Blue Ribbon Blues (2 page)

Mr. Pepperday nodded. “Not a real chicken. But remember, you’re not a real mother, either. Just a pretend mother. So maybe what we need here is …” He paused.

“A pretend chicken!” Tooter chimed in.

Mr. Pepperday had a sly grin on his face. “And isn’t there an old feather pillow some-place in the attic?”

Tooter’s eyes widened. She shot up the stairs.

Later that afternoon Mr. Pepperday rounded up the family. He fetched Aunt Sally from the honey house. He called in Chuckie and Harvey from the barnyard. He made Mrs. Pepperday stop painting the porch.

He told them all to be very quiet. He led them up the stairs to the attic. Slowly he opened the door.

“Ba-
bawlk!
Ba-
bawlk!
”

It was Tooter. Squawking like a chicken. Flapping like a chicken. Looking like a chicken in the pillow feathers she had glued to a pillowcase sack dress. While Tooter trotted in circles, Eggbert pecked at the floor.

Mr. Pepperday closed the door. Everyone held in their laughter until they were downstairs.

When Aunt Sally finished laughing, she said, “I think I know what that girl needs. And it’s
not
a chicken.”

Tooter climbed into Aunt Sally’s pickup. “Where are we going?” she said.

Aunt Sally started the engine. The pickup rolled forward. “To find you a friend.” She turned onto Frog Hollow Road.

“You think that’s what I need?”

“I do.”

“I’ll tell you what I need,” said Tooter. “I need a pizza. I haven’t tasted pizza since we moved here. That’s two whole months!”

Aunt Sally goggled at Tooter. “Horrors!” She waved at a passing pickup. “You know
what you’ll really need if you’re going to live on my farm?”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll need to become a real farmer.”

“I know. I want to,” said Tooter. “But not if it means wearing a hat like that.”

Aunt Sally acted surprised. “You don’t like my hat?” She took off her straw hat and plunked it onto Tooter’s head.

Tooter made a face. “Ugh!” She plunked the hat back onto her aunt’s head.

“Okay,” said Aunt Sally. “No hat. But I do have a plan for making a farmer out of you. It has three parts.”

“What are they?” said Tooter.

“You’ll find out,” said Aunt Sally. She turned off the road into a dusty driveway. “Part one … coming up.”

Aunt Sally parked the pickup in front of a large white house. They got out. Aunt Sally
cupped her hands and called, “Helloooo there!”

A lady leaned out of an upstairs window. “Hello, yourself. Is this Tooter?”

“Fresh from the city.”

“Hi, Tooter,” said the lady. She waved her arm. “Jack is out there somewhere. Probably with Cleo.”

Aunt Sally waved and walked off. Tooter followed.

“Who’s Jack?” said Tooter.

“Your neighbor. Jack Hafer. He’s your age. He can be your friend. That’s part one—get you a friend. I called Mrs. Hafer and told her we were coming over.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

“He will. And he’ll be good for you. He’s lived on this farm all his life. He can teach you a lot.”

As they walked around the barn, Aunt
Sally said, “Well, chuck my chickens. Look at that.”

Before them stood a boy and an animal. All they could see of the animal was its hind end.

The boy looked up. “Miss Sally,” he called, “can you help me?”

Aunt Sally and Tooter trotted over. Now the problem was clear. The animal was a goat, one of the few farm creatures that Tooter recognized. Its head was stuck between two rails of a wooden fence.

“I can’t get it out,” said the boy.

Tooter had an idea. “Pull the tail,” she said.

The boy gave Tooter a dirty look.

As the goat struggled, its front hooves knocked noisily against the fence.

“You hold the neck still,” Aunt Sally told the boy. “I’ll work the head.”

They twisted and tugged. The goat bawled and stomped. At last its head was free.

The boy gave the goat a smack on the rump. “Bad, Cleo. She’s always doing that.”

The goat walked off to graze.

The boy turned to Tooter. “You
don’t
pull a goat’s tail,” he said sharply.

“See?” Tooter said to Aunt Sally. “He doesn’t like me already. Part one is
not
going to work.” She walked off.

Aunt Sally caught her by her back pocket. “Hold on there, missy.” She pulled Tooter back and turned her around. “You two haven’t even been introduced yet. Jack, this is Tooter. She’s your new neighbor.”

“
Tooter
?” said Jack. “What kind of name is that?”

“See?” said Tooter. She tried to walk off, but Aunt Sally still had her by the back pocket.

“Tooter is a nickname,” Aunt Sally told Jack. “And a fine nickname it is. Tooter’s family lives with me now. They moved here from the city. Tooter wants to become a good farmer.” She tapped the bill of Jack’s cap. “And I figure you’re just the one to teach her.”

Jack groaned. “Miss Sally, I already have
lots of chores to do. Plus I have to get Cleo ready for the fair.”

Tooter perked up. “What fair?”

“The county fair,” said Jack. “I’m entering Cleo in the goat competition.” He lifted his chin. “I always win.”

“Well,” said Tooter, “poo-poo-pee-doo for you.”

Jack just stared at her.

“Maybe I’ll enter too,” said Tooter, lifting her own chin. “Maybe my chicken will beat your goat.”

“Hah!” said Jack. “Maybe
not
. Chickens and goats don’t compete together.”

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky they don’t,” said Tooter. “Because if they did, my chicken would beat the pants off your goat.”

“Yeah?” said Jack.

“Yeah,” said Tooter.

“What can your chicken do?”

“Whatever I tell it,” said Tooter. “It sleeps. It sits.”

Jack scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“And it sings ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ ”

Jack laughed. “And my
goat
sings ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game.’ ”

“Yeah? Well, my
chicken
plays Ping-Pong with me.”

“Yeah? Well, my
goat
plays Frisbee with
me
.”

“My
chicken
tap-dances.”

“My
goat
runs the vacuum cleaner.”

“My … my …” Tooter couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing.

So did Jack.

So did Aunt Sally. “Okay, you goofballs,” she said. “I guess you’re introduced. Say good-bye to each other.”

“Good-bye, goat boy,” said Tooter.

Jack grinned. “Good-bye, chicken girl!”

“So, that was part one,” said Tooter. They were back out on Fox Hollow Road. “What’s part two?”

“Alfalfa Sprouts,” said Aunt Sally.

“Alfalfa Sprouts? What’s that?”

“You’ll see tonight,” said Aunt Sally.

They rode in silence for a minute. Then Tooter said, “Aunt Sally, do you think I could win a blue ribbon? Like Part One Jack?”

Aunt Sally laughed. “Sure. If you work hard.”

“But how could I ever win anything with Eggbert?”

“Who says it has to be a chicken?” said Aunt Sally. “We have a perfectly fine goat in the pasture.”

“But that’s what Part One Jack has,” said Tooter. “And he always wins. My goat could
never
beat his goat.”

Aunt Sally took her eyes from the road long enough to stare at Tooter. “Well, bless my bunions. I never would have thunk it. I do believe young Miss Pepperday is afraid of losing.”

Tooter looked out the window at the passing fields and silos. “Young Miss Pepperday isn’t afraid of anything,” she muttered.

That evening after dinner Aunt Sally and Tooter were back in the pickup.

“Okay,” said Tooter. “I’m tired of waiting. Now what are the Alfalfa Sprouts?”

“The Alfalfa Sprouts are a group of farmers’
kids,” said Aunt Sally. “They’re all under twelve years old. They meet at the Grange. They raise their own animals and crops to show at the county fair.”

“Will Part One Jack be there?”

“I reckon. Jack’s been a Sprout for years. But plenty of others will be there too.”

“Girls?”

“Lots.”

The pickup stopped at the Grange. Aunt Sally took Tooter inside and left her with the leader, a lady with a “Miss Piggy for President” button.

When Aunt Sally left, Tooter was smiling.

When Aunt Sally came back an hour later, Tooter was frowning.

Tooter climbed into the pickup. “What’s that smell?”

Aunt Sally sniffed. “I don’t smell anything. So, how’d it go?”

“Not so good,” Tooter replied.

“How so?”

“Because I had to stand up in front of everybody and say, ‘Hi. My name is Tooter Pepperday. I’m a Sprout!’ And everybody waved back and shouted, ‘Howdy, Sprout!’ ”

“So?” said Aunt Sally. “They were just being friendly.”

“That’s not the point,” said Tooter. She sniffed and looked behind her seat. “I don’t like being called a Sprout. It sounds like I’ll grow up to be a turnip.”

Aunt Sally sighed. “Well, if that’s how you feel, I guess you don’t have what it takes to be a farmer. I guess that’s all you want to be … a turnip.” She tweaked Tooter’s nose. “Turnip Tooter.”

Tooter laughed. “Hey,” she said, “I forgot. What’s part three?”

Aunt Sally turned into the driveway. She
shrugged. “What does a turnip care about part three?”

“Tell me!” Tooter pleaded.

Aunt Sally turned off the motor and got out. Leaning into the open window, she said, “While you were Sprouting, I drove twenty miles.” She was grinning now. “Part three is under your seat. That’s what you’ve been smelling.”

Tooter reached down and pulled out a box. Square. Flat. Warm. A smell she hadn’t smelled in two months. Her joyful scream reached every corner of the farm.

“Pizzaaaaaaaaa!
”

Tooter was having breakfast with Aunt Sally the next morning when they heard a loud commotion. A terrible squawking.

“The chickens!” said Aunt Sally.

They ran outside.

Three chickens fussed on the roof of the coop. The others were in the branches of a nearby tree. Tooter saw something move at the top of the hill. A flash of hind legs and tail disappeared into the woods.

“Harvey!” she called.

“Arf!” Harvey replied.

Tooter turned. Harvey was right behind her.

So if Harvey was here, then what was up
there?

Aunt Sally was staring at several brown feathers on the ground. She looked toward the hill. “Coyote,” she said.

“Coyote?” said Tooter. “You mean like Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner?”

Aunt Sally picked up a feather. “Yep. Only this coyote is real. And he
ain’t
funny.”

“I thought coyotes were out west,” said Tooter.

“They’re showing up in these parts,” said Aunt Sally. “Jack Hafer’s father said he saw one the other day.”

Tooter stared at the feather in her aunt’s hand. Suddenly she realized what had happened. “The coyote took a chicken!”

“Bingo.”

Tooter clung to her aunt. She looked fearfully at the hilltop. “Do they take kids too?”

“No,” said Aunt Sally. “But they scare the devil out of goats.”