by Various
‘Yeah,’ Dev agrees. ‘Good point.’
Jasmine glares at us. ‘Look. Do you want to find out what’s going down here or not?’
‘Umm . . . Maybe tomorrow?’ Dev offers.
‘Let’s do it now,’ I say. I take a deep breath, then follow Jaz over to a side window.
We bob down and peek through it. Inside, there are dogs. A lot of dogs. Just milling around.
A little white dog with a cheeky grin is balancing on top of a narrow ledge. Then he suddenly does this ginormous leap, twisting his body as he soars through the air, and lands on top of a sideboard on the other side of the room. And he doesn’t even smash anything! He’s like a circus dog!
‘How did all these dogs even get here?’ Dev asks.
‘Are there any stories about Old Ma Greevy having lots of dogs?’ I ask him.
He shakes his head. ‘Nope. Just the witchy ones. And the oil boiling.’
‘Where is she, anyway?’ Jasmine asks. ‘You’d think she’d have come outside to see what set them all off.’
‘Maybe the dogs have been kidnapped by evil dog thieves,’ I say. ‘You know, like in that movie with all the spotty dogs? 101 Dalmatians? And they need us to rescue them.’
‘And maybe the evil dog thieves have kidnapped Old Ma Greevy as well!’ says Dev. ‘And they’re keeping her locked up somewhere. So she doesn’t boil them in oil.’
‘Or maybe she’s just a nice old lady who likes dogs,’ sighs Jasmine.
‘Well, whatever she is, she’s not here now,’ I say, ducking down as a bunch of dogs come bounding towards the window, barking their heads off. They must have heard us talking. Poor things. They look really hungry. We’ve got to get them out of here. Now.
I straighten up again and head for the nearest door. Locked. The front one is too.
‘Time for back-up,’ I announce, pulling out my mobile and dialling.
‘Emergency services,’ says the operator. ‘Which service do you require?’
‘The police,’ I blurt. ‘Wait, make that detectives. There are heaps of kidnapped victims here. Maybe send some ambulances as well.’
Jasmine’s making whooshing movements in my face with her hands.
‘Hang on a minute,’ I say to the operator.
I put my hand over the mouthpiece, then bark ‘What!?’ at Jasmine.
‘The fire brigade,’ she says.
I stare at her.
‘We might need their ladders,’ she explains. ‘To break in through the roof.’
‘And the fire brigade,’ I tell the operator. ‘Actually, send everything you’ve got.’
I spend the next few minutes describing exactly where we are. Then we head back to our window, and wait for them all to turn up.
Nine minutes tick past. Then ten. Nobody’s arrived. Not even the detectives.
Then one of the dogs starts barking. Really loudly. Yap! Yap! Yap!
I peek through the window again. The leaping dog I saw before springs straight at me. Just as well there’s glass between us. I’m not sure I could handle being kissed by a dog twice in one day.
‘Hey! Check him out!’ Dev says as the dog backs slowly away, his eyes never leaving my face. Then he runs to a door on the other side of the room, and stands right in front of it.
His front paw goes up and he’s pointing—I’m not joking here—pointing at the door. It’s like he’s trying to tell me something. Awesome!
‘Come on,’ I tell the others. ‘There’s got to be a way in somewhere.’
‘Try the window maybe?’ says Dev.
The window! Why didn’t I think of that? I give it a push and it slides straight up. We clamber through and race across to the door.
And guess what’s on the other side? Old Ma Greevy. Slumped on the floor, right next to her bed. OMG. I hope she’s okay!
A-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa!
We run outside. Helicopters are circling the property. Then the Tactical Response Unit arrives, followed closely by the Bomb Disposal Squad, a fleet of ambulances and a fire engine.
We tell the ambos about Old Ma Greevy and pretty soon she’s being whisked off to hospital. So that’s all good. The head of the Bomb Squad tells us she’s decided to cancel the lecture she was going to give us on Wasting Police Time. She reckons we probably saved Mrs Greevy’s life. She even calls us heroes!
Then one of the detectives asks if we can stay with the dogs while they send out the Dog Control Unit. They’re going to a shelter until Mrs Greevy’s well enough to look after them again. So we stay.
And that’s when I see it. A poster on the wall. A circus poster.
And the dog on the poster is the one that’s in the room with us right now! He is a circus dog!
‘Nutbush?’ I call softly. And he runs straight to me, leaps up into my arms, and licks my ear.
That’s when I get my second brilliant idea.
I hope Mrs Greevy wakes up soon. I need to ask her something really important.
The big day has finally arrived. Dunedoo State School’s Best-trained Dog Competition. And this year, they’ve decided to hold it in the Dunedoo Senior Citizen’s Centre. Which is actually kind of perfect for me. Senior Citizens are about the only people on Earth who actually remember what the Nutbush is.
My Nanna Mo is all over it though. She even showed me some of the moves. It’s this dance people used to do way back in the Dark Ages. You stand in lines and kick your legs out and jump around a bit. It’s awesome.
Nutbush moved in to our place two days after we rescued Mrs Greevy. She said I could look after him till she’s better. And if that works out well, she might even let me adopt him!
As soon as I put the Nutbush music on, he jumped down off the couch and started doing the steps. I didn’t even have to train him!
The MC taps the microphone. ‘Next up we have . . . Sam and his Amazing Wonderdog, Nutbush!’
The music starts up. Dev and Jasmine give me a big thumbs up from the side of the stage. And we’re on! Nutbush is up on his hind legs, kicking and jumping like crazy. And I’m right there beside him.
And then something really incredible happens. All the Senior Citizens jump up out of their chairs and join in. Including the ones with dodgy hips. They’re loving it!
I even spot Mrs Pumphrey in the back row, jiggling along to the music. And then I notice something else. Something I thought I’d never see. Flossy and Zippy are with her, on leashes! They’re both up on their hind legs, shimmying along beside her.
It’s a Nutbush Knockout!
We win the contest. Boof and Crusher’s act was going really well, until Boof accidentally gave the wrong hand signal. Crusher peed on a Senior Citizen’s wheelie walker, and they got disqualified.
Mrs Martini calls Nutbush and me back up onto the stage to accept our Golden Dog Biscuit trophy. Yes!
Jasmine and Dev give me a thumbs up from the side of the stage. And for one golden moment, I swear Nutbush does too.
CHARLIE
AND THE
STATIONS
OF THE
CROSS-COUNTRY
by
Alan
Brough
I closed the book I had been reading.
Running Away From Things includes tips on how to run away from all sorts of terrifying things that are absolutely, certainly going to kill you: angry snakes, very upset rhinos, angry snakes riding very upset rhinos, mentally unstable octopuses throwing angry snakes off the back of very upset rhinos, Komodo dragons with lawnmowers, and many, many more things that are, as I said before, really, very, super, absolutely, certainly going to kill you.
I stayed up all night finishing Running Away From Things.
I had to finish it.
I had to finish it because I needed all the help I could get.
In a few hours I was going to face the biggest challenge of my life.
I was going to run the school cross-country.
And I couldn’t get out of it.
It was compulsor
y.
The word ‘compulsory’ is one of my least favourite words. My least-favourite other words include:
Run Charlie! (Usually said by my best friend Hils when something painful is about to happen to me.)
Eye-pus! (Usually said by my best friend Hils after something painful has happened to me.)
Laugh-snot. (Usually coming out the nose of my best friend Hils after something painful has happened to me.)
Frigate. (I once said it to my teacher Mrs Bigge-Crabbe and she thought I said a rude word and sent me to the principal. Frigate is not a rude word. I said it because Hils and I were having a competition to see who could name the most types of boats. Hils won.)
I am no good at running.
So I do not do running.
Because I do not do running I don’t know anything about running. (Apart from the fact that I don’t do it.)
I had to run the cross-country. So I had to learn something about how to do running.
Running Away From Things is the only book I own that has the word ‘running’ in the title.
Luckily, Running Away From Things includes a number of tips about how to do running.
I decided to follow all the Running Away From Things tips.
I had to.
Or else the cross-country would kill me.
Other things that you are forced to do at school—apart from the cross-country— that can kill you:
Anything that Hils says ‘will be fun’.
All sport.
Anything that Hils says ‘will be interesting’.
Photocopying your bottom or any other part of your body. (In his book Photocopiers Are Going To Kill You, Dr Clifford Von Odets Jnr says that putting your bottom on a photocopier can give you Posterior Light Poisoning. This can be fatal.)
Anything that Hils says ‘will not kill you’.
Our school doesn’t have big grounds so we do our cross-country at a place called Wattle Park.
To get to Wattle Park we have to take a bus from the school.
As I was waiting to get on the bus, my best friend Hils was escorted to the front of the line by a teacher.
Hils was on crutches.
When I finally got on the bus I sat down next to Hils.
(The seat next to Hils was empty. The seat next to Hils is always empty.)
‘Hils!’ I said as I sat down. ‘You’ve broken your leg!’
‘Negative,’ said Hils. (Hils says ‘negative’ instead of ‘no’ and ‘affirmative’ instead of ‘yes’ because that is what they say in the army. Hils really wants to join the army. She acts like she is already in the army.)
‘You won’t be able to run the cross-country,’ I said.
‘Negative,’ said Hils.
‘Brilliant,’ I said. ‘I wish I’d thought of that . . . wait a minute . . . when I said, “You’ve broken your leg”, you said “negative”. So, you haven’t broken your leg?’
‘Affirmative.’
‘Then why are you on crutches? Why is your leg in plaster?’
‘To make running the cross-country more challenging,’ said Hils.
‘But running the cross-country is already really, very, super challenging,’ I said.
‘Negative.’
‘It’s going to be impossible on crutches . . . with one leg in plaster,’ I said.
‘Negative.
‘There is something wrong with you, Hils.’
‘Affirmative,’ said Hils. ‘And there’s something wrong with you too. You’re wearing a dress.’
‘It’s a skirt,’ I said. I know a lot more about ladies’ clothes than Hils. Some people find this surprising. I don’t. Hils doesn’t either.
I was wearing a skirt because of Running Away From Things.
RUNNING AWAY FROM THINGS
Tip One
When running, always wear clothes that blend in with your surroundings.
Wattle Park is a park.
To blend in with the park surroundings I was wearing a brown skirt (to blend in with the dirt and sandpits; to make sure it blended in with the sandpits I had stuck a brown plastic bulldozer to the skirt), a blue, sparkly, plastic top hat (to blend in with the sky), a green fluffy cardigan (to blend in with the grass), one grey sock (to blend in with the murky pond in the middle of the park) and one stripy, multi-coloured sock (to blend in with the playground next to the car park).
As I was getting off the bus I tripped on the hem of my skirt and fell out of the bus and onto the ground.
‘Your skirt will not be easy to run in,’ said Hils as she crutched off the bus.
‘I will be fine,’ I said.
‘Did your skirt once belong to a tuna?’ said Hils.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It was my uncle’s.’
‘Then why do you smell of tuna?’ said Hils.
‘Two reasons,’ I said. ‘The first reason is because I have empty tuna tins sellotaped to the toes of my gumboots.’
RUNNING AWAY FROM THINGS
Tip Two
When running, always wear strong running shoes. (Steel-capped running boots are best.)
‘I don’t have any steel-capped running boots,’ I said to Hils.
‘I do,’ said Hils.
That did not surprise me.
‘So,’ I said. ‘I got a pair of Dad’s gumboots and sellotaped empty tuna tins to the toes instead.’
‘That is not a strategically sound plan,’ said Hils.
‘That is not a strategically sound plan’ is the army way of saying ‘sellotaping empty tuna tins to a pair of your dad’s gumboots is dumb.’
‘The second reason I smell of tuna,’ I said, ‘is because I am a tuna.’
‘Negative. You are not a tuna.’
‘Please be supportive, Hils.’
‘Negative.’
RUNNING AWAY FROM THINGS
Tip Three
Think fast.
‘My book told me that if I wanted to be a fast runner then I should think like things that are fast runners and that would make me a fast runner. I watched a program about sharks and the sharks were chasing some tuna. The tuna were fast,’ I said.
‘Tuna are fast’, said Hils. ‘They’re just not fast runners.’
‘Good point,’ I said. ‘I am a leopard.’
‘Don’t you mean a cheetah?’ said Hils.
‘Do I mean a cheetah?’
‘Affirmative. Cheetahs are the fastest of all land animals.’
‘That’s very fast,’ I said.
‘Affirmative.’
‘I don’t think I need to be that fast. Are leopards still pretty fast?’
‘Affirmative.’
‘I could be a piglet. Piglets are fast.’
‘They’re not as fast as leopards,’ said Hils.
‘I am a piglet!’ I said.
‘I think you should stick with being a leopard,’ said Hils.
‘I could be a piglet being chased by a leopard,’ I said.
‘I don’t think you completely grasp the concept of thinking fast,’ said Hils.
‘I think you are right.’
Hils and I were almost at the cross-country starting line. Most of my class were already waiting to start. Some were jogging on the spot. Some were stretching. Townes MacFarlane had put his shorts on the wrong way and was trying to get them on the right way without taking them off and showing everyone his ‘Bananas in Pyjamas’ underpants. He was not succeeding.
I stopped.
I took off my backpack and took out a huge bottle of water.
RUNNING AWAY FROM THINGS
Tip Four
Before you run, make sure you are thoroughly hydrated.
I lifted the huge bottle of water to my lips. A tsunami of water poured into my mouth. I started swallowing as fast and as much as I could.
I am okay at drinking water. I’m not amazing at it. I’m just normally good.
Being normally good at drinking water was not good enough for the amount of water that was now pouring down my throat.
>
I desperately tried to drink it all.
I choked.
I gasped.
I choked some more.
But I was still managing to drink a lot of the water.
I drank and drank and drank until I was completely full of water. Really, very, super uncomfortably full of water.
(This must be what it feels like to be an aquarium.)
I had done it.
I had made sure I was thoroughly hydrated.
RUNNING AWAY FROM THINGS
Tip Five
When you start running, run as fast as you can for as long as you can for as far as you can.
‘On your marks . . .’ said Mr Stop-Sine.
My class got ready to start the cross-country. Everyone was jostling for position. I had never really jostled before. I did not like it. Hils was jostling using her crutches. (Actually, she wasn’t really jostling at all. She was whacking and poking and prodding and tripping and squeezing Harriet Borges’ head by using the crutches like giant chopsticks.) I did not think that was in the spirit of jostling.
‘Get set . . .’
I was dressed to blend in with my surroundings, I was wearing steel-capped running boots, I was thinking like a piglet that was being chased by a leopard, and I was thoroughly hydrated.
‘Go!’
I started running.
As fast as I could. As long as I could. As far as I could.
I was running.
It wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be. It was actually okay.
I ran past Hils on her crutches.
‘I’m running!’
‘Affirmative,’ said Hils.
Then I ran past Simon Bolivar.
Wait a minute. I ran past Hils. I ran past Simon Bolivar.
I RAN PAST TWO PEOPLE! I RAN PAST TWO PEOPLE WHO WERE MOVING!
‘I AM A LEOPARD!’ I shouted at Simon Bolivar as I ran past.
Simon Bolivar screamed. He screams when anything happens to him. Anything.
I was running as fast as I could and I was REALLY, VERY, SUPER FAST.