A Pup Called Trouble by Bobbie Pyron

Author:Bobbie Pyron
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-01-11T00:00:00+00:00

21

High Jinks and Shenanigans

The next night, Trouble and Rosebud again met the fox and the owl in the glen. Clouds scudded across the moon, resting on its back in the night sky. Mischief was nowhere to be seen.

After Trouble had finished telling his story of the painful encounter with the swans and Mischief’s part in it, the fox said, “Oh well, that’s just like a crow, isn’t it? They think they’re such clever creatures, but really.” She sniffed and gave her brushy tail a good swish.

“And don’t get me started on swans,” the owl said. “Such pompous birds.” He tossed the mouse he clutched in his talons into his mouth and gulped it down whole, headfirst.

“Where I come from,” Trouble said, “we don’t have swans, and the crows mind their own business.”

The fox nosed a tennis ball left behind by a forgetful dog. “Sounds a tad boring.”

“I think it sounds wonderfully peaceful,” Rosebud said. “No dogs to chase you, no humans calling you insulting, hurtful names like ‘vermin,’ ‘rodent,’ and”—she wiped at a tear in the corner of her black-button eyes—“‘icky.’”

The fox wagged the white tip of her tail in sympathy. “I know just how you feel, my dear. Humans have no idea of the special beauty of a possum, or a fox for that matter.”

Rosebud moved just a little closer to the fox.

The owl cleared his throat. “Our small friend is an opossum, not a possum, and a much maligned and misunderstood creature at that.” For the next five minutes, the owl expounded on the difference between opossums and possums (one lives in the Americas and the other lives in Australia) and their many virtues (timid, clean, eat cockroaches and ticks).

Rosebud’s nose turned deep pink with pleasure.

“My goodness,” the fox said. “How do you know so much?”

The owl puffed out his chest. “I once domiciled in a wildlife refuge and attended lectures. I have superior hearing and memory.”

“Why, you’re a regular professor, aren’t you?” the fox barked with delight.

Trouble jumped to his feet. “Hey Professor,” he barked. “Since you know so much, you should be able to figure out how I can get back home.”

All the creatures sitting there in the moonlight looked up at the owl. The crickets stopped singing; the frogs fell silent.

“Oh, could you?” Rosebud asked.

“Well now,” the owl stammered, “in theory that is true, but then again it is a matter of orientation, triangulation, kilometers versus—”

“But will you try?” Trouble pleaded. “I miss my family so. My mother must be crazy with worry by now.”

“You must try,” Rosebud said to the owl.

They waited for the owl’s reply as he tapped his talons on the branch. Finally, he clicked his beak in irritation. “Yes, I will try. Of course I will try.” He stretched his wings in preparation of flight. “I would hardly be an owl worthy of the species if I did not apply my considerable intellect to—”

“Hurray!” Trouble yipped. “Thank you, Professor!”

He picked up the fox’s tennis ball in his mouth. It tasted of the dog who had left it behind.

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