Daisy and the Trouble with Life (14 page)

When everyone realized the water wasn't very deep, they all started laughing. Gabby said they weren't laughing at me, they were laughing at Mr Cheetham. The water only came up to his knees and he could have reached me from the side if he'd wanted.

Mr Cheetham lifted me out of the pond and carried me back to the school bus. Mrs Donovan made me dry myself on a picnic blanket and then I had to empty my wellies onto the grass beside the school bus.

The worst thing was, I wasn't allowed to sit next to Gabby on the way home. Mrs Donovan made me sit at the front of the bus next to the coach driver all the way back to school.

I never did figure out which duck got my last bit of sandwich. I hope it was the baby yellow one. Don't s'pose it was though.

Apart from greedy ducks, Lime Tree Farm is a really good place to go for a school trip. You should ask your teacher to take you. They have loads of animals to look at, including real pigs that are going to turn into actual bacon.

Fiona Tucker says that making pigs into bacon is cruel, but Gabby said that different animals on farms have different jobs to do. A farm dog's job is to bark at the sheep, a horse's job is to pull wagons, a chicken's job is lay eggs for breakfast, a cow's job is to make milk for cups of tea and a pig's job is to turn into bacon.

We never did work out what a duck's job is though.

I'll go and ask my mum.

Mum says a duck's job is to stay in the water on a school trip and my job is to stay out of the water on a school trip.

She also says my sausages are ready, so I can have another job.

Washing my hands for dinner.

Sigh.

It's a germ thing.

Sorry about this – I'll see you up at the dining table in a couple of minutes.

That's if you don't mind watching me eat.

Numyumyumyum yum yum nyum yum yumm yummy yumnum yum num yum nyum nuyyum yum yum yummy yum nyum – sorry again . . .

The
trouble with trying to finish a story with your mouth full
is nothing you say makes any sense. All your words are too full of sausage or sweetcorn, gravy or mash.

Don't worry. I'm going to ask Spiggy, my pet money spider, to tell the rest of the story for me. He's sitting on my shoulder right now.

Say hello, Spiggy.

“Hi!”

Do you mind telling the rest of the story for me, Spig?

“Not at all!”

Otherwise my sausages will get cold.

“Leave it to me!”

Daisy smiled sweetly at the most handsome money spider in the world (that's me!) and tucked hungrily into her dinner.

Sorry, can you read the words OK when they're this small? OK,
I'll shout!

As she raised a fork full of sausage and mash to her lips, her mum leaned across the table and placed a hand on her arm.

“Any more gurgles?” she asked, a little anxious that the dib-dab germs might come back, and more than a little concerned that they only had one loo roll left if they did.

Daisy shookherhead,and popped another forkful into her mouth.

“Numyum yum yum yumnuyum yum yum,” she smiled.

“Well, I hope you've learned your lesson today, Daisy,” said her mum. “You know I really hate grounding you, but sometimes needs must.”

Daisy paused in mid-munch. She'd never understood what “needs must” meant but kind of figured it was something that mums just have to do.

“It's OK,” said Daisy, “I know picking a germy dib-dab up off the pavement and then eating it was a disgusting thing to do. I have learned my lesson and I don't blame you for grounding me. I'll never do it again. Ever! I promise!!”

Daisy's mum sighed with relief. “That's very good to hear, Daisy. Very good indeed! No one will be happier than me to have a germ-free Daisy back in action again!”

Daisy swallowed a big mouthful of gravy and mash and then raised her eyebrows hopefully.

“So does that mean I'm not grounded any more?” she said, hoping she might be able to start work on the mud trap that evening.”

Daisy's mum shook her head. “You're still grounded until the end of the day,” she said, “but after today you can play outside again.”

Daisy sighed a smallish sigh and then began making plans for Sunday. “So Gabby can come round to play first thing tomorrow?” she asked.

“As long as it's not too first thing,” said Daisy's mum. “I do like to have a lie-in on a Sunday.”

Daisy smiled to herself and set about polishing off her plate.

“Mum,” she said, gobbling up the last piece of sweetcorn and slurping down the last dribble of orange squash. “Do you know any words that rhyme with ‘hippopotamus'?”

Daisy's mum swallowed, frowned and then leaped up from the table and squealed.

“TIPTOESGOTAMOUSE!” she squeaked, pointing in horror at the French windows behind Daisy.

Daisy wheeled round in her chair and stared in the direction of her mum's pointing finger.

There, beside the flowerbed in a pool of evening sunlight, towered Tiptoes. His back was arched, his tail was looped and he was dabbing something wickedly with his paw.

Daisy's mum covered her eyes again as the mouse suddenly twitched, sending Tiptoes into a somersault of excitement.

Daisy sprang up from her chair and raced out of the kitchen door into the back garden. Grounded or not, if there was a mouse in trouble in her garden, then she was going to be the one to rescue it!

“Scat!” said Daisy. “Shoo, you nasty cat! Leave that mouse alone!”

Tiptoes looked up from the flowerbed in the direction of the kitchen door. His whiskers wilted at the sight of Daisy hurtling across the garden towards him. The very thought of bangs from spade handles and squirts from hosepipes sent him catapulting over the wall.

Daisy's eyes flashed angrily from the top of Mrs Pike's wall and then anxiously to the flowerbed directly below.

Suddenly her eyes widened and a huge smile crept across her face.

“SHOOTER!!!” she squealed, dropping onto her knees.

It wasn't a mouse that Tiptoes had found basking in the late evening sunshine. It was a snake.

A Colorado garter snake, to be exact!

Daisy snatched Shooter up from the flowerbed, hugged him to her chest and ran back into the kitchen.