A Duckling Called Button

by Helen Peters

  “So,” said Mr Hampton, looking at Bella, “I think you’ll agree that Jasmine has, in fact, put a lot of time and effort into making this duckling. Let’s have another question.”

  “Can he fly?” asked Poppy.

  “Not until he’s a few months old,” said Jasmine.

  “And then will he fly off?” asked George.

  “No. Ducklings treat the first living thing they see as their mother. So Button will always stay near me.”

  “Can I hold him?” asked Julia.

  “That’s up to Jasmine,” said Mr Hampton. “What do you think?”

  “As long as you’re careful,” said Jasmine. “He’s still really tiny and delicate. Hold him in your palm and cup your other hand gently over him.”

  “Put your hand up,” said Mr Hampton, “if you’d like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to hold a ridiculously cute duckling.”

  Every single member of the class raised a hand. Some people raised both hands. Even Bella Bradley raised her hand, though she tried her best to look bored and uninterested while doing so.

  “Just remember he’s a living creature, not a toy,” said Mr Hampton, “and treat him with care and respect.”

  Jasmine took Button around the room, giving everybody a turn to hold him. She watched anxiously for any signs of distress, but he seemed quite happy in different people’s hands. She arrived at Bella’s seat. Bella held out her hand.

  “Be really careful,” said Jasmine.

  “Obviously,” said Bella. “I’m not stupid.”

  Jasmine decided not to respond to that. She placed Button gently in Bella’s palm.

  “Oh, its feet feel so weird!” squealed Bella. “Ow, they’re tickling! Ugh, what’s that?”

  She looked down at her hand and screamed. “Ugh, it pooed on me!”

  She jerked her hand away. Jasmine’s world went into horrific slow motion as Button was flung into the air. The class gasped as he landed on the floor and lay there, motionless.

  Her heart thumping in terror, Jasmine sank to her knees by the tiny body of her duckling. Tom rushed across the room and knelt beside her. Button lay perfectly still, his eyes closed.

  He’s dead, thought Jasmine. Button is dead and it’s all my fault for bringing him into school and letting people hold him.

  And then Button blinked.

  He opened his eyes.

  He lifted his head.

  He scrambled to his feet.

  He staggered forwards.

  He shook his head.

  He walked forwards again, more steadily now.

  He started cheeping.

  Tom picked him up. “I think he’s OK,” he said.

  “Right, that’s quite enough drama for one morning,” said Mr Hampton. “Let’s put the duckling back in his box.”

  “See,” said Bella. “It’s fine. No need to fuss.”

  A switch flicked inside Jasmine. She felt her face heat up and rage rise through her body. She sprang to her feet and towered over Bella’s chair.

  “You stupid, stupid idiot!” she shouted. “I told you to hold him carefully. I told you to look after him. And you nearly killed him. You killed his mother and now you nearly killed him, you horrible girl.”

  In a blind fury, Jasmine snatched Bella’s jar of face cream from the table, wrenched off the lid and tipped it on to Bella’s head. There was another gasp from the class. Pink gloop oozed all over Bella’s hair and started dripping down her face.

  Bella jumped up with an outraged cry. She grabbed a handful of Jasmine’s hair and yanked it. Jasmine swung her arm back and punched Bella in the stomach.

  “That’s enough!” said Mr Hampton. “Stop that right now.”

  Bella was lying on the floor, clutching her stomach, crying hysterically. “Ow, she’s broken my ribs! She’s punctuated my liver! She’s ruptured my appendix!”

  “Good,” said Jasmine. “I wish I’d done it harder.”

  “That’s quite enough from you, Jasmine,” said Mr Hampton. “Go to the head’s office at once. And George, fetch the nurse, please.”

  Bella writhed and moaned on the floor as Jasmine marched out of the room.

  “Did she have to go to hospital?” asked Manu later.

  “No, she was fine, worse luck. Although she made so much fuss you’d have thought she was dying.”

  “You should have punched her in the head and knocked her out. I would have done.”

  “Stop that, Manu,” said Mum. “I don’t want to be called in to see Mrs Allerton again, thank you.”

  “Well, she deserved it,” said Manu. “Dropping that poor duckling.”

  “Anyway,” said Jasmine, “Mr Hampton’s put us on different tables now. So it was worth it.”

  “What did the head say?” asked Ella.

  “All the things you’d expect a head teacher to say,” said Mum. “But somehow I got the feeling that, in her heart of hearts, she had a little bit of sympathy for Jasmine.”

  Smoke!

  “You can turn the tap off now,” called Jasmine.

  The water in the hose slowed to a trickle and Tom emerged from the milking parlour.

  Jasmine propped a short plank against the side of the pool and kissed the top of Button’s head. “Let’s see if he likes it.”

  It was the first Saturday of the May half term. Jasmine and Tom had enlarged Button’s pen and blown up Jasmine’s old inflatable paddling pool to put in one corner.

  “It’s way better than the baby bath,” said Tom. “He’ll be able to swim properly in here. And Betty likes it, too.”

  Betty had grown strong and healthy in the last few weeks, due in great part, Jasmine was sure, to her friendship with Button, from whom she was inseparable. Now, Betty stood at the edge of the pool, wiggling her tail and sucking up the water.

  Button, who at eight weeks’ old was almost fully feathered, inspected the ramp, walking around it and jabbing at it with his bill. It seemed to meet with his approval, because he stepped on to the plank and waddled up it. At the top, he paused for a second then plopped into the water and started to swim, bobbing up and down, pedalling his big webbed feet.

  Jasmine tossed a handful of torn-up lettuce leaves into the pool. Button darted around, gobbling up the greens as he swam.

  From the barn doorway, where his lead was tied to a post, Jake barked.

  “He wants to round up the sheep,” said Tom.

  Jake did seem desperate to round up the sheep. There weren’t many left in the barn now, just the youngest and weakest lambs and their mothers, plus Betty, of course, and a little one who had caught a chill in the rain a few days earlier and had a hacking cough. Jake watched them all constantly, following their movements with his eyes, his body alert and twitching.

  Jasmine walked over and stroked him.

  “These sheep don’t need rounding up, Jake. We’ll go for a nice walk instead. We’ll just put Betty back in her own pen first.”

  “Sorry, Betty,” said Tom, as he lifted the wriggling, bleating lamb into her own pen. “I know you hate being separated from Button, but you can’t swim like him, and we don’t want you to fall in and drown.”

  They took Jake for a long walk in the woods and made their way back through the fields, the collie wagging his tail and sniffing excitedly in the hedgerows. As they came through a field of cows, Jasmine waved to her dad, who was mending the fence on the other side.

  “Do you want lunch?” she asked Tom, when they reached the yard. “Mum’s at work, but there are pizzas we can heat up. Manu’s at Ben’s, so we can have a whole one each.”

  Tom stopped and frowned.

  “Listen.”

  Jasmine listened.

  “Button!”

  The quacking came from the direction of the barn. But it was not Button’s usual quiet, contented quacking. It was loud, urgent and panicked.

  “A fox!” cried Jasmine. “Oh, no! I didn’t put the netting on the pen!”

  She raced towards the barn. Oh, please, ple
ase, she thought, let Button be safe.

  At that moment, the duckling came running across the yard towards her, flapping his wings and squawking in distress.

  “Button!” cried Jasmine. “How did you get out? What’s going on? Is there a fox?”

  She bent down to pick him up, but Button flapped his wings as if to bat her hands away, jabbed his bill frantically at her boots and started running back towards the barn, still squawking. After a few seconds, he stopped and looked back at Jasmine, who was standing still, frowning in bewilderment. Button waddled back to her, grabbed a piece of her trouser leg in his bill and tugged at it urgently.

  “He wants you to follow him,” said Tom.

  The children ran towards the barn, only stopping to tie Jake’s lead to a gatepost. As they drew closer, Jasmine smelled something that made her stomach churn.

  “Smoke!”

  They came to a dead stop in the doorway.

  Orange flames covered the floor of Button’s pen. Jasmine stared, frozen with horror, as the flames licked and crackled their way across the barn. The ewes and lambs bolted around their pens in panic, baaing and bleating, butting at the hurdles. And Button ran into the barn to peck frantically at the hurdles of Betty’s pen, as Betty bleated and threw herself at the bars.

  In a flash, Jasmine saw that Betty’s pen was protected from the fire by Button’s paddling pool. But not for long. One side of the pool was already beginning to melt. Would it burst into flames any minute?

  Tom and Jasmine both sprang into life at the same moment. They rushed across the barn. Jasmine felt burning heat on her skin. Smoke filled her nose and ash blew into her eyes, making them smart and water. Tom seized Button and Jasmine climbed into Betty’s pen. She grabbed the bleating, kicking lamb and handed her to Tom, who had Button under his other arm.

  “Take them away,” she shouted, clambering over the fence into the next pen. “I’ll get this one.”

  Tom ran out of the barn. Her eyes streaming from the smoke and ash, Jasmine grabbed the sick lamb, climbed out and ran out of the barn with him. Tom, coughing, his eyes red and watering, raced back in to free a ewe and twin lambs from the next pen.

  “I’ll do the last two,” Jasmine shouted. “You phone the fire brigade. And my dad.”

  Tom drove the ewe and lambs into the yard and pulled his phone from his pocket. Jasmine ran back into the barn. The flames were spreading faster now. She must get these sheep out quickly.

  The mothers were frantic with worry, baaing and stamping, ramming the hurdles with their heads. Jasmine slipped off the loop of baler twine that fastened the gate on the next pen. She pulled the gate open and the ewes and lambs bolted out. Jasmine shooed them out to the yard. She did the same with the sheep in the final pen. Mad with fright, they scattered in all directions.

  What if they ran back into the barn?

  Suddenly, a flash of black and white fur raced into the yard.

  Jake!

  Jasmine didn’t know what to do. Jake was her responsibility and she mustn’t put him in danger. She should call him and tie him up again.

  But he wouldn’t be in danger as long as he stayed in the yard, and he clearly just wanted to round up the sheep. He was doing a good job, too, running around the edges of the scattered little flock, gradually herding them into a tight group in the middle of the yard.

  She looked back into the barn. The flames were devouring the straw in the sheep pens. Thank goodness the sheep were safe.

  But what about the calves in the next barn? How could she stop the fire spreading?

  Of course!

  She ran into the milking parlour, where the hose was still connected to the tap. She wrenched the tap around as far as it would go, dragged the hose into the barn and started spraying water on the dry straw at the edges of the fire.

  “The fire brigade’s coming,” shouted Tom, from behind her. “And your dad and mum. Hose the wall too.”

  He was pointing to the wall that divided the lambing barn from the calves’ barn.

  Jasmine thrust the hose at him. “You do that. I’m going to let the calves out.”

  She turned to run, but something banged against her leg. She looked down.

  It was Betty. She must have broken free from the group. In a blind panic, she was running straight towards the fire.

  “No!” Jasmine shouted. “Betty, come back!”

  She started to race after the lamb, but Tom grabbed her round the middle and pulled her back. She struggled, but he was stronger than he looked.

  “Let go!” she shouted. “I have to get her out!”

  “Don’t be stupid!” yelled Tom.

  “I have to! Do you want her to die? Oh, no, no!”

  Because there, waddling, squawking and flapping towards the fire after the lamb, was Button.

  “No!” screamed Jasmine. “Tom, let me go! I have to get them!”

  But Tom wouldn’t let go, and Button was almost invisible now in the smoke. Betty was nowhere to be seen. Jasmine tried to call them but the smoke got in her mouth and all she could do was wheeze and cough. She struggled against Tom but she couldn’t break free.

  Suddenly, a blur of black and white shot past them.

  Jasmine’s heart froze. Now Jake was going to die, too. She couldn’t bear it.

  She tried to wrench herself free, but Tom only tightened his grip. And then, through the din of crackling straw and roaring flames and distressed animals, she heard the rumble of an engine.

  She turned to see Dad jumping down from his tractor cab and racing towards them, faster than she had ever seen him move. He picked her and Tom up, one under each arm, like sacks of feed, and ran into the yard, where he dumped them on the ground and wrenched the hose from Jasmine’s grip.

  “Get right back!” he yelled.

  And then Jasmine glimpsed a faint white blur. It was Betty, stumbling out of the dense black smoke. Behind her came Jake. In his mouth he carried the little, limp body of a duck.

  Cleverer Than the Average Duck

  “Get away from the fire!” shouted Dad over his shoulder, as he ran to the calves’ barn. “Go indoors!”

  But before Tom could stop her, Jasmine raced to Jake.

  “Sit, Jake,” she said.

  Jake sat, still holding the duck in his mouth. Jasmine dropped to her knees in front of him and cradled Button’s soft, unmoving body.

  “Drop him,” she said to Jake.

  Jake opened his mouth and let go of Button.

  “Good dog,” said Jasmine. She stood up, with Button in her arms. And Button shook his head and opened his eyes.

  “He’s awake!” she said. “Oh, Button, I was so worried about you!”

  Beside her, Tom was holding Betty, who was coughing and wheezing.

  “We need to get them treated,” said Jasmine. “Urgently. They might have smoke damage.”

  She heard tyres splashing through puddles, and into the yard came Mum’s muddy old estate car. Jasmine had never been so pleased to see it.

  Mum stopped the car beside the children and opened the door. “Oh, thank goodness you’re all right,” she said, flinging her arms around Jasmine and Tom.

  “Careful,” said Jasmine, disentangling herself. “You’ll hurt Button. He needs treating. And Betty.”

  “Where’s Dad?” asked Mum. “He’s not in the barn, is he?”

  “He’s getting the calves out,” said Jasmine, pointing towards the field next to the calves’ barn, where the calves were now gathering.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” said Mum. Jasmine thought she was talking about the calves, but then she saw Mum was looking in the opposite direction. Two fire engines were bumping up the farm road.

  “Can you examine Button and Betty?” said Jasmine. “They ran into the burning barn and Jake rescued them, so he needs checking, too.”

  Dad appeared from the calves’ barn as the fire engines rumbled into the yard.

  “Will you be all right,” Mum asked Dad, “if I look at these animals?�
�

  “Sure,” he said, pointing the firemen in the direction of the barn. The engines turned around the corner of the yard.

  “Right,” said Mum to Jasmine and Tom. “Take them into the cowshed and I’ll examine them properly.”

  Jasmine and Tom carried Button and Betty into the cowshed, which was the building furthest away from the barns, and sat on a bale. Mum came in, carrying a big plastic crate of medicines.

  “I’m going to look at Button first,” she said, kneeling in front of him, “since birds’ airways and lungs are extremely sensitive, so he’s probably the most affected. Although none of them looks too bad, really, considering what they’ve been through. Sit them on the bales and fetch a dish of fresh water for each of them, would you?”

  When Jasmine and Tom returned with the water, Mum was examining Button. Jasmine put the dish in front of him. He stretched out his neck, dipped his beak in the dish and started gobbling the water. Betty and Jake drank theirs, too.

  “That’s a very good sign, that he can drink unaided,” said Mum. “Excellent.” She reached into her medicine box and took out what looked like an asthma inhaler. “Now, unfortunately, there can often be delayed pulmonary irritation – that’s lung damage – even if there are no obvious external injuries. How long were they exposed to the smoke?”

  “Not that long,” said Jasmine. “Button escaped and warned us about the fire when it must have only just started.”

  Mum looked quizzically at Jasmine. “He warned you about the fire?”

  “Yes, he came running across the yard and tugged at Jas’s trousers to tell her to follow him,” said Tom.