For Billy and Bernard, woof! ~ D R

  For Seb and Isabelle with love from

  Eric the cat ~ A M

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  POOP!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  TEACHER!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  EXTRAS!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  COPYRIGHT

  Bertie liked going to the local park after school. It had a playground, gardens and bags of open space. It was the perfect place for a kick about with his friends while Whiffer zoomed off chasing squirrels. Today though the park was different. There were large signs everywhere…

  “What’s going on?” asked Bertie. Eugene and Darren looked baffled.

  Mr Monk, the grumpy head gardener, came marching towards them.

  “You’ve read the signs then?” he said. “The Council wants the park kept safe and clean so I’ve introduced some new rules.”

  “Dog fouling?” said Bertie. “Dogs can’t play football.”

  “Very funny,” said Mr Monk. “It means no dog mess. From now on any dog I catch doing their business will be banned.”

  Banned? Bertie couldn’t believe his ears. If dogs couldn’t poop in the park where could they poop?

  “But I always clear up after Whiffer,” he argued.

  Mr Monk shook his head. “Makes no difference, rules are rules,” he said. “No poop in this park – you’ve been warned.”

  Bertie watched him stomp off back to his wheelbarrow. He thought the day couldn’t get much worse, but someone else had arrived – Know-All Nick, and he was carrying a poodle in his arms.

  “Since when did you have a dog?” asked Darren.

  “I got her last week, actually,” boasted Nick, setting her down. “This is Flossy, isn’t she the cleverest dog in the world?”

  Bertie thought Nick and Flossy seemed strangely alike – both had the same snooty expression and looked way too pleased with themselves. And Flossy’s coat made her look like a walking pom-pom. Whiffer padded over to sniff her but Flossy ignored him.

  “She better not poop in the park,” said Darren. “Did you see the signs?”

  “Oh they don’t worry me, she’s very well trained,” bragged Nick. “In fact she only does her you-know-what when I tell her.”

  Bertie was amazed – a dog that pooped to order, after only one week? He still couldn’t get Whiffer to lie down after two years!

  “Anyway, we can’t stop, Flossy needs her exercise,” said Nick. “And I don’t want her catching fleas from your smelly old mutt.”

  Bertie glared after him.

  “Trust Nick to have a poodle,” he said. “I bet she’s never got muddy in her life.”

  Whiffer was tugging at his lead so Bertie set him free.

  “Is that a good idea?” asked Eugene.

  “It’s fine, he never goes far,” said Bertie.

  “Come on,” said Darren, “I thought we were playing football. You’re in goal, Bertie.”

  “Me? I was goalie last time,” argued Bertie. “What about Eugene?”

  But Eugene was looking across the park to the trees.

  “Can you see Whiffer?” he asked.

  Bertie scanned the park for any sign of him. Maybe he shouldn’t have let him off the lead after all?

  Just then they heard a howl of rage.

  “GARRRRRRRGH!”

  It was Mr Monk. He was standing close to the path. His face had turned crimson and he was pointing to something on the grass. Bertie’s heart sank as Whiffer trotted into view. He wagged his tail at the head gardener as if expecting a pat on the head.

  “YOU!” Mr Monk bellowed at Bertie. “OVER HERE! NOW!”

  Bertie trailed over with a sigh. Mr Monk looked like he was about to explode. He pointed to a small, pongy pile on the grass.

  “What do you call this?” he demanded.

  Bertie inspected it. “It looks like dog poo,” he said. Quite honestly he was surprised Mr Monk needed to ask.

  “Your dog did this,” said Mr Monk.

  “How do you know?” asked Bertie, putting Whiffer on his lead. “Any dog could have done it!”

  “Rubbish!” snapped Mr Monk. “Do you see any other dogs around?”

  Bertie looked about. There were two or three other dogs in the park, but they were all miles away with their owners. Nick and his snooty poodle were nowhere to be seen.

  “I still say it wasn’t Whiffer,” Bertie protested. “You can’t prove it.”

  “I don’t need to,” said Mr Monk. “You saw the signs, I gave you fair warning. That’s it – your dog’s banned from the park.”

  “What?” gasped Bertie.

  “You can’t do that!” cried Darren.

  “Just watch me,” said Mr Monk. “Rules are rules. Don’t let me see him again or your parents will hear about it.”

  Bertie tried to argue but Mr Monk was in no mood to listen. He dragged Whiffer towards the exit. At the gates, they found Nick and Flossy waiting for them.

  “Oh dear, Bertie!” Nick smirked. “Your pongy mutt’s really done it this time. If only you’d trained him properly.”

  “Oh, put a sock in it, Nickerless,” muttered Bertie.

  “It’s not fair!” Bertie complained as they walked home. “Surely he can’t just ban Whiffer!”

  “He probably can,” said Darren. “He’s in charge so he can do what he likes.”

  “But how does he know it was Whiffer?” asked Bertie. “Nobody actually saw him do it.”

  “Whiffer was the only dog around,” Darren pointed out.

  “Yes but I’ve seen Whiffer’s poos a hundred times and they don’t look like that,” said Bertie.

  Eugene looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “I did see Nick sneaking off with Flossy while Mr Monk was yelling at you,” he said. “He seemed in a big hurry.”

  Bertie stopped in his tracks.

  “Why didn’t you say so before?” he cried. “I knew it! That snooty poodle was the pooper. Wait till I tell Mr Monk!”

  “It won’t do any good,” said Darren. “Mr Monk’s already made up his mind. He’s never liked you anyway.”

  This was true, thought Bertie, but he had to clear Whiffer’s name somehow. The park was Whiffer’s favourite place and where else could they go for walks? There was only one answer.

  “We’ll just have to prove Whiffer didn’t do it,” said Bertie.

  “How can we do that?” asked Eugene.

  “By catching whoever did,” replied Bertie. “I bet you a million pounds it was Flossy.”

  “You might be right,” said Eugene. “But how are we going to prove it?”

  “Tomorrow we’re going back to stake out the park,” said Bertie. “We’ll call it Operation Whodunnit.”

  “Ha ha!” laughed Darren. “You mean Operation Poodunnit!”

  The next day they returned to the park after school. It was the perfect chance to put Operation Poodunnit into action. Eugene had brought his binoculars while Bertie had brought Whiffer because his parents didn’t yet know about the ban.

  At the gates Bertie tied Whiffer’s lead to the railings.

  “It’s not for long,” he told him. “We’ll get you back in the park, I promise.”

  Whiffer whined miserably as they walked off. Bertie had never left him outside the park before.

  Along the path they ran into Mr Monk sweeping up leaves.

  “Back again?” he grunted. “I hope you haven’t brought that smelly mutt of yours?”

  “I left him outside,” replied Bertie. “And he’s not smelly either, he had a bath last month.”

  They walked on till they were out of sight.

  “So what’s the master plan?” asked Darren.

  “Simple, we hide and keep watch,” said Bertie. “And when we catch Flossy in the act we make sure Mr Monk knows about it.”

  “If it was Flossy,” said Eugene, but Bertie wasn’t listening. He’d already crawled into the bushes.

  They hid there for ages. One or two joggers ran by and the playground filled up. At long last a woman came along the path with a little pug. It sniffed around the bushes where they were hiding. Then its tail began to twitch.

  “BONZO! Bonzo, come on!” shouted the woman.

  Bonzo gave a bark and scurried after her.

  “Rats!” sighed Darren. “Just when he was about to do a poo!”

  Another half an hour went by. Dogs came and went – a Dalmatian, a bulldog, a sausage dog and four yappy puppies. But none of them stopped to do their business or even to wee against a tree. There was no sign of Flossy either.

  “That’s it, I give up!” groaned Darren. “This is a waste of time!”

  “They’ll be closing the park soon,” yawned Eugene.

  Bertie stood up and immediately ducked back down again.

  “It’s Nick!” he hissed. “He’s coming this way!”

  This was it, their big chance to catch Flossy in the act. Bertie watched as Nick let Flossy off her lead. Flossy bounded off… Uh oh – she was coming straight towards the bushes. She sniffed around then began barking excitedly.

  “SHOO!” hissed Bertie. “Go away, you dopey dog!”

  Footsteps came closer. A grinning face peered down at them.

  “Hello, Bertie!” said Nick. “What are you doing in there?”

  Bertie, Darren and Eugene crawled out of the bushes. It looked like Operation Poodunnit was a hopeless failure.

  “Well?” said Nick. “What’s going on?”

  “Mind your own business,” said Bertie. “We were playing a game.”

  “Hide and seek,” said Eugene.

  Nick raised his eyebrows. “Really? Hide and seek with binoculars?”

  “It’s Extreme Hide and Seek, the rules are complicated,” explained Bertie.

  Nick snorted, not believing a word of it. He changed the subject.

  “Isn’t that your dog, Sniffer, sitting outside?” he asked.

  “His name’s Whiffer,” said Bertie. “And he’s not allowed in, as you know.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot he’s banned!” chortled Nick. “Flossy would hate to be left outside, but then she’s so well trained she never gets into trouble.”

  Bertie scowled. “Whiffer’s trained too.”

  “Oh yes?” sneered Nick. “What can he do – fetch a stick?”

  “Loads of things,” said Bertie. “He can beg for a start.”

  This was almost true. Whiffer begged by following Bertie all around the house until he got fed. It was the simple commands he hadn’t mastered, like ‘Sit’ or ‘Stay’. Flossy was so perfect she probably obeyed Nick’s every order, thought Bertie. Wait a moment … he’d just had a brilliant idea! If he knew one thing about Nick it was that he loved to show off.

  “Anyway, I bet Flossy doesn’t always obey you,” said Bertie.

  “Of course she does, dumbo! I’ll show you if you like,” said Nick.

  He turned to Flossy who was nosing in a pile of leaves.

  “FLOSSY!” barked Nick, sounding like a sergeant major. “FLOSSY, SIT!”

  Flossy immediately sat down.

  “That’s easy, any dog can do that,” scoffed Bertie. “Watch this then,” said Nick. “FLOSSY! Roll over!” Flossy rolled over in the leaves.

  “Aww! That’s so cute!” cooed Eugene.

  “Nothing special,” said Bertie. “Can she do any tricks?”

  “Of course she can,” boasted Nick. He brought out a tennis ball from his pocket and threw it high in the air. Flossy jumped and caught it neatly in her mouth. Nick bounced the ball and Flossy caught it a second time. Finally, he rolled the ball to her. Flossy trapped it under one paw, before batting it back.

  Eugene clapped. Even Darren was impressed.

  “You see?” crowed Nick triumphantly. “Like I said, she can do anything.”

  “Well, not anything,” snorted Bertie.

  “Anything I’ve taught her,” insisted Nick.

  “Okay, you told us she only poos when you tell her,” said Bertie.

  “It’s true! She does!” beamed Nick.

  “Well, I don’t believe it,” said Bertie, nudging Darren. “No dog is that well trained.”

  “Yeah, you’re making it up,” said Darren, catching on.

  “I’m not!” said Nick indignantly. “I’ll prove it if you like.”

  “Go on then, we’re waiting,” said Bertie.

  He’d just caught sight of Mr Monk over Nick’s shoulder. He was pushing his wheelbarrow down the path towards them. This was perfect timing. With any luck the head gardener would arrive right on cue.

  “Flossy!” cried Nick, crouching down. “Flossy, do-do time!”

  Flossy looked up. For a moment Bertie thought she hadn’t understood.

  “DO-DO TIME, FLOSSY!” sang Nick.

  Flossy squatted down obediently. Her tail twitched and a neat little poop plopped on to the grass.

  Nick clapped his hands with delight.

  “See! I told you!” he whooped.

  “OI! YOU!” roared a voice behind him. Mr Monk threw down his wheelbarrow and came marching towards them. All the colour drained from Nick’s face. He tried to hide the evidence but it was too late.

  “Can’t you read the signs?” snarled Mr Monk. “No dog fouling in the park!”

  “But it wasn’t my fault! Bertie made her do it!” wailed Nick.

  “Don’t talk rubbish, she’s your dog you should control her!” snapped Mr Monk. “She’s banned. Now off you go!”

  Nick gave Bertie a furious look. He knew he’d been tricked but there was nothing he could do about it. He slunk off towards the gates with Flossy trotting at his heels. Bertie turned to Mr Monk.

  “You see? I told you the phantom pooper wasn’t Whiffer!” he said. “It was Nick’s poodle all the time.”

  Mr Monk shovelled the pile from the grass with a look of disgust.

  “So is the ban lifted?” Bertie kept on. “Is Whiffer allowed back in the park?”

  Mr Monk pulled a face. Given what he’d just witnessed, he didn’t have much choice.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” he sighed.

  Bertie gave a whoop of joy and ran off towards the gates. Wait till he told Whiffer!

  Five minutes later Bertie and his friends watched Whiffer race across the park towards the trees.

  “Look at him go!” laughed Bertie. “He loves this park.”

  “He does look happy to be back,” agreed Darren.

  “Wait, why’s he stopped? What’s he doing now?” asked Eugene.

  Bertie grabbed Eugene’s binoculars to take a closer look.

  “OH NO!” he groaned.

  It was assembly and Bertie sat in the hall listening to Miss Skinner drone on.

  “As you know we’ve had one or two problems with the heating, especially the radiators in Miss Boot’s classroom,” said the head teacher.

  One or two problems? thought Bertie, it was like the Arctic in there! If this went on much longer he’d probably turn into an iceberg. He was already wearing his coat and hat, plus three pairs of woolly socks.

  “Mr Grouch tells me he’s called a plumber so I’m sure the problem will be fixed soon,” said Miss Skinner. “But now some exciting news – I’m proud to tell you that one of our teachers has been shortlisted for Teacher of the Year.”

  A buzz of excitement went round the hall. Teacher of the Year? Who on earth could it be? thought Bertie. Maybe kind Miss Darling or weedy Mr Weakly who let them do whatever they liked?

  Miss Skinner paused dramatically.

  “So will you all join me in a big round of applause for … Miss Boot.”

  A gasp went up. Bertie thought he might die of shock. Miss Boot? She had to be kidding! Darren and Eugene gaped at each other. Miss Boot came forward blushing modestly as everyone clapped.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It’s obviously a great honour to be considered for this award. Perhaps my hard work, dedication and general excellence caught the judges’ attention. I’d like to thank everyone who supported me.”

  As they filed out of the hall, Bertie still couldn’t believe it.

  “Miss Boot?” he said. “Are they out of their minds?”

  “She has been teaching for a hundred years,” said Eugene.

  “I know,” said Bertie. “But the award isn’t for Oldest Teacher on the Planet.”

  “She does have some good points,” Darren argued.

  “Like what?” asked Bertie.

  Darren tried to think. “Well, she’s always nice to Snuffles.”

  “He’s a hamster!” said Bertie. “She’s never nice to me! How did they choose Miss Boot? What idiot would even suggest her?”

  “Actually it was me,” said a voice. They turned to see Know-All Nick, smiling at them smugly.

  “You? You put her up for this?” cried Bertie.

  “Of course! She’s my favourite teacher,” said Nick. “And not just because she always gives me top marks.”

  “But how did you do it?” asked Darren.

  “Easy peasy,” said Nick. “I wrote the judges a letter. I said Miss Boot’s the best teacher in the universe. She’s kind, patient and she never has favourites.”

  “Apart from you,” snorted Bertie.

  “Anyway, it looks like my letter did the trick,” said Nick. “And Miss Boot’s promised me a gold star for writing it.”

 

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