My Brother's Famous Bottom Goes Camping (10 page)

Henry spotted the hens and decided he wanted to sniff them. However, Captain Birdseye didn’t want to be sniffed by a dog the size of a lorry, and I can’t say I blamed him. The cockerel uttered a shrill squawk and flapped in Henry’s face. Henry barked a lot and Rubbish looked at the dog angrily and decided it was time to act.

The goat lowered her head and charged. The hens scattered in fear, flying and flapping in all directions. Henry leaped out of the goat’s path, whirled round and galloped after her. Rubbishs
skidded to a halt and charged back at him.

Meanwhile the rest of us were trying to gather up the chickens and the air was filled with a rising chorus of squeaks, squawks, grunts, growls, barks, bleats and, quite suddenly, the awful sound of tearing canvas. Henry and Rubbish had just ploughed straight through someone’s tent.

‘Get out!’ screamed a bearded man, whirling his arms in the air so hard I thought he might take off. The dog and the goat went careering off and soon they were carving their way through one tent after another, leaving a trail of destruction. It wasn’t long before the entire campsite was up in arms, yelling and screaming and hurtling after the two beasts, both of whom now had bits of tent flapping about them like strange flags.

‘Stop them!’

Lancelot and Granny leaped on to their motorbike and went roaring off after the two maddened animals. Granny was driving and Lancelot was standing – yes, standing! – on the seat, giving directions. As they caught up with the
thundering pair Lancelot leaped from the bike and hurled himself on to the wolfhound. They crashed to the ground, rolling over and over.

Henry had been captured.

Rubbish skidded to a halt and turned to see what had happened. A crowd gathered round and began to press in. She looked at them nervously and kept lowering her head as if she was going to charge. I seized the moment and
grabbed someone’s washing-up bowl. I crawled between everyone’s legs until I came out into the little circle where the goat was now standing.

Rubbish had managed to spear a large section of tent with one of her horns and she had someone’s shopping bag draped over the other.

‘It’s OK, Rubbish,’ I said quietly.

‘You watch out, sonny,’ growled Lewis’s father. ‘That goat’s a killer.’ Someone in the crowd suggested she should be shot.

‘Don’t listen to them, Rubbish. Everything’s all right.’ By this time I was right next to her. I scratched her between the ears. She likes that. She closed her eyes several times. She has such amazing, long eyelashes – you should see them! I patted her back gently, slipped the basin between her legs, squatted down and began milking her.

‘Heavens above!’ cried somebody. ‘Take a look at that. The boy’s milking her!’

‘Don’t be daft,’ snapped Lewis’s dad. ‘Milk comes from cows.’

‘And goats,’ the woman next to him said. ‘My father has a farm. He keeps goats for milk.’

‘That’s disgusting,’ muttered Lewis’s dad.

‘All mammals make milk,’ a child’s voice said.

‘We learnt about that at school.’

‘All mammals?’ queried Lewis’s father, who was having great difficulty accepting the revolutionary idea that it wasn’t just cows that produced milk.

‘Even mice?’

‘Yep,’ said the boy.

‘Elephants! Ha! I bet elephants don’t make milk.’

‘Of course they do,’ said the boy.

‘OK then, how about squirrels?’

‘Yep.’

Lewis’s dad’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head in disbelief. Gradually the crowd moved away, all except for the people whose tents had been ripped apart. They wanted to know what the campsite owner was going to do about all the damage. We soon discovered the answer to that,
because he threw all of us off the site! He told Lewis’s family to leave as well. They were furious and said it was all our fault.

‘But your dog chased our goat and hens!’ said Dad.

‘You shouldn’t have a goat!’ growled Lewis’s father. ‘Whoever heard of anyone taking a goat camping? A milk-squirting goat? It’s revolting, and you can take your horrible carrot as well. I found my son playing with it. Your family’s weird – fancy putting a carrot in a bikini.’

Lewis’s father practically threw Cecily Sprout at Mum. So that was what had happened to Cecily. Lewis had kidnapped her! Tomato was over the moon. ‘Mummy, mummy! Cecily Sprout has come back! She went to play with that big boy!’

‘I wasn’t playing with her,’ snapped Lewis, turning bright red.

‘Your dad said you were,’ nodded Cheese.

Lewis huffed and puffed, not sure what to do or say. At last his eyes settled on Rubbish, and a
smug smile crept on to his pudgy face. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘your goat is stupid.’ And he marched off with a toss of his head.

For a moment Cheese watched him go. Then he ran after Lewis, stopped him, looked straight at the older boy and folded his arms across his little chest.

‘I think,’ my brother said firmly, ‘I think your dog is very, VERY BIG!’

‘Huh. Of course he is, stupid. He’s the biggest dog in the world,’ Lewis sneered.

‘Yes,’ agreed Cheese. ‘He is very, VERY BIG, but he is VERY STUPID!’

Lewis’s eyes bulged. Cheese sensed that he’d gained an advantage and pressed on with his withering attack. ‘And so are YOU!’ he finished off.

I hurried over and took Cheese by the hand before Lewis decided to launch an attack of his own. A five-year-old battling with a three-year-old would not be much of a contest at all.

‘Come on, Cheese,’ I said. ‘You need to pack your toys before we go.’

Lewis gazed after us, clenching and unclenching his fists. It was only a small victory, but Cheese and I enjoyed it an awful lot. Not only that, but Tomato had been reunited with Cecily Sprout. However, it didn’t change the fact that we had to leave. We’d only been camping for three days.

We’re back home now and I don’t think it’s the end of our problems. There was a letter from the council waiting for Dad. They’d received
Mr Tugg’s complaint and they’re coming to investigate. If they don’t like what they find they can tell us to get rid of all our animals. It’s not fair.

It was such a muddled afternoon yesterday that we forgot to have any supper. We didn’t get home from the campsite until the evening and then we had to unload the car, settle the hens back in the coop, milk Rubbish AND water the vegetable patch. I don’t think I’ll be a farmer when I grow up. There’s too much looking after to do. I mean, you even have to look after cabbages and lettuces and stuff!

I was so tired by the time all that had been done I went straight to bed. It was only when I woke in the middle of the night that I realized how hungry I was. I tried to get back to sleep but my tummy felt as if several mice were nibbling away inside it. My bedside clock said quarter
past two. It was hours before breakfast. I’d die of starvation before then! The only thing to do was to get up and creep downstairs, trying not to wake anyone, and find something to eat.

If you’ve ever gone on a food hunt in the middle of the night you’ll know what it’s like. There are all those floorboards and stairs that squeak and creak. The noise sounded like thunder to me, but everyone slept on. Dad was snoring quietly. At least, I think it was Dad. I suppose it might just as easily have been Mum.

I got to the kitchen safely and hunted around for some food. I decided to have a whopping bowl of cereal because it was easy to sort out.

I fetched a bowl, filled it up and got some milk from the fridge. Then I sat down at the kitchen table and began to chomp my way through it all. Wow! There’s nothing like a midnight feast – magic!

Outside, the hens started clucking, which was odd because it was still dark. I know Captain
Birdseye likes to crow early in the morning, but half past two is way too soon for him. I was sort of eating and looking out of the kitchen window at the same time and that was when I saw the figure in our garden, down near the hen house.

Whoah! I was so shocked I dropped my spoon. It fell into my bowl making the biggest splosh ever. My hands automatically shot out to try and catch it and I managed to catapult it right out of the bowl instead, flicking milk in my face and all down my pyjamas. Nice one, Nicholas. Why don’t you drown yourself in milk!

The spoon fell to the floor and clattered on to the tiles. Whoever it was in the garden turned and looked towards the house as if they’d heard something. I ducked down and stayed there a few seconds. Then I crept closer to the window to get a better look. I was beginning to wonder if it was Mr Tugg out there, creeping about, but if it was, what was he up to?

When I saw the figure climb over our fence
and into next-door’s garden I was sure it was Mr Tugg. He was obviously heading home. Mind you, he seemed to be having a lot of difficulty getting into his house and was struggling with the back door. Eventually he gave up and decided to try a window instead.

A WINDOW?!

IT WASN’T MR TUGG AT ALL!

IT WAS A THIEF!

I was about to rush upstairs to wake Dad when the burglar alarm went off. At least what actually happened was that the chickens went off. They were the alarm! They suddenly went berserk, led by their choirmaster, Captain Birdseye. You should have heard the shrieks!