Wonderfully Wacky Families Read online

  He had to think of some way out of this. There had to be a way to stop Uncle Wal making them leave the mountain! He had to find Mum and Dad!

  At least it was easier to plan in human form. Wolf form was good for hunting and tracking and speed, and learning about the world with your nose. But thoughts came more clearly when you were human.

  Buster scratched a flea bite thoughtfully. If only he were a detective. He’d read a book about a detective once—Buster reckoned one of the few good things about being human was books. But he wasn’t a detective. He was just an everyday type of werewolf.

  Buster hesitated. He mightn’t be a detective…but he could hire one! Just like people did in books! Surely a detective could find his parents!

  That was it!

  Buster gulped. The only way he’d be able to find a detective was to leave the mountain and head down into town. He’d been to town before of course, but only with Uncle Wal, to do fun things like hunt through the rubbish bins and chase cars and cats and see which public toilet had the best flavoured toilet bowls. It had even been fun when Dad had taken him in wolf form too!

  But to go alone…

  Buster sat up straight and scratched his ear with his hind leg, then realised he was human shaped, and bit his lip instead. If that was what it took to find Mum and Dad, he’d do it!

  Tomorrow!

  CHAPTER 3

  Buster Sets Out

  Breakfast was mashed broccoli and peanut butter as usual, and everyone was human as they ate it.

  Uncle Wal glared at Uncle Flea. ‘Use a spoon, man, a spoon!’ he snapped.

  Uncle Wal was wearing a nifty human outfit this morning—green-and-purple-striped trousers, a pink T-shirt and tie, with a fluffy woollen beanie on his head. But he looked even more tired and worried than he had the day before.

  Uncle Flea stopped trying to lap his broccoli, and tried to lick his whiskers. ‘Spoons, spoons, spoons,’ he grumbled. ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. What’s wrong with tongues, I’d like to know?’

  Uncle Wal growled softly across the table, and Uncle Flea’s grumbling stopped.

  Uncle Wal stood up. ‘Now,’ he said to Buster. ‘I’m going down to town this morning to look for your parents.’

  ‘But Mum and Dad would never leave the mountain without telling us!’ protested Buster.

  ‘Silence!’ barked Uncle Wal. ‘I want no puddles on the doorpost today. Understood? And no wandering about the mountain either. I could smell where you went yesterday! I’m in charge of this hunt, not you.’ He glared at Buster.

  ‘Yes, Uncle Wal,’ promised Buster sincerely. After all, he planned to go to town today too, not roam the mountain!

  ‘Everyone is to stay in human form all day. We’re all going to be human from now on, so you’d better get used to it. And no fleas in the carpet!’ Uncle Wal looked at Uncle Flea sternly. ‘If you want to scratch, go outside. Or better still have a bath.’

  ‘A bath!’ quavered Uncle Flea. ‘I’ve never had a bath in my life! You can’t make an old dog take a bath!’

  Uncle Wal showed his teeth. Uncle Wal might look human this morning, but his teeth were pure wolf. ‘You’ll take a bath if I say so,’ he growled softly. ‘Soon we’re all going to have baths every day. Even,’ he paused, then hissed, ‘brush our teeth!’

  Uncle Flea whimpered.

  ‘I’ll see you all tonight.’ Uncle Wal marched out of the room, his flip-flops flapping as he went.

  Buster listened to Uncle Wal’s footsteps disappear down the corridor. Uncle Flea took a deep breath and began to lap his mashed broccoli and peanut butter again. Aunty Paws whined softly.

  ‘He’s so different these days!’ she whispered, then shook her head sadly. ‘What are you going to do today, young pup?’ she asked Buster, obviously trying to change the subject.

  ‘Oh, just sniff around,’ said Buster vaguely. ‘I’d better get going. See you later, everyone!’

  ‘But Wal said we had to be human, and not roam around the mountain!’ cried Aunty Paws, distressed.

  Buster patted her wrinkled old hand. Aunty Paws always looked more fragile in her human form. ‘I won’t

  let him smell me,’ he assured her. ‘And I’ll Change back before I come home.’

  ‘You’re a good pup,’ said Aunty Paws sadly. ‘If only you were old enough…’ She stopped again.

  Old enough to challenge Uncle Wal, thought Buster, finishing the sentence for her. So we could keep on being wolves! Well, I’m not. But I am old enough to find a detective!

  Buster shut his eyes, nodded his head twice, then…

  It was like an upside-down hiccup, with a wriggle in between. Buster could feel his bum getting furrier, his ears getting more pointed, his arms getting shorter and his tail getting longer…

  And he was a wolf.

  The kitchen smelled warm and rich and meaty, and the problems of the future faded away.

  Aunty Paws smiled, and picked his clothes up off the floor. ‘Have fun, my puppy,’ she said softly, and Buster knew that she really meant: ‘Have fun as a wolf while you can.’

  Buster bounced up and gave Aunty’s cheek a quick lick, then gave Uncle’s bum a sniff. Okay, it wasn’t right to go sniffing someone when they were in human form, but it cheered Uncle Flea up. Dad always said werewolf rule number three was: Always sniff a bloke’s bum and you’ll learn all there is to know about him.

  Uncle Wal’s bum smells of talcum powder, thought Buster. It’s as though he’s stopped being a wolf altogether.

  Now…

  Buster bounded off down the corridor, his tail wagging.

  CHAPTER 4

  Down off Werewolf Mountain

  There were so many advantages to being in wolf form, thought Buster, as he raced down the mountain and began to trot along the road between the paddocks. To begin with he was much faster—it would take him all day to walk to town if he was human!

  No clothes to carry. No need for a packed lunch—he could grab a quick corgi on the way if he felt hungry; and there were always gutters, or fish ponds for a drink, or even a public toilet bowl if he felt like something sweeter.

  But it was the sense of smell that was best as a werewolf, thought Buster happily, sniffing the scents of cattle droppings and old grass in the paddocks. It wasn’t just that smells were richer—you could smell what happened yesterday too, and the day before, and the week before that.

  Ah, yes! A calf had been born here last week…and a car had stopped here so a human kid could have a widdle. Humans! snorted Buster. They never even thought to use their widdle to mark out territory, or to tell people where they’d been. They just widdled when they needed to…mmm, yes, the kid had been carsick too, and a fox had sniffed the vomit and…

  The whole world was layers and layers of smells, and as a wolf you could understand them all.

  It felt good to have the wind in his ears and the feel of the dirt road under his paws. There were more cars about now. Buster wrinkled his nose—the fumes from car exhausts were so strong it was hard to smell other things when one was around. No wonder humans never used their noses, thought Buster pityingly, when they had to live with cars!

  They hardly ever saw all the way up the mountain. The road was too rough and too steep to be inviting. But if any car came up, there was nothing suspicious to see—just normal-looking humans, if the werewolves were in human form, or big hairy dogs if they weren’t.

  And if a human caught sight of someone Changing from wolf to human—well, they’d just they were seeing things!

  Buster chased each car that passed just for the fun of it, barking happily as the dust shot up from under their wheels as they overtook him.

  Life was good!

  Buster pulled himself up suddenly. That was the trouble with being in wolf form—you got so caught up in the joy of life, you forgot what you were doing.

  A detective. That was it! He had to hire a detective to help find his parents!

  Buster padded along the roa
d, then stopped, and scratched himself thoughtfully.

  Exactly how did you find a detective? Uncle Wal knew stuff like that, thought Buster. Two weeks ago he could have asked him. But two weeks ago he didn’t need a detective!

  A werewolf detective would just widdle on a few posts, so anyone who came along could sniff and say, ‘Aha! There’s been a detective here! I think I’ll hire them!’

  Buster shook his head. Life would be a lot simpler if humans learnt how to widdle on doorposts.

  Maybe he could look in the phone book under ‘detectives’. Mum had shown him how to use phone books and phones last time they’d gone into town.

  But it might look odd if someone looked into a phone box and saw a dog reading the phone book. Dad said werewolf rule number four was: Don’t look different when you’re down among the humans!

  Buster shook his head. He’d make sure he obeyed rule number four today, but he didn’t have time to follow rule number one and widdle on all the posts. Dad would understand, he thought hopefully. Today there were even more important things to be done than widdling.

  No, what he’d have to do was find an office block, Buster decided, the sort that looked like it might have a detective’s office in it. Then he’d wander along the corridor, looking as much like someone’s lost pet as he could, till he saw a sign like that one on the power pole that said, ‘Defective’.

  Buster stopped, and sat back on his haunches, and read the sign on the power pole again:

  Defective for hire! All your probblems sollved! 99 Snoggle Street, corll rounnd the bacck.

  Buster blinked. Surely the sign didn’t really mean ‘defective’. It had to be ‘detective’. Maybe a ‘defective’ was a special kind of detective. Yes, that would be it! And Snoggle Street was only…

  Exactly where was Snoggle Street, wondered Buster.

  Well, there was only one way to find out.

  Buster lifted his nose and sniffed. Rose gardens—you never really smelled rose gardens when you were human

  —someone doing delicious bean farts two houses along, the scent of a sleeping cat and a pair of budgies, yum!…aha, he had it now! The smells of soap powder and car park and take-away chickens were only two blocks away! Just what he needed! A shopping centre!

  Buster trotted along the road, ignoring the cat that stared at him from a windowsill, and the Doberman across the road. Huh! He could outbark a Doberman any day. His bum smelled twice as fierce as any Doberman’s! He was a werewolf, not a yappy house dog…Yes, there it was, the shopping centre car park. And there was a woman trudging across it, her bags of groceries in her arms.

  Buster slipped underneath a four-wheel drive (hmmm, it had been in an underground car park recently, by the smell of it, and a King Charles spaniel had widdled on the back tyre two days ago). Buster waited till the woman’s feet were right by his nose.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he called, ‘can you tell me the way to Snoggle Street?’

  ‘Second on the right past the garage.’ The woman turned around to see who had spoken. But of course, thought Buster with glee, she never thought to look down!

  ‘Thank you!’ barked Buster quickly. He crawled out the other side of the car and raced across the car park while the woman was still looking round. No one ever looks down, thought Buster smugly. No one ever looks at a dog to see what they’ve got to say.

  More cats…a schnauzer. Dad would eat you for breakfast with peanut butter, you yappy bit of fur, thought Buster—some good stinky fertiliser just waiting to be rolled in…And yes, there was the sign that said ‘Snoggle Street’. Buster gazed up at the numbers on the gates—23, 44…

  Number 99 looked like any other house, a blob of bricks with shrubs all about it. Not even a tower to howl from, thought Buster disgustedly, and no one had bothered to widdle anywhere to say this place had a defective in it. There wasn’t even a sign on the gate that said ‘defective’, or ‘detective’ either.

  Buster peered between the shrubs. Yes, there was a sign, Buster realised. A big sign on the shed, half-hidden down the back yard: Defective for hire. Inkyire withinn.

  Buster sat down on his haunches again. This was going to be difficult. But Dad always said that werewolf rule number five was: If you can’t sniff out a solution, use your brains instead.

  It was time to use his brains.

  Buster thought for a minute, his tongue hanging out. A cool tongue always helped him think better. Right, this was the plan…

  Buster trotted up to the shed window, then lay down in his best innocent-dog-sleeping-in-the-sun-with-his-nose-up-his-bum-just-ignore-me position. ‘Excuse me?’ he called.

  ‘What is it?’ A girl’s head poked through the window. She peered down at Buster, ignored him, and looked around again. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Me,’ said Buster. ‘There’s no use looking for me,’ he added quickly. ‘I’m hiding behind the bushes.’

  The girl’s forehead wrinkled. She was about Buster’s age, with the messiest ginger hair he’d ever seen, piled up like a bird’s nest all around her face. Ginger freckles were scattered all over her nose and cheeks, and her eyes were the same shade of grey as the grass on Werewolf Mountain.

  ‘Why can’t I see you?’ she demanded. But at least now she looked towards the bushes, thought Buster gleefully. She didn’t even bother looking down at the dog by the wall.

  ‘Er…because my business is secret,’ mumbled Buster, keeping his nose on his paws and his mouth half-shut while trying to look as much like a sleeping dog as possible. ‘I’m looking for the defective.’

  ‘The what? Look, buster, who are you calling a defective!’ yelled the girl.

  ‘But your sign says “defective”,’ argued Buster. ‘How did you know my name was Buster?’ he added hopefully. Maybe this detective-defective really was good!

  The girl sighed. ‘I’m not calling you Buster, I’m calling you “buster”,’ she explained.

  ‘Huh?’ asked Buster.

  ‘That’s “buster” without a capital “b”. It means, “You twit; what are you talking about?” And that sign should read detective, not defective. I may not be much good at spelling,’ the girl added, ‘but I’m really good at finding things out.’

  ‘Excellent!’ said Buster, pretending to snap sleepily at a fly. ‘Because I want to hire you to find my mum and dad!’

  ‘Really?’ The girl’s face brightened. ‘That’s a real case!’

  Buster frowned, which did funny things to his ears. ‘You mean you haven’t had a real case before?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ said the girl hurriedly. ‘I’m a detective, aren’t I?’ She grabbed a pen and what looked like a used Christmas card from somewhere inside, and turned it over to the blank side. ‘Now, when did you last see your parents?’

  ‘Two weeks ago! They went for a run and didn’t come back.’

  The girl scribbled on the back of the Christmas card. ‘And what do the police say?’

  ‘Er…we haven’t been to the police…’

  The girl looked up. ‘Why not?’ she demanded.

  ‘We…er…we just didn’t,’ said Buster helplessly. How could he and Aunty Paws and Uncle Flea tell the police to look for two werewolves who could be in human form?

  ‘But you looked for them?’

  ‘Yes, me and Aunty Paws and Uncle Flea sniffed everywhere, but we couldn’t smell…’ Buster broke off.

  ‘Sniffed!’ exclaimed the girl. ‘You sniffed for them?’

  ‘I mean looked,’ said Buster quickly. ‘We looked everywhere!’

  The girl was looking at him strangely. ‘You’re a dog!’ she declared suddenly. ‘A talking dog!’

  CHAPTER 5

  A Red-haired Detective

  Buster looked up at her. ‘I’m not a talking dog!’

  The girl snorted. ‘Oh yeah? You’ve got paws, a hairy nose, and you’re talking. Conclusion: you’re a talking woof woof. You don’t even have to be a detective to work that one out. Hey, are you a mutant dog? Or genetically
modified?’

  ‘I’m not a dog at all!’ Buster gulped. Dad always said werewolf rule number six was: Don’t tell anyone you’re a werewolf. Humans were terrified of werewolves, Dad said. The one sure way to get a human to widdle was to let them see your fangs, and they’d let it all go in terror.

  But this was different.

  ‘I’m a werewolf,’ Buster confessed. He waited for the girl to shriek, or maybe faint in a puddle on the floor. But all she said was, ‘Yeah, right. And I’m Winkums the elf who lives in the washing machine.’

  Buster blinked. ‘Are you really?’ he demanded.

  The girl sighed again. ‘Just my luck to get a client from the planet dumb dumb. No, I am not a cute little elf. And you don’t look like a werewolf either.’

  ‘But I am!’ insisted Buster.

  ‘Sure you are. Oh, what big fangs you have,’ said the girl coolly.

  ‘My fangs will get bigger when I’m older!’ yelled Buster.

  ‘And I suppose it’s a full moon up there and when it’s gone you’ll be a human…’

  ‘I can turn into a human anytime I want to!’ shouted Buster.

  ‘Well, go on then. Do it!’ ordered the girl.

  ‘Alright. I will!’

  Buster grinned, his long tongue lolling out of his mouth. He’d show her!

  Buster shut his eyes, nodded his head twice, then…

  It was like a burp that went backwards, with a rumble in between. He could feel his head getting higher, his arms getting longer, his body getting barer…

  And he was human.

  The world was full of colours again, and different shapes, some bits clear and others indistinct. He’d never realised the girl’s eyes were quite so green, not grey at all!

  The girl stared at him. She looked him up and down…and down, then quickly looked back up again. And then she blushed.