The Clumsies Make a Mess

by Sorrel Anderson

  When they reached the ground floor Howard ushered them outside to his car and they all climbed in and set off—Howard driving, Purvis calling out directions from his map, and everyone else looking out of the windows and enjoying the views.

  ‘I’m still feeling nervous,’ confessed Allen, ‘even though I’m not the one having to take part.’ Everyone reassured Allen that he wasn’t the only one.

  Before too long they arrived at a big field. Over the entrance fluttered a banner that said FETE and lower down was a smaller banner that said

  DOG WITH THE WAGGIEST TAIL COMPETITION!!!

  In the middle of the field was the competition show-ring and around the edges were a lot of stalls, and a lot of people milling about.

  There were stalls selling toys, stalls selling books, and stalls selling homemade jam.

  There was a big tent full of flowers, and an even bigger tent full of cakes and buns.

  ‘Let’s go in there first,’ said Mickey Thompson, pointing.

  ‘Not so fast,’ said Howard. ‘If you lot are set upon entering this competition, we’ll have to go and register.’

  So they joined a long queue of dogs and owners who were waiting to register.

  ‘Oo, look!’ said Mickey Thompson, as they neared the front. ‘It’s Mr Bullerton!’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Purvis.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Allen.

  ‘Why me? groaned Howard.

  Mr Bullerton was sitting behind a table with a stack of registration forms, looking pleased with himself. There was a SMUG-LOOKING dog sitting next to him.

  ‘I didn’t know he had a dog,’ said Purvis.

  ‘It looks like him!’ said Mickey Thompson.

  ‘Listen,’ said Howard. ‘There seems to be some kind of problem.’

  Mr Bullerton was shaking his head at a woman who was trying to register. ‘No no no,’ he was saying.

  ‘It’s

  too

  tall.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said the woman.

  ‘There’s a height restriction,’ said Mr Bullerton. ‘It’s in the rules.’

  ‘My Susan has entered this competition every year since 1997,’ said the woman. ‘She’s won it three times.’

  ‘Not this year!’ said Mr Bullerton. ‘Next.’

  ‘Well, really,’ said the woman. She stalked off with a dejected-looking Susan, and a small boy approached the table carrying a stout and very waggy puppy.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Mr Bullerton.

  ‘My dog,’ said the boy. ‘He’s called—”

  ‘What breed?’ snapped Mr Bullerton.

  ‘Um, I think it’s a spaniel,’ said the boy.

  ‘What kind of a spaniel?’

  ‘Um, a Cocker Spaniel,’ said the boy.

  ‘That’s the wrong kind of spaniel for this competition,’ said Mr Bullerton. ‘Springer, or Water, not Cocker. Take it away.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘And he’s too small. And too fat. Next!’ said Mr Bullerton.

  ‘Oh no,’ gulped Allen. ‘It’s us.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Bullerton, as they approached the table. ‘It’s Howard Armitage.’

  ‘So it is!’ said Howard.

  ‘Planning on entering?’ said Mr Bullerton.

  ‘Well—’

  ‘I shouldn’t bother,’ said Mr Bullerton. ‘My dog’s going to win.’

  He glowered Allen, and Allen backed away slightly.

  ‘No, this is the one,’ said Howard, tapping the head-area of the box.

  ‘That?’ snorted Mr Bullerton. ‘Doesn’t stand a chance.’

  He picked up his pen, and took a new form from the pile.

  ‘Right. What kind of a dog is it?’ he demanded, peering.

  ‘It’s a, err, a, err…’ said Howard.

  ‘A-err what?’ said Mr Bullerton.

  ‘Boxer’, whispered Purvis, who’d been frantically flipping through his research notes.

  ‘Brilliant!’ said Howard. ‘Boxer!’ He beamed at Mr Bullerton.

  ‘I’ve never seen a Boxer-type-dog that looked like that before,’ said Mr Bullerton, peering harder.

  ‘Yes, well, it isn’t all Boxer, clearly,’ said Howard.

  ‘It looks familiar but I can’t quite—’

  ‘YES,’ shouted Howard. ‘It’s half Boxer and half, err…’

  ‘Half what?’ said Mr Bullerton.

  ‘Half, err, a, err.’ said Howard.

  Mr Bullerton narrowed his eyes at Howard.

  ‘Elephant,’ offered Mickey Thompson.

  ‘EXPERIMENT,’ said Howard, loudly. ‘It was. One.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Mr Bullerton. ‘I’ll put mongrel, shall I?’

  ‘Please do,’ said Howard.

  Mr Bullerton wrote it down.

  ‘And name,’ said Mr Bullerton.

  ‘Howard Armitage,’ said Howard.

  ‘Not you,’ tutted Mr Bullerton. ‘It.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Howard. ‘Sorry. Ortrud.’

  ‘Or - trud,’ repeated Mr Bullerton, writing.

  ‘And Purvis,’ hissed Mickey Thompson, tugging at Howard’s trousers.

  ‘Shoosh’ said Howard.

  ‘Don’t you shoosh me,’ said Mr Bullerton.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Howard. ‘I was shooshing the dog.’

  Mr Bullerton glared at him, and Mickey Thompson tugged again, harder.

  ‘And Purvis,’ sighed Howard.

  ‘What? Which?’

  ‘Both,’ said Howard. ‘The name’s Ortrud and Purvis.’

  ‘You’re telling me that thing there’s called Ortrudanpurvis,’ said Mr Bullerton.

  ‘The dog, yes,’ confirmed Howard. He nodded at Mr Bullerton encouragingly, and patted the head-area of the box.

  Breathing heavily, Mr Bullerton stared at Howard, then at Ortrud, then at Howard again. Still staring, he fumbled about on the tabletop, picked up a sticky label with the word COMPETITOR on it, and stared at that.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Howard, seizing the label and bustling everybody away.

  ‘Do you think he suspected anything?’ asked Purvis, as they hurried off.

  ‘Hazard a wild guess,’ replied Howard, a little tensely. ‘I need tea.’

  and some picnic, and then it was time for the competition to begin. Howard stuck the sticky label on to Ortrud, and Purvis climbed inside the box and gripped the toothbrush.

  Everyone clapped and cheered as Howard led Ortrud into the ring with the other competitors. There was more clapping and cheering as the judge arrived, who was a Very Important Person and whose job it was to choose the waggiest tail, Allen explained to Mickey Thompson.

  ‘Right,’ said the judge. ‘Dogs: get ready to wag, and when I blows… Go!‘ and he gave a very LOUD blast on a whistle.

  Ortrud leapt into the air with a startled TRUMPET and shot off across the field, dragging Howard with her.

  All the dogs charged after them, barking joyfully.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Allen.

  Everyone watched open-mouthed as Ortrud and Howard crashed through the jam stall, disappeared into the flower tent and re-emerged covered in marigolds.

  ‘Her costume’s slipped,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘She can’t see out.’

  TRUMPETING wildly, Ortrud galloped back into the show-ring, ran around in a small circle three times and hurtled off sideways into the buns tent, pursued by Howard and the dogs.

  ‘Oh no! gasped Allen.

  There was a lot of woofing and TOOTING and crashing and then Howard burst out of the tent and sprinted across the field.

  ‘Howard’s got cream bun all over his head!’ shouted Mickey Thompson, who was enjoying himself hugely.

  Swerving sharply, Howard narrowly missed the judge, tripped over a sausage dog that had suddenly changed direction, and collided with Mr Bullerton. With a roar of fury Mr Bullerton lunged at Howard and the two of them staggered, and fell and disappeared from view as the dogs piled on and set to work licking.

  Meanwhile
, Ortrud had ambled out of the buns tent carrying a large slice of Dundee cake.

  ‘Ortrud,’ called Mickey Thompson. ‘Over here.’

  She trotted over, and Purvis plopped out of the box and lay on the grass, panting hotly.

  ‘Purvis!’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ puffed Purvis, ‘but what’s up with him?’ he asked, pointing at Allen, who was rolling about on the ground, thumping his tail and making a whooping noise.

  ‘He’s laughing,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘Look at his tail go!’

  Just then there was another odd noise as Howard crawled over, groaning.

  ‘I’m so pleased you’re all enjoying yourselves,’ said Howard, and everyone laughed even harder.

  ‘Look,’ said Purvis, sitting up and wiping his eyes. ‘What’s happening now?’

  Mr Bullerton had managed to get out from underneath the dogs and was in the middle of the show-ring waving his arms about.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he announced. ‘Due to unforeseen circumstances, we’re unable to decide on a winner this year.’

  ‘Wait!’ said the judge, and pointed at Allen.

  ‘No!’ said Mr Bullerton.

  ‘Yes!’ said the judge. ‘Him.’

  ‘But he isn’t even registered!’ roared Mr Bullerton. ‘It’s against the rules.’

  ‘Oh, don’t talk nonsense,’ said the judge, handing Allen an enormous tin of biscuits.

  ‘He’s definitely got the waggiest tail of all.’

  And he had!

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Howard, hurriedly gathering together mice and Allens and biscuits and Ortruds and pieces of cake.

  ‘Now let’s get out of here, fast.‘

  And they did.

  Copyright

  First published in paperback in

  Great Britain by

  HarperCollins Children’s Books 2010

  HarperCollins Children’s Books is a

  division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  77–85 Fulham Palace Road,

  Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

  The HarperCollins website address is:

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

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  Copyright © Sorrel Anderson 2010

  ISBN: 978-0-00-733090-4

  EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2010 ISBN: 978-0-007-42059-9

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