched the film. It wasn’t very exciting. In his opinion there weren’t quite enough car chases and explosions and big dance scenes. Only Nuts was really enjoying it. From the corner of his eye, Shaun saw him wipe away tears when the star pulled a huge turnip from the ground and showed it proudly to the camera.

  Now the movie was coming up to the big finish. The star was washing the muck off his turnip and was about to lay it next to some smaller turnips, which hadn’t been grown using his amazing methods. Shaun sat forward. It wasn’t a great movie, but he’d sat through an hour of turnips and he wasn’t going to miss the ending.

  Bitzer slumped against him, snoring in his ear. Shaun was almost deafened by the sound, which was not unlike the noise of someone slurping the last of a milkshake through a straw. Glaring, Shaun shoved the sheepdog away.

  Bitzer mumbled and tried to sit up, then fell back onto Shaun’s shoulder. It had been a long day, ticking things off on his clipboard, blowing his whistle and leaning against the gate. He was dog-tired.

  Making happy “mmmmfmmmm” noises, he wriggled around to get comfy and started snoring again.

  A dribble of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth and soaked into Shaun’s fleece.

  Ugh. Wrinkling his nose, Shaun scowled at the sheepdog, then looked up at the sound of Nuts stamping his hooves, whooping and clapping. The credits were rolling.

  He had missed the end of the movie, and it was all Bitzer’s fault!

  Furious, he pushed the dog away again. This time, Bitzer fell back on the hay bale, still snoring.

  Bitzer had ruined the movie. Some sort of punishment was in order. Peering around the dim barn, Shaun spotted a bucket of cold water. Pouring it over Bitzer’s head might be fun, he thought. But that didn’t seem hilarious enough.

  He noticed a ball of hairy string that had rolled into a corner. Shaun stroked his chin. What if he tied Bitzer’s feet together and then dumped a bucket of cold water on his head? Then, when Bitzer jumped up and tried to chase him…

  Shaun looked around the barn for more ideas, and then paused. A cheeky grin broke out on his face. Hanging by the door was Bitzer’s clipboard, and next to it was a black felt-tip pen.

  Shaun had just thought of something even funnier.

  It was brilliant. Bitzer looked ridiculous.

  Timmy was the first to laugh, pressing a tiny hoof against his mouth to avoid waking the sheepdog. His laughter was infectious. Shoulders heaving, Hazel clamped a hoof to her mouth too. The Twins snickered, then bleated loud guffaws. Within seconds the whole barn was shaking to the sound of sheep laughter.

  Bitzer’s eyes flickered open. Confused, he sat up and looked around. What was going on? He didn’t have a clue why everyone was cracking up, which made it even funnier for the Flock, setting them off into fresh peals of laughter. Teeth clamped together, Shirley made “mmmfff mmmmfff” sounds. Nuts plunged his head into the bucket of water. Bubbles rose to the surface, each one letting off a giggling sound as it popped.

  Struggling to maintain a straight face, Shaun simply shrugged at the sheepdog. He had no idea what the Flock thought was so funny.

  Sheep! Spinning a paw by his ear to say that they were all bonkers, Bitzer stamped off. With a CRASH, the barn door slammed behind him. Whuffing darkly under his breath, he made his way home to bed, sheep laughter still ringing in his ears.

  In the moonlight, an owl blinked down from a tree as Bitzer passed, then hooted with laughter.

  CHAPTER TWO:

  A FACE FULL

  OF COWPAT

  The next morning, Bitzer scratched his head in the middle of the yard. The whole farm seemed to have gone completely mad.

  Everywhere he went, he was followed by squeals and clucks and quacks and bleats of laughter. What was so funny? When they saw him coming, the pigs stared, then rolled in the muck, pointing at him and snorting with glee. The rooster laughed so hard he fell off the gatepost. Soon all the hens were flapping about the chicken run. Mowermouth the goat had actually stopped eating for a few seconds, a half-munched cabbage dropping from his mouth as Bitzer passed by.

  Even the ducks whispered behind their wings and tittered to one another. Before Bitzer’s bewildered eyes, they began parading up and down the farmyard with pondweed draped across their beaks like moustaches.

  The flock was all lined up at the meadow wall, their eyes following Bitzer round the farm. Every time he glanced back at them they lowered their heads to hide their grins.

  Bitzer frowned. Why was everyone laughing at him?

  He checked his rear end. He hadn’t sat in wet paint. He took his hat off and looked at it. It was the same old hat. He hadn’t put a pair of the Farmer’s underpants on his head by mistake … again.

  Perhaps, he thought to himself, the animals weren’t laughing at him. Perhaps he was just missing the joke. Bitzer pretended to laugh along with them, chuckling nervously as he looked around at the s
taring animals.

  Waves of fresh laughter rolled across Mossy Bottom Farm. Bitzer watched in dismay as Shaun lay in the grass, clutching his tummy and kicking his legs in the air, tears rolling down his face.

  Shaking his head, Bitzer turned his back on them. The farm had gone crazy, but he – Bitzer – would maintain his dignity. Ignoring the laughter, he walked stiffly across the yard and checked his clipboard. The Farmer’s wellington boots needed a polish before breakfast, but, glancing up at the bedroom window, he saw that the Farmer was still in his pyjamas. Bitzer had just enough time for a cuppa.

  A few minutes later, sipping his tea by the kennel, Bitzer blinked at the dim reflection in his mug. Something wasn’t quite right. He checked his face in the water bowl.

  Bitzer’s jaw dropped in horror. The silly spectacles, the ridiculous moustache… The reason for the animals’ glee became crystal clear. They had been laughing at him all along.

  Shaun!

  This was Shaun’s handiwork. A grim look settled on Bitzer’s face. A growl rumbled at the back of his throat. Shaun would pay. Already, a plan was coming together. He dipped his hat into the water bowl and dabbed at the ink on his face, deep in thought.

  Oh yes, he – Bitzer – was not the sort of dog to let something like this pass. He would strike back, and sooner – much sooner – than Shaun expected. With a glance up at the bedroom window to make sure the Farmer was still dressing, he jogged over to the kitchen door. There was just one little thing he needed to borrow…

  Half an hour later, Bitzer stood in the lane and turned his STOP sign to GO. The Flock began to cross. Even though Bitzer had washed away the pen marks on his face, the sheep still giggled and grinned up at him as they passed. Bitzer pretended not to notice. Soon, he told himself. Soon he would have his revenge. His face wore a cheerful, nothing-to-see-here smile, but inside he was cackling with wicked glee.

  While the Farmer closed the gate behind him, Bitzer ran ahead of the Flock, peeping on his whistle and holding out an arm to point the way to the food troughs. The hungry sheep shoved and jostled to be first in the queue.

  Bitzer’s whistle peeped again: a sheep down, a sheep down!

  Shaun lifted his face, blinking through a thick mask of brown muck. Wiping the sludge from his eyes, he sniffed at the brown mess on his hoof and groaned. He had tripped straight into a huge cowpat! Above him, the Farmer took a step back, his face screwed up in disgust. “Huuummphwarg,” he rumbled, holding his nose. He pointed at Bitzer, then jerked his thumb back towards the farm.

  Bitzer nodded, chuckling silently to himself. Stage One of his revenge was complete, and everything was going exactly as planned. With a quiet heh, heh, heh, he peeped his whistle once more and held out a paw towards the sheep dip.

  Bath time.

  CHAPTER THREE:

  DYE, SHAUN,

  DYE!

  Peeep, peep, peep, peep. Bitzer’s whistle blasting in his ear, Shaun scowled through his cowpat face mask. Bleats of laughter rolled across Mossy Bottom Farm once again. Bitzer had got his own back with style!

  Gritting his teeth as he was frogmarched back across the lane, Shaun sighed and gave the sheepdog a grin. Bitzer had only returned the prank. It was only fair, even if Shaun did smell of cowpat now. Shivering on the edge of the dip, he watched the sheepdog turn on the taps and pour in half a packet of BARRY STILES’ SPARKLE CLEAN SHEEP DIP. As it foamed, Bitzer returned his smile, pointed at the shed and whuffed. He would fetch Shaun a towel and a rubber duck to play with.

  Watching the sheepdog disappear round the side of the barn, Shaun had a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. Even after the pranks, Bitzer was so kind.

  Shaun jumped into the pool. As he came up for air, he decided that he would never, ever prank the sheepdog again.

  The sheep dip was perfect. Shaun rolled onto his back and floated in the foam with his eyes closed. Hearing a small splash, he half-opened his eyes and saw Bitzer with one paw in the water, making sure the temperature was just right. What a dog, Shaun thought.

  As Shaun’s eyes closed again, Bitzer grinned to himself.

  Shaun opened his eyes half an hour later and saw Bitzer standing on the side of the sheep dip, holding up a towel. With a sigh, Shaun climbed out of the pool, took the towel and frowned. Something was wrong with Bitzer’s face. It was all screwed up. And why was he making snorting, choking noises?

  Shaun bleated. Was Bitzer feeling all right?

  In response, Bitzer collapsed. Tears rolled down his face. Clutching his stomach with one paw, he pointed at Shaun with the other.

  Shaun glared. There was nothing funny about a sheep getting out of the bath. Grumpily, he began drying himself, glancing down to check that every last speck of cowpat was gone. His fleece was pink. Otherwise everything was fine…

  Pink?

  Shaun blinked, and looked again.

  Pink!

  His wool had turned bright, glaring, bubblegum pink.

  Startled, he glanced back at Bitzer, who was still howling with laughter. Now, though, he was holding up an empty bottle of red food colouring.

  Shaun stared at the bottle, and then down at his fleece. His jaw fell open. He had been pranked! Again! The cowpat hadn’t been enough revenge for Bitzer. He had made Shaun look like a fairground candyfloss too!

  His moment of horror was interrupted by a squeaking noise. Spinning round, Shaun saw Timmy pointing and bouncing up and down with glee. The little sheep was joined by Hazel. Standing by the edge of the pool, she giggled and waved to the other sheep. They had to see this.

  Suddenly, Bitzer stopped laughing and scrambled to his feet. Behind the approaching sheep, the Farmer was closing the gate. In his haste to prank Shaun, Bitzer had forgotten all about the Farmer! If the Farmer saw a bright pink Shaun, there would be big trouble.

  Flapping his arms in a panic, Bitzer dashed across the yard.

  With a click, the gate closed. Humming his favourite pop tune – “TURNIP THE FUNKY BEET” – the Farmer started ambling towards the farmhouse. The animals were fed, so he could put his feet up for a few moments with the newspaper and a mug of tea.

  Then he saw Bitzer bounding towards him, tongue hanging out and arms waving madly. The Farmer chuckled to himself. He’d only been away for ten minutes, but silly, loyal Bitzer had obviously missed him. “Gooby,” he mumbled. “Eeesagoobyinny…”

  CRASH.

  Bitzer hit him like a cannonball. “Oooofwarraflippineck…” Arms full of dog, the Farmer staggered and fell backwards into the gate. In the tussle, his glasses flew off. Cursing, he shoved the sheepdog away and groped around on the ground.

  Meanwhile, oinks, clucks and bleats drifted across the farmyard. There was a commotion by the sheep dip. Staggering to his feet, the Farmer blinked and squinted. The sheep and chickens had crowded round something outside the pigs’ enclosure, and they were making a lot of noise.

  The Farmer squinted again. What on earth were they making such a fuss about? Without his glasses, he could just make out a pink blob. Pink! He gasped. A pig! A pig had escaped!

  Half-blind, the Farmer growled at Bitzer to stay, then stumbled across the farmyard, shouting.

  At the centre of the crowd of animals, Shaun didn’t see the Farmer until it was too late. “Ooogotcha,” muttered the Farmer, pushing sheep aside and catching him under one arm.

  Shaun struggled, bleating, but the Farmer ignored him. With a satisfied grunt, he heaved him over the wall.

  Sperrr-latt.

  As the Farmer walked away, wiping his hands, Shaun looked up from a deep pool of muck. A pig squealed and keeled over in a giggling fit, sending up a wave of fresh mud that rained down over Shaun.

  A line of sheep’s faces appeared over the wall, every single one of them bleating with laughter. At the end of the line, Bitzer waved the Farmer’s glasses, smirked and gave the pink, filthy sheep a wink. He had been well and truly pranked – Bitzer style.

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  JAMMING

  The barn
door creaked open a few centimetres. Shaun peered through the crack at the silver, moonlit farm. All was quiet. The only sounds were the distant grunts of sleeping pigs and the drowsy bu-kiiiirk of chickens. Clutching a jar, Shaun tiptoed across the yard, his shadow huge on the side of the barn. He ignored the owl snickering at him on a branch above.

  If Bitzer wanted to play dirty, then Shaun could play dirty too.

  Moving like a ninja, Shaun pressed his ear to the side of Bitzer’s kennel. He could hear the dog chuckling in his sleep. Shaun scowled. Slowly, slowly, he reached through the open doorway, his tongue between his teeth as he felt his way around. He patted something soft and guessed it to be Bitzer’s head.

  The sheepdog whuffed happily. Pats on the head meant he was a Good Boy. Still fast asleep, he rolled onto his back for a tummy tickle.

  Shaun’s hoof moved on, patting a bone, a mug, something that felt like a snooker table, a drum kit, a grandfather clock and another bone, until he found what he was looking for. He withdrew his arm carefully, clutching his find, and grinned in the moonlight. Success! Carefully, he tipped the contents of his jar into Bitzer’s hat, returned the hat to its place inside the kennel and crept back to bed.

  Bitzer woke to the sound of the cockerel crowing. He yawned. Another day on Mossy Bottom Farm.

  Still half asleep, he pulled on his hat. Then he frowned. Something didn’t feel quite right, but his sleepy brain was foggy and he couldn’t work out what it was. With a shrug he tucked a roll of toilet paper and a copy of THE MOSSY BOTTOM GAZETTE under his arm and set off for his favourite tree.

  Sitting happily, he opened the newspaper. A Mossy Bottom man had opened a new paper shop, he read. But it had folded after a few weeks. Also, a lorry loaded with tortoises had crashed into a lamppost. The reporter called it a turtle disaster.