1
THE SQUEAKY, FREAKY FLYING MACHINE
I was woken by the whiff of rotting tuna.
I sat up and sniffed. The tuna smell was old cat food. I was also picking up hot sauce, wet carpet, and chicken poop. I may not be as quick on my paws as I used to be, but my nose is as sharp as ever.
Clatter, bang, clatter.
The noise was coming from the dog flap in the back door. I did a quick head count. Baxter, Maia, and Newton were all with me on the rug by the fire. “Security alert!” I barked. “Action! Action!”
Baxter grunted in his sleep.
Maia opened one eye.
Newton didn’t do anything. He’s a little deaf these days.
I gave up and raced down the hall. “Stop right where you are!” I shouted. I slipped on the wooden floor. Scooting to a stop, I found myself nose-to-nose with Titch.
I should have known from the smell!
Titch is a stray, but she turns up at Happy Paws Farm most days. Usually around mealtimes. Right now, she was halfway through the dog flap. “What’s up, Trevor?” she barked, almost knocking me out cold with a blast of tuna breath.
“What’s up? What’s up is that I was having a nice quiet nap. Then someone started breaking the door down.”
“Not my fault they make these dumb flaps so small!” Titch wiggled her huge head. Her raggedy ears bobbed up and down, but she was still stuck. The dog flap flipped up and smacked my nose. “I’m going on a road trip,” she said. “Any of you old-timers want to tag along?”
Maia, Baxter, and Newton padded sleepily into the hall. About time! The house could have been invaded by pests by now; rats or raccoons, or—even worse—a cat. “No, thank you!” Maia yawned. “We do not want to ride the garbage truck with you again, Titch.”
“Relax, Princess Fluffybutt!” Titch laughed. “No garbage trucks this time. I’m talking about the squeaky, freaky flying machine.”
Baxter’s ears drooped. “You mean the van?”
“Speak up!” barked Newton. “Did someone say van? Have you forgotten what happened last time?”
By jiminy! How could any of us forget? Baxter had only climbed into the old van to look for his favorite tennis ball. The van started beeping and wobbling. I called the pack to action. We jumped aboard to rescue him. Next thing we knew, we were zooming into the sky …
“Aw, come on!” said Titch, bits of cat food spraying from her mouth. “What else do you have planned? An action-packed afternoon of dribbling in your sleep?”
Titch had a point. It was one of those long, rainy days when nothing much happens. Last time, the van took us to a place called Alaska, where we joined a team of sled dogs on a life-or-death mission. My tail sprang up. I was ready for another adventure. But then I remembered. Old Jim would be coming to fetch me soon. I couldn’t gallivant off and leave my human all alone.
Newton tipped his head to one side, thinking. He’s a border collie. He’s the brains of the pack and he does a lot of thinking. “It would be interesting to see Balto and the team again,” he said.
Baxter’s ears perked up again. “And play in the snow…”
Maia did a little prance. “I have a dance class with Ayesha tonight, but I could squeeze in a short visit.”
I made a pack decision. “Count us in,” I told Titch. “As long as we’re home by pickup time.”
2
NO DOGS ALLOWED
“Road trip!” whooped Titch. “Let’s go!” Then she remembered she was stuck in the dog flap. “Can someone help me out here?”
Baxter gave a shove. With a clatter-flap-clatter and a loud grunt, Titch shot back and fell over on the doorstep. She’s missing a back leg; balance is not her strong point. We all jumped through after her and dashed and splashed across the yard to the barn. The van was parked inside with the back doors wide open.
We scrambled aboard.
Newton made for the driver’s seat and ran his nose over the shiny box beside the steering wheel. The control panel, he calls it. Shaking raindrops from my fur, I jumped up beside him. All of a sudden, the control panel sparked into life. Lights flashed, buzzers beeped. The air crackled with the smell of thunderstorms.
The van lurched from side to side.
“Oh yeah!” yelled Titch. “The freaky flying machine is on the move!”
“Wait!” cried Maia. “Where’s Baxter?”
I ran to the door and looked out. Baxter was standing outside the barn like a startled squirrel. “All aboard!” I barked. “Remember the pack motto: Never Leave a Dog Behind!”
“I thought the van would be parked outside—like last time.” Baxter’s voice was muffled by the tennis ball in his mouth. Like most Labrador retrievers, he likes to chew stuff—especially when he gets scared. And he gets scared a lot. “We’re not allowed in the barn,” he whimpered.
So that’s what this was about! Baxter lives at Happy Paws Farm full-time. The rest of us just stay here when our humans are busy. Baxter’s humans, Lucy and her grandma, make inventions in the barn. Mostly shiny things that beep and zap and give you the heebie-jeebies. Point is, the barn is strictly No Dogs Allowed.
“Baxter, buddy!” Titch hollered over my shoulder. “We’re not in the barn. We’re in the van. It’s a totally different thing.”
At last, Baxter sprinted across the barn—with his eyes closed, as if that meant he wasn’t really there—and jumped into the van.
Just in time.
Text copyright © 2019 by Helen Moss
Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Misa Saburi
