Jamie and the Magic Whistle Read online

  Helen Brain & Nicky Webb

  Illustrations by Rico Schacherl

  Human & Rousseau

  1

  Ilona is a knitwit

  School was over. Jamie wanted to say hello to her mother, vet Arabella Waine. But first she had to get past Arabella’s receptionist, Ilona.

  “Get that goon out of my surgery,” bellowed Ilona as Jamie’s dog Fungi came bouncing in behind her, barking. “This is a vet practice, not a circus.”

  Fungi jumped onto the waiting room bench and grabbed a bag of biltong from the treat stand.

  “Out, OUT, OUT!” Ilona bellowed, smacking him with her knitting needle.

  Jamie tried to grab her dog, but he rushed away into the garden, his tail wagging like a helicopter blade.

  “Sorry about that,” she said. “I’m still busy training him.”

  “Hmmmmmfff,” snorted Ilona. “That mutt is untrainable. I can quite see why his previous owners got rid of him.”

  Jamie felt her hackles rising. Poor Fungi had had a horrible start in life. She and her mother had been driving on the highway when they saw the tiny puppy being thrown out of the car in front of them. They had stopped and rescued him. Luckily he wasn’t injured.

  “He should have been sent to the SPCA. I can’t imagine why your mother agreed to keep him,” Ilona said with her nose in the air.

  I will be the Better Person, thought Jamie, remembering her beloved headmistress, Mrs Jones. I won’t lose my temper. I won’t tell her she looks like a sweaty walrus, just not as good looking.

  It would still be a few minutes before her mother was finished with the last patient. She would have to think of something to talk about.

  “What’s that hanging around your neck, Ilona?” she asked, pointing at the small silver tube hanging from a red cord.

  “It’s Knight’s Magic Whistle,” said Ilona.

  “What’s so magic about it?” asked Jamie.

  Ilona huffed and plonked her knitting down on the desk. She was knitting a thick cable-knit sweater. It looked very hot and it smelt like dog. She was making it from the hair of her St Bernard, Justus.

  “First and foremost,” Ilona said as though she was talking to a dim-witted three-year-old, “it was made by THE Dr Knight. You know … the famous TV vet? The one I used to work for?”

  Jamie nodded. Of course she knew him. Ilona never stopped talking about him. Arabella hated him. She called him a “smug, self-satisfied windbag”.

  “Well,” continued Ilona, patting the whistle fondly, “this is a training whistle that he made for my Justus. A dog can be trained to do ANYTHING with this whistle.”

  Jamie’s face lit up. “Can I borrow it?” she asked. “For training Fungi?”

  “Of course not,” snapped Ilona, spinning her knitting around to start a new row. “You’ll get spit in it. It will rust. And there are only two in the whole world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s Dr Knight’s very own invention. This is the prototype. He’s asked me to train Justus with it.” She beamed at the photo of her St Bernard puppy that stood in a silver frame on her desk. “If anything should happen to the whistle – well, I shudder to think about it!” and she pursed her lips tightly and said, “Now run along. We’re trying to get some work done here.”

  2

  Fungi is back

  A moment later the front door opened.

  “Mrs Jones!” gasped Jamie.

  In came the person she admired most in the world – a tall, regal woman with perfect posture, and blonde hair gathered into a smooth roll. She patted her string of pearls and smiled graciously when she saw Jamie.

  “Why, hello, Jamie. Ilona, good day. I’ll be needing a bag of Esmeralda’s dog food.”

  Mrs Jones was Jamie’s headmistress, and Esmeralda was her little pug. The one she took to school every day.

  “Certainly, Mrs Jones,” said Ilona, squeezing herself out from behind the desk. Her thighs rubbed together as she waddled over to the bags of dog food. Her tracksuit pants were covered in dog hair.

  Mrs Jones wrinkled her nose a little. If Ilona had been a pupil, Jamie thought, Mrs Jones would have told her to use a clothes brush and smarten up.

  One day, Jamie promised herself as she watched Ilona heave a 25kg bag of dog food over her shoulder, she would be as perfectly groomed as Mrs Jones. She straightened her back and tried to smile like Mrs Jones, with her chin in the air.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Ilona snapped as she passed her. She dropped the bag at Mrs Jones’ feet and began to register the sale on the computer.

  Mrs Jones pulled a small pile of fliers from her handbag. “Now, Ilona, I have a little favour to ask you, dear.”

  Ilona looked pleased (she liked to be needed), but she said testily, “Well, Mrs Jones, it all depends on what it is. I am extremely busy, what with keeping this practice running smoothly and with my work for Dr Knight, the TV pet specialist? Now there’s a vet who knows how to run a practice. Not like the chaos here. I don’t know what Arabella would do without me.”

  Jamie was outraged. If anyone kept this practice running smoothly, it was Arabella’s assistant, Unathi. She was about to jump in and tell Ilona so when Mrs Jones laid a cool hand on her shoulder.

  “I know how dedicated you are, Ilona dear,” soothed Mrs Jones. “It would be a great service to the community if you would judge the Best Behaved Dog Competition that we are having at the school fair,” and she handed her a flyer.

  For a moment Ilona looked delighted. She picked up the flyer and read it. “Goodness me, a R1 000 prize for first place!” Then her face fell. “What about Justus? He’d like to be part of the competition too. I can’t enter him and be the judge as well. Its not allowed.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs Jones, patting her hair. “I suppose … it’s such a lot to ask, Ilona dear, but … do you think you could ask Dr Knight if he’d be the judge? It would be such an honour to have him.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” cried Ilona. “I’ll get on to it right away.”

  Mrs Jones paid for her dog food.

  “Let me carry it to the car,” Jamie said, picking up the bag, staggering under the weight.

  “Why, that’s very kind of you, Jamie,” Mrs Jones said, smiling serenely. “I’ll open the door for you, shall I?”

  As she opened the front door, she was met by a bouncing mess of brown and white fur, dragging something behind him in the mud. Jamie stopped in her tracks.

  “Drop it, Fungi, DROP IT!” she yelled.

  “Whatever does he have in his mouth, dear?” asked Mrs Jones.

  Jamie dropped the dog food and grabbed Fungi’s collar. “Drop it, drop it!” she repeated. He looked at her, rolling his crazy eyes. She just knew he was laughing at her.

  “Drop that!” bellowed Ilona, blowing the Magic Whistle.

  Fungi opened his mouth. A large pair of granny panties fell at Mrs Jones’ feet.

  Jamie wanted to die.

  It was bad enough that her mother wore hideous underwear. But to have Mrs Jones see them – that was just too much to bear.

  3

  Aboo, the Boxer puppy

  Jamie had just managed to rescue her mother’s panties and to shut Fungi back in the yard when a white car drove into the parking lot.

  “Hello, Mr Kumar,” called Jamie. The elderly man was one of Arabella’s favourite clients, and the owner of Aboo, a young bouncy brown and white boxer.

  Mr Kumar was close to tears as Jamie opened the car door for him. “Something is wrong with Aboo,” he said. “I found him lying in the yard. He is not walking. I think that maybe he has been run over or something – but I don’t
understand how he got out. I have him in the car but I can’t lift him alone. He is too heavy.”

  “I’ll call Unathi,” Jamie said.

  Jamie held open the door as Arabella’s assistant, Unathi, carried the boxer inside. She was shocked at the change in him. He lay limply in Unathi’s arms.

  Arabella came straight out of her consulting room. “Come in, come in,” she said. She stroked Aboo as Unathi laid him gently on the table.

  Unathi closed the door and went back to the cages. Jamie knew she should be doing her homework, but she busied herself tidying the notice board. She had to wait and see if Aboo was going to be alright.

  A few minutes later the consultation room door opened again.

  “I’ll send off the blood samples,” Arabella said to the old man. “We’ll have the results in a few days. I’ll phone you as soon as they arrive.”

  Mr Kumar’s eyes had filled with tears again. “And if he is really bad, then what happens? Will we have to put him to sleep?”

  Jamie gasped. Not Aboo!

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Arabella said. “For now, keep him warm and comfortable. Make sure he gets the pills I’ve given you. And phone me any time, day or night, if you’re worried.”

  Jamie felt like crying as Unathi carried Aboo to the car. It was terrible to think that the beautiful dog’s life might be cut short because he couldn’t walk.

  4

  Family dinner

  It was a week later. The family were sitting down to dinner. Jamie wrinkled her nose at the dish of overcooked cottage pie with limp vegetables.

  “So what’s happening with the dog competition?” she asked her mother, hiding her Brussels sprouts under the gem squash shell. “Did Dr Knight agree to be the judge?”

  Arabella frowned at Jamie’s brother, nine-year-old Tick. His monkey, Bieber, was perched on his shoulder, taunting Fungi, who was barking madly.

  “Be quiet, Fungi,” she ordered. “Tick, you know the rule. No monkeys at meal times.”

  “It’s not fair,” said Tick. “Jamie’s allowed HER pet. Why can’t I have mine?”

  “Because yours is vermin,” said Professor Waine, coming out of his daydream. He shovelled a mouthful of cottage pie into his mouth. Most of it fell on his beard, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Nasty animals, monkeys. I can’t imagine what you see in them.”

  Bieber clung to Tick’s hair and gibbered angrily at the professor. Fungi barked even more frantically. Under the table the ancient old labrador, Rupert, let out another noxious fart.

  The monkey shook his fist at the professor and bared his teeth.

  “Geez, Dad, it’s freakish the way that animal hates you,” said Jamie’s older brother, Toby.

  “I assure you the feeling is entirely mutual,” said the professor.

  “If you didn’t let your dog in the house at mealtimes, this wouldn’t happen,” sighed Arabella. “And eat your vegetables. Don’t give them to Rupert.”

  “Good Lord, Jamie, you didn’t give a Brussels sprout to Rupert, did you?” grumbled the professor, looking at the old dog under the table. “He’s going to pass even more flatus.”

  “All dogs out,” said Arabella. “Jamie, take them out, please.”

  “That’s so unfair! He’s only barking because that stupid monkey’s sitting on Tick’s head. And poor Rupert’s old,” Jamie cried.

  “Right now, please,” Arabella said more firmly.

  I wish I lived with Pan, Jamie thought as she pushed the dogs through the kitchen door. Her best friend, Pandora, was an only child. She lived in a beautiful house with leather furniture and no clutter, and their housekeeper was a gourmet cook.

  “So did he agree?” Tick asked Arabella as Jamie came back to the table. “Did the famous Dr Knight agree to come to the dog competition?”

  “Ilona used to work for Dr Knight,” grinned Toby. “Has she mentioned it?”

  Arabella threw her napkin at him. “Don’t be naughty, Toby. Sadly,” she said to Jamie, “Dr Knight said yes. We will never hear the end of it now.”

  Through the kitchen window Jamie could see Fungi digging in the vegetable patch. Baby carrots were flying in all directions. Fungi was adorable, but he really did need some discipline. He didn’t listen to a word anyone said. He was like Tick, but worse.

  “I’m going to enter Fungi,” she said. “He’s going to win the R1 000 first prize.”

  “Yeah, right,” Toby grinned. “I’d like to see you train that dog.”

  “Don’t be so nasty to your sister,” said Arabella. “Jamie, I think that’s a wonderful idea. You go ahead and train him. The money will be useful anyway.”

  “I’ll turn him into a champion,” said Jamie. “Just you see.”

  5

  A secret recipe

  The next morning was Saturday, and straight after breakfast Tick bounced off to find Chanza. Chanza lived in the flat downstairs with his dad Unathi, who was Arabella’s assistant.

  “Jamie’s training Fungi so she can win R1 000 in the Best Behaved Dog Competition at the school fair,” he told Chanza as they walked down the garden to Tick’s shed.

  “I wish we could win R1 000,” said Chanza.

  “We could enter Bieber.” Tick scratched the small monkey’s head. Bieber clung to his shoulder and chittered softly.

  “Tiny problem. He’s not a dog,” said Chanza. “And second tiny problem, he’s not well behaved.”

  “He would definitely win the Worst Behaved Competition …” said Tick, as the monkey leaped onto the washing line and swung upside down from one of Toby’s T-shirts. “Do you think they might be having one of those too?”

  “Probably not,” said Chanza. “How are we gonna make enough money for the Superwhizz Science kit? We still need R130.”

  Tick grabbed his arm. “Guess what! You’re not going to believe this – I found the formula for itchy powder!”

  “Focus, Tick, focus!” Chanza smacked Tick’s head. “How do we make R130 for the Superwhizz Science kit?”

  Tick smacked him back. “Because, DUFUS, we make the itchy powder and we sell it. Duh! There’s this guy who sells it on eBay. People pay hundreds of dollars for the stuff. We can sell it at the school fair.”

  Chanza looked amazed. “Serious? Tiny problem though – where do we get the ingredients? The professor isn’t going to be happy if we steal them from his laboratory again. Not after last time …”

  Tick looked pleased with himself. “The main ingredient is easy. You know those little red blobs on my mom’s roses?”

  Chanza nodded. “Rose hips?”

  “Well, if you open them, they got little hairs inside and those are the itchy powder. Simple.”

  Chanza looked impressed. “So all we have to do is find hundreds of rose hips?”

  “Right,” said Tick, hoisting Bieber onto his shoulder and setting off for the rose bed. “We can start in the garden.”

  6

  Chickenpox for sale

  Toby, the eldest of the three Waine children, looked thoughtfully out of his upstairs window. His fingers were fondling a huge pimple on his chin. In his hand he held a small glass bottle containing 37 fresh chickenpox scabs he’d bought for R20 from Rory Rinkelbaker in grade 8.

  He watched Tick and Chanza come running past the washing line and disappear around the front of the house. They’re up to something, he thought.

  Jamie was also in the back garden. She was trying to teach Fungi to sit and stay on command. She had a pocketful of dog treats she’d “borrowed” from the vet shop. Toby wondered if he should try and blackmail her out of her pocket money. Their mother got very annoyed when they took things from the vet shop without asking.

  “You’ll never train that dog!” he called out the window. Fungi was a cross between a Maltese poodle and a Great Dane. He had a long body, short legs, fluffy fur and a goofy expression.

  “Yes, I will,” called Jamie. “And stop squeezing your pimples. You’ll contaminate the planet wit
h your toxic pus.”

  The pimple popped. Toby held out his finger so she could see the green blob.

  “I’m going to wipe this on your pillow!” he called.

  But then he noticed that one of the chickenpox scabs was starting to dry out. He needed to get them into his dad’s cryogenic freezer before they became completely useless.

  Toby hid the bottle of scabs under his shirt and crept upstairs to the professor’s lab. He listened at the door for the crackling noise that would mean that his dad was in there, fiddling with the Van der Graaf generator.

  Nothing. His dad must be out.

  He sneaked inside.

  Toby opened the cryogenic freezer. A cold mist of liquid nitrogen poured out into the air. He hid his bottle behind another specimen and closed the door. “There you go, little scabs,” he murmured. “Each one of you is worth R50 to me.”

  He couldn’t help grinning as he crept down the wooden stairs without the professor discovering him. Jamie was going to try and make money by winning a competition at a dog show with that dumb dog of hers. His plan was a lot more foolproof. He was going to sell his freeze-dried scabs to some of the guys in the chess and computer club. If they rubbed them on an open wound he was pretty sure that they would come down with chickenpox. It was an excellent way for them to get out of sports day.

  Toby planned on using a scab himself to get out of the school camp. He chuckled and went back to his room to post an advertisement for his product in his favourite chat room. Soon he would be rich.

  7

  Fifi is coming to stay

  That afternoon Jamie lay on the sofa cuddling Fungi. He rested his head on her tummy and gazed at her adoringly. When he behaved he was the most perfect dog that ever lived.

  Unfortunately he had developed a liking for underwear. Jamie thought her mother’s were bad enough. But what Fungi really liked were men’s underpants, especially if they were dirty. He’d stolen her father’s from the washing basket, and yesterday she’d found him chewing up Toby’s sad grey briefs. He would have liked Tick’s too, but Tick never changed his underpants.