The Incredible Shrinking Girl Definitely Needs a Dog

by Lou Kuenzler

  “Er … right…” Nisha looked helplessly towards the water bowl.

  “Go,” I mouthed, pointing in that direction with my tiny finger. Yana glanced over to see what Nisha was staring at and I behind the water bowl, out of sight.

  I was sure I could find a way to escape from the cage once Yana was gone, but I needed Nisha to go to Dad and make up a good excuse about why I was late. Otherwise he’d just think I was being , keeping him waiting.

  “Perhaps Violetta has a poorly tummy?” I heard Yana say as she led Nisha back towards the reception. “She is spending so much time in the toilet.”

  “Yes … that must be it,” agreed Nisha.

  I hoped she would tell Dad the same thing. It would be a good way to explain where I had gone and why I was taking so long.

  Now all I had to do was find a way to escape from Chip’s kennel. Then, with a little bit of luck, I’d grow back to full size and be able to catch up with Nisha

  “But getting out of here won’t be easy,” I said, smiling at Chip.

  I stepped back to get a better view of the cage.

  “Aha!” The wire didn’t actually reach all the way to the roof. There was a small gap between the top of the cage and the ceiling – about as tall as a box of cereal. I could just about through even if I was full size, but it would be while I was mini. The climb to reach it might take a while … but I am pretty quick. I practise climbing all the time in the adventure playground at King’s Park.

  “Bye, Chip,” I said, to scratch behind his ear. He nuzzled me happily. I don’t think he really minded that I was miniature. Dogs know people mostly by their smell. I suppose that would be the same whether I was as as a girl or as small as a pine cone.

  “See you soon.” I leapt up on the wire and began the steep climb. If only there was some way I could catch up with Nisha. I could hide under her collar or swing on her plaits, whispering excuses so she could tell Dad why I was late. I knew he’d want to know where I had been.

  “Oh, just hanging around,” I giggled to myself as I dangled from the wire by one arm.

  Far below, I could see Chip staring up at me like a small, short-legged mountain goat.

  “ ” he barked, his strange little yap now sounding more like a whine.

  Get down! Get down! he seemed to say.

  “Don’t worry, Chip. I’m having FUN,” I replied.

  It’s one of the reasons I love shrinking … I get to do like this. The sorts of things grown-ups never let you do even when you’re full size.

  “ ” whimpered Chip again.

  “Don’t you want me to go?” I said, and a warm smile spread across my tiny face.

  Chip loves me, I thought.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll come again soon. I promise,” I said.

  I was at the top of the cage already. All I had to do was swing my feet over and climb down the other side. It should be much quicker than it had been scrambling up.

  “YIKES!” I tried not to look down as I my body over the edge of the wire.

  “Whoops!” As I swung my leg over to the other side, one of my tiny wellies slipped off the end of my foot.

  it fell, plunging to the ground. It bounced like a rubber ball when it hit the floor, disappearing down the side of a drain.

  “Oh dear, Chip,” I laughed, shouting down to him and trying not to lean too far over the edge. “I hope I can find that when I…”

  “Hello?” A voice interrupted me. The patter of footsteps came closer.

  “Hello?” called the voice again. “Is anybody there?”

  There was something familiar about that voice. Something squeaky and whiny and…

  “Ratty-Riley,” I gasped at the exact same moment that my arch enemy, Riley Paterson, came round the corner.

  What is he doing here? I thought.

  “ ” Chip leapt at the wire and barked. It seemed he didn’t like the look of Ratty-Riley either.

  “Help!” Riley jumped in the air. “Horrid little mutt. You frightened me,” he said.

  “ ” Chip barked louder than ever.

  I stayed as still as I could. I had no idea why Riley was here. I couldn’t let him see me. But as he turned his back, I felt a sudden lurch in my stomach and…

  There I was, back to , clinging to the very top of the wire.

  Why do I always have to grow back at the worst possible moment? I wondered. I know now that I shrink whenever I am overexcited. But growing back just seems to happen all of a sudden – totally by surprise.

  “Ahhhh!” Riley spun round. This time he jumped higher than a kangaroo. “Violet Potts! What…? Why…? How did you get there?”

  He stood there opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish.

  I wish I could have thought of something clever to say. But the wire was swaying dangerously under my weight. All I could do was scream:

  As soon as Ratty-Riley had got over the shock of seeing me, he started to snigger.

  “Grab a ladder,” I cried as I swung helplessly from the wire. Even though I was full size now, the drop to the floor was still pretty big.

  “A ladder?” Riley was either more stupid than I thought or he was pretending not to understand me.

  I nodded my head towards the door to the orchard. I’d seen a ladder out there leaning against one of the trees.

  “Hmm. A ladder?” said Riley. Now I knew he was pretending.

  “Come on, Riley!” I shouted as the wire buckled again. Couldn’t he see it was serious? If I fell from here I might break my leg … or at least twist my ankle.

  “Why should I?” he grinned.

  I knew there was no point in begging or asking him nicely. Ratty-Riley doesn’t work that way.

  “Because if you help me, I’ll buy you a TOFFAMEL bar,” I said, naming my favourite crispy chocolate.

  “Two TOFFAMELS and I might think about it,” said Riley.

  “Fine! JUST GET THE LADDER!” I screamed as my foot slipped – it was the one with just a sock, where I’d lost my tiny welly. I was left dangling by one arm.

  Even Riley looked worried, as he dashed for the ladder pretty quick.

  “I’m telling on you,” he whined as I reached the ground safely at last. “I bet you weren’t supposed to be up there.”

  “I got locked in,” I said, truthfully. “Me and Nisha are helping out here.” I pointed proudly at Chip. “That’s our special dog!”

  “That thing?” Riley clutched his stomach and laughed. “Is it even a dog? I thought it was a guinea pig.”

  Chip growled as if to show what a BIG, dog he really was. The trouble is, he was wagging his tail at the same time.

  “Just you wait, Riley,” I said. “There’s going to be a dog show and Chip’s going to get first prize.”

  “Ha!” Riley laughed harder than ever. “That’s why I’m here. I want to pick up an entry form for the Dog and Child Agility Trial. My dad reckons I’m sure to win.”

  “Agility?” I snorted. “Like jumping over fences and crawling through hoops?”

  I’d beaten Riley at every race on Sports Day last year – including the egg and spoon and the obstacle race.

  “Yeah,” sneered Riley. “Don’t tell me you’re going to enter that thing in the Agility Trial, too?”

  I turned to look at Chip. How dare Riley insult him. He wagged his tail and stared up at me, his head cocked to one side.

  “Of course I am going to enter him,” I said. “And I bet you … bars of TOFFAMEL we can win.”

  Agility? What was I thinking? The minute the words were out of my mouth I wished I could stuff them back in.

  Five bars of TOFFAMEL? It was a crazy bet. Chip’s legs were so short he had trouble stepping over a hosepipe, never mind leaping through a hoop. His back was so long that his head always seemed to be doing something quite different f
rom his tail. His little belly was so tubby it practically scraped along the ground. He’d never be able to leap over a doggy-show jump … even if I did train him to catch a ball, fetch and sit. At the moment, I couldn’t even get him to come back when I called.

  Why hadn’t I said we’d enter The Dog With the Waggiest Tail like I had planned? Anything other than

  “Let’s make it TEN bars of TOFFAMEL,” said Riley, striding away.

  “Ten? No way!” I hopped after him on one foot. There was still no sign of my lost welly anywhere. It must have slipped away down the drain.

  “Ten bars,” said Riley. “That’s the bet. Unless you’re scared that little guinea pig can’t win.” He pointed at Chip, who was jumping up and down in his cage.

  “He’s not a guinea pig,” I said. “He’s a wire-haired sausage dog cross chug – a bit of this, a bit of that. But he can beat you .”

  “Then it’s a bet,” called Riley as he scuttled off towards reception. “I hope there’s someone there so I can pick up an entry form now. I want to enter me and right away.”

  “Speedy?” I gulped. That really didn’t sound good. Surely Riley was making that name up.

  “Er … what sort of dog is Speedy?” I called after him.

  “You’ll see.” Riley flashed me his rattiest, toothiest, meanest grin. Then the door banged shut and he was gone.

  Before I went to bed that night, Mum pushed a glass of thick purple prune juice across the kitchen table.

  “Nisha told Dad you were in the toilet when you kept him waiting this afternoon. If you were in there that long, you must be having … problems going.” Mum whispered this last bit. She always does that when she has to mention embarrassing things to do with bodies or going to the loo. “Prune juice is marvellous for that sort of thing.”

  “Actually I wasn’t in the toilet,” I said. “I was … I was talking to Riley Paterson.”

  “I don’t believe that for a moment,” laughed Mum. “You never talk to Riley Paterson.”

  “But it’s true,” I promised. “I was climbing out of Chip’s cage and—”

  “Just drink the prune juice, Violet,” sighed Mum. “I suppose you’ll tell me it was Riley’s fault you lost your wellington boot, too?”

  “No,” I said, truthfully – though I’d have loved to blame Ratty-Riley if I could. “I am really sorry about that … although they were getting a bit small for me.” I thought about how tiny the little lost wellington must be, somewhere. The other one had grown back to full size when I did. Anything I’m wearing always shrinks and grows along with me. But as I had dropped the boot while I was mini, I supposed it would stay that size for ever. If anyone found it, they’d think it belonged to a doll … or Thumbelina.

  The thought made me smile.

  “I don’t know why you’re looking so happy,” said Mum. “You can buy a new pair of wellies out of your pocket money. I thought you were trying to show me how responsible you can be?”

  “I am responsible,” I said. “Look!” I drank down the thick, prune juice in one gulp, without fuss. “Yana even said me and Nisha can enter Chip in the dog show in a few weeks’ time.”

  “Hmm,” said Mum. “As long as it doesn’t clash with Max and Bunny’s wedding…”

  “I’d almost forgotten about being a bridesmaid,” I groaned.

  “You’d better not let Bunny hear you say that,” warned Mum. “We’re seeing her after school tomorrow to have a fitting for your dress. Max will be there later, too. They want you to meet Fifi-Belle.”

  “Fifi-Belle?” I said. “Who’s that? It sounds like a poodle’s name.”

  “Yes,” Mum smiled. “Doesn’t it just.”

  Fifi-Belle was not a secret surprise poodle.

  “Let me introduce you,” said Bunny, when me, Tiff and Mum arrived at the BRIDE YOUR TIME dress shop. Bunny had told Tiff she was too big to be a bridesmaid (not that Tiffany minded). But she had come to the fitting anyway – probably just to laugh at me.

  “Fifi-Belle is my niece,” said Bunny. “She’s going to be my other little bridesmaid along with Violet, remember?”

  A girl about two years younger than me stomped out of the dressing room. “Hello. You’ve got freckles,” she said, pointing at my nose.

  “And you’re … a girl?” I said, giggling to myself about how I had imagined she might really be a poodle.

  “Of course I’m a girl!” Fifi-Belle stamped her foot.

  “Honestly, Violet. What did you think she would be?” laughed Tiff. But before I could answer, Mum poked me in the ribs. Why does she always do that whenever Bunny is around?

  The funny thing was, Fifi-Belle did look a little bit like a poodle. She had big blue eyes, a round nose and a pink bow on the top of her head. She was wearing little pink ankle socks with on the back.

  She didn’t seem to think much of me. “You’ve got short hair,” she said. “You look like a boy.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “Actually, short hair is really stylish at the moment,” said Tiffany, which is about the first nice thing she’s said about me since … well,

  But Fifi-Belle just stuck out her tongue. “Aunt Bunny said I’d be a prettier bridesmaid than you. She was right.”

  “Don’t be silly, Fifi-Belle! I never said anything of the sort,” blushed Bunny. “Violet’s going to be really pretty, too. Just wait until we’ve got her out of those funny old dungarees and into a lovely bridesmaid dress.”

  “There’s nothing funny about my dungarees,” I spluttered.

  “They’ve got mud on them!” Fifi-Belle pointed to my knees.

  I looked down and saw two perfect Chip must have jumped up on me yesterday. I had just grabbed the first thing I’d seen to change into today when I got back from school.

  “Of course, when I designed the bridesmaid dress I wasn’t really imagining it on Violet,” said Bunny. She was whispering to the dressmaker far too loudly. “You see, my ex-boyfriend Tarquin had this little god-daughter with long, long golden hair and…”

  “Is Violet wearing the same bridesmaid’s dress as me?” asked Fifi-Belle. “The pretty one with the big blue petticoats?”

  “Of course,” said Bunny. “You’re both going to be my lovely little shepherdesses. Think of that!”

  “I don’t want her to be the same,” pouted Fifi-Belle. “I want to be your only shepherdess.”

  “Maybe I could wear something different?” I said.

  “Bridesmaid dungarees?” snorted Tiffany.

  “Certainly not!” cried Bunny.

  “Or perhaps just one bridesmaid would be easier,” I said. “I don’t mind if… ”

  Mum nudged me in the ribs … again.

  After we had finished being measured for the dresses, we met up with Dad and Uncle Max. Then we all went out for dinner.

  Bunny chose the restaurant. It was called THE BIG GREEN PLATE , which sounds fun. But it wasn’t.

  Mum was in raw vegetable heaven.

  “Can I get you a drink?” said the waiter. “We have orange juice, apple juice, plum juice, carrot juice, turnip juice…”

  “Turnip juice?” I giggled.

  “One turnip juice,” said the waiter.

  “No! I don’t want one,” I said. “I was just…”

  But it was too late. He had written the order down and moved on to the next person.

  “Don’t worry,” winked Uncle Max. “I’ll get an apple juice. We can always swap.”

  “Have you got anything fizzy?” said Fifi-Belle. “I only like drinks.”

  “Erm … we have sparkling water,” said the waiter.

  “I want a fizzy drink!” roared Fifi-Belle, slamming her fist on the table.

  “Oh dear.” Bunny flapped her arms helplessly in the air. “Why don’t you have a lovely juice now and I’ll see if I can get you
a fizzy drink on the way home?”

  “I want a fizzy drink ” screamed Fifi-Belle.

  Ten minutes later, Bunny was still trying to get her out from under the table.

  Mum was explaining to Dad and Uncle Max how you could make organic confetti from dried courgette flowers – I don’t think either of them were really listening. Tiffany was playing music on her headphones with her hair pulled down over her ears so she thought no one could see.

  “Hey, Uncle Max,” I cried, looking out of the window. “There’s a playground. Want a quick go on the slide?”

  “You bet!” Uncle Max was on his feet in a second.

  “But you haven’t even ordered your food,” said Bunny.

  I looked at the menu. There seemed to be spinach in every single dish.

  “It all sounds so delicious,” said Mum.

  “I suppose I’ll try the ” I groaned.

  “Me too,” Uncle Max grinned. “Let’s hope the surprise is, there’s no vegetables!”

  He roared with laughter. For a moment it was like the old Max was back.

  He grabbed my hand. “Come on, To the slide!”

  But the second we moved, Bunny stopped us.

  “Don’t be silly. You can’t go out to the playground, Maxi darling,” she said.

  “Why?” Uncle Max pretended to stamp his foot and sulk. “I want to go on the swings,” he joked.

  “Not in your lovely suit,” Bunny smiled through her teeth. “The playground will be filthy.” She caught hold of his pale blue sleeve.

  “Oh… Well… Yes. I suppose you’re right.” Uncle Max sat down. All the fun and laughter had gone from him again – like watching the air sink out of whoopee cushion.

  “Sorry, Vi,” he mumbled. “But the trousers are dry-clean only.”

  Dry-clean only…? Was this the same man who had driven across the Sahara Desert in his underpants because his shorts were holding the engine together? Was this the same Uncle Max who’d had his socks eaten by a crocodile in the Nile? The man who had made his own coat out of a sleeping bag to walk through the snow in Iceland? Now he wouldn’t even go to a playground in case his suit got dirty!