1
IDEAS ARE TROUBLE
I was on the way to Perfect Pets when I had my bright idea.
I could barely keep still while the groomer was blow-drying my tail.
By the time my human lady, Ayesha, dropped me off at Happy Paws the next morning, I was fit to burst. I raced across the yard to the old cherry tree, where Trevor, Baxter, and Newton were snoozing in the shade. One Jack Russell terrier, one yellow Labrador retriever, one black-and-white border collie. All snoring. “Wake up!” I panted.
Baxter snuffled. Trevor grunted.
Newton didn’t stir. His hearing is not too good these days.
A revolting odor—moldy salami, cat poop, pond slime—wafted over from the long grass. It was Titch, of course. She was asleep on her back, all three legs pointing to the sky. Titch is not a genuine member of Happy Paws Farm, which is a high-class club for senior dogs. She just wanders in when she feels like it. Her personal hygiene is, quite frankly, criminal.
I tried again. “Wake up!” I shouted. “I’ve had an idea!”
“An idea?” said Titch, yawning. “Ideas are trouble, Puffball. I’d stick to prancing about and jumping over stuff if I were you.”
My name is not Puffball, by the way. Titch just calls me that because she’s jealous. We papillons have long, silky fur, and I keep mine in tip-top condition. Titch’s fur is unkempt to say the least. My real name is Magical Mariposa, or Maia to my friends. “For your information,” I pointed out, “you don’t get to be All-State Champion three years straight by ‘prancing about.’ Dance routines take skill, focus—”
Titch yawned again, showing off her missing teeth.
I gave up. Titch would never understand Canine Freestyle dancing.
“WAKE UP!” I yelled at the others.
Trevor sprang up like a startled cat, scattering a cloud of blossom petals. “Rat attack! Fight for your lives!”
“What’s that?” spluttered Newton. “A bat attack?”
Baxter opened one eye and stretched. “Rats, Newt. Not bats.” He grinned. “Invisible ones, I think.”
“It’s about the shiny box,” I said, before they could fall asleep again. I glanced across at the van parked beside the barn. It looked like an ordinary van. It belongs to Baxter’s girl, Lucy, and her grandma, who live at the farm. But it was far from ordinary. That van could zoom through the air like a giant bird. It had carried us off to faraway places. The silver box inside seemed to control it, but we had no idea how. Until now, that was. “I’ve figured out how it works.”
Baxter’s tail thumped the ground. “Is it magic?” he asked. “Like the garden hose. Water comes out. Who knows how? Then it stops. Starts. Stops. Magic! Or TV. Where do the noises come from? Or—”
“Stuffed crust pizza,” Titch chipped in. “That’s definitely magic. I mean, how do they make the cheese that gooey? Speaking of pizza, is it snack time yet?”
I was starting to wonder whether my friends even deserved to hear my idea—but it was just too good to keep to myself. “So, I was riding in the car yesterday when Ayesha took a wrong turn. She kept staring at the little screen on the dash. That’s when it struck me. The screen had patterns on it—like the ones that flash on the shiny box when the van moves.” I paused for effect. This was the best part. “I think humans use them to tell their vehicles where to go.”
Baxter and Trevor were nodding, but their eyes had glazed over.
Luckily, Newton was keeping up. Border collies are always smart. “I think you may be onto something,” he said. “Humans can’t smell places like we do, so they use other ways to navigate.”
I brushed away the blossoms and scratched two sets of lines in the dirt.
“The top pattern was flashing on the shiny box when the van took us to Alaska,” I said. “And the bottom one was showing when we landed beside the Missouri River. You need a good memory for dance routines, too,” I added, shooting a look at Titch.
Newton tipped his head to one side. “So, you think every place has its own special pattern?”
“Exactly,” I said. “They’re like scent markers for humans.”
Trevor sniffed at the scratches in the dirt as if they might actually smell of Alaska and the Missouri River.
“That’s crackers!” Titch laughed. “But hey, I’ll take your word for it. Humans are crackers! They pick up poop in little bags, for goodness’ sake!” She set off across the yard toward the van. “So, what are we waiting for?” she barked. “All aboard the freaky flying machine. Let’s put Puffball’s big idea to the test!”
2
THE SHINY BOX
The back doors of the van were open and we all jumped inside. It was fitted out like a cozy little house, with all kinds of furniture. Human tools and clothes were neatly stored on shelves and hooks. Bags and backpacks, a skateboard and a basketball were laid out on the bed. It looked as if Lucy and her grandma were planning a trip.
I hopped onto the driver’s seat with Newton. Baxter clambered onto the passenger seat, chewing on that soggy old tennis ball he always carries around. Trevor clambered up next to him—not easy for an elderly Jack Russell who hasn’t kept himself in shape. Titch stood in back, craning her massive head through the gap.
We all gazed down at the shiny box between the seats. About the size of a shoebox (Ayesha loves shoes!), it was made of metal, with buttons, dials, and a dark glossy screen. Newton tapped his paw on the top. “I always suspected this was some kind of control panel,” he said. “If Maia’s theory is correct, we tell the van where we want to go by making it show the right pattern.”
I pressed my nose to the box. It was as cold and still as a stone. “How do we start it up?”
“Watch and learn!” Titch leaned down and tried to head-butt the shiny box. She missed. Instead she knocked a can of soda flying out of the cup holder on the dash. Orange soda sprayed over everything— including me, my new pink ribbons, and my best cashmere coat. “Yum!” slurped Titch, licking my ears. “Delicious.”
“Eugh!” I groaned, dodging away from her. If there’s one thing worse than soda in your fur, it’s Titch’s stinky slobber all over it.
But somehow the shiny box had come to life. Bright lines and circles flickered across the surface like the sun sparkling on water: 0001, 0002, 0003.
“Now let’s see,” murmured Newton. “How do we get the pattern for Alaska…”
Baxter wagged his tail. “Ooh yes. I’d like to see Balto and the other sled dogs.”
“Who said we’re going to Alaska?” barked Trevor. “As pack leader, I say we head back to the Missouri River. Catch up with our friend Seaman. Fight grizzly bears and go hunting again.”
“Missouri gets my vote, too,” said Titch. “All-you-can-eat buffalo meat. What’s not to love?”
I wasn’t so sure. I know it was my genius idea that had gotten us here, but I hadn’t planned to zoom off on another adventure quite so soon. I’d vowed never to go anywhere in the van again without my travel bag. I wanted my special food, my herbal shampoo, my vitamin pills … “Wait! Let’s take a rain check.”
Too late! The doors slammed shut and the van rocketed into the air. Ka-boom! A whiff of thunder and firecrackers replaced the candy-sweet scent of soda. I rested my paws on the dashboard and looked out the windshield. We were already above the trees. The rooster weather vane on the barn spun around and around. A flock of chickens, scratching for worms in the yard, ran for cover, squawking and flapping. I knew how they felt.
Now the van was spinning, too. The others toppled over, but I kept my balance. I peered at the pattern on the shiny box. 1809 … 1808 … 1807. It was almost the same as the pattern for the Missouri River. “Newton,” I panted. “What do we do?”
But Newton was no help. “Bit dizzy,” he mumbled. “Bumped my head on the steering wheel. Where am I?”
That, I thought, is a very good question. Outside, a whirlpool of shooting stars swirled through the dark. No help there, either! I looked back at the box. 1805. That was the pattern for the Missouri River. How could I stop it from changing again? I turned to the others. Baxter was hiding behind his paws. Trevor had gotten stuck under the passenger seat, yelping, “All-Pack Alert! Don’t panic!”
The only one not freaking out was Titch.
I poked a paw at the box. Nothing happened.
Titch bellowed in my ear. “Do it like you mean it!”
I slammed both front paws down so hard I flipped right over and landed on top of Baxter.
It was not my smoothest move, but it did the trick.
The lines and circles stopped flickering.
3
LEVEL ONE PACK EMERGENCY
1800.
It was the wrong pattern.
I’d been too slow. I’d blown it. “You blockhead!” I fumed at myself. “You catbrain!”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Puffball,” said Titch. “We’ll probably just land a mile or two upriver.”
We didn’t have to wait long to find out. The jolting and spinning stopped. For one long, jittery moment—like waiting in the holding area for your turn to run out into the show ring—the van hung in midair.
Then, with a whoosh, we plummeted, down, down, down until we hit the ground.
I leaped over the seats and made for the back doors. I was the only one who could open them. “Hurry up!” barked Titch. “There’s a buffalo steak with my name on it out there.” With the others crowding behind me, I flipped up on my hind legs and pressed down the handles. Both doors flew open. A gust of wind almost tore them from their hinges. Another gust sent my ears flapping about my head. An endless vista of snowy mountain peaks stretched in all directions. Above us, the sky was a bright, brittle blue. Below, a sea of white fog hid the rest of the world from view.
“Phooey!” grumbled Titch. “Snow! The shiny box has double-crossed us. We must have ended up in Alaska after all. The food was terrible here last time. Nothing but dried fish!”
Suddenly the van began to rock. My stomach rose and sank and rose and sank again. “Titch! Move!” I cried. “You’re too heavy.”
“No need to get personal,” she muttered.
“Maia’s right!” said Newton, quickly pushing Titch away from the doors. “It seems we’ve landed rather precariously on a narrow ridge. With all the weight at one end, we could tip over the edge at any moment…”
The van lurched the other way. Tools fell from the shelves. The basketball and skateboard slid off the bed and bounced and rolled about.
“This is a Level One Pack Emergency!” shouted Trevor. “Everyone, freeze!” Newton and Baxter hunkered down in the middle of the van. Even Titch followed orders for once and joined them. Trevor inched his way to my side and poked his nose out. “It’s not Alaska,” he said. “You could smell the sea on the breeze there.” He sniffed deeply. “I’m getting pine trees … wood smoke … goats…”
I could smell those scents, too. But they were very faint, wafting up from far below. The frosty air nipped at my nostrils; not just cold, but kind of thin and fizzy, too. That’s when I realized: that was not ordinary fog down there. We were so high up we were looking down onto cloud.
“Let’s go home,” said Titch. “If there’s no buffalo meat on the menu, I’d rather go check out the trash cans behind that new pizza place in town.” She lumbered to her paws. The van swayed. Titch toppled sideways, crashing into Baxter, who fell onto the skateboard, which began to roll across the floor of the van …
“Watch out!” cried Newton. But it all happened so fast. For the briefest of moments, they were blocked by the table, but the table gave way, and the van tipped more, and they kept on rolling, picking up speed …
Then the skateboard—with Baxter on top—rolled right out through the doors.
Text copyright © 2020 by Helen Moss
Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Misa Saburi