Blue Ribbon Blues (4 page)

She pronounced and pointed out other parts.

“Stifle.”

“Chine.”

“Withers.”

“Fetlock.”

And, of course, “udder” and “wattles,” which she already knew.

She walked around the goat pasture, studying the parts. A great way to test herself
came to mind. She ran into the house and returned with a pad of yellow Post-It notes. She wrote down each part name on a sheet. She pressed each part name where she thought it belonged on Pepperoni’s body. When she checked the drawing in the book, she’d gotten them all right!

Behind her she heard laughter. And arfing.

Her mother stood there, paintbrush in hand, with Chuckie and Harvey. When her mother stopped laughing, she said, “I guess I owe Chuckie an apology. When he told me you wallpapered your goat, I didn’t believe him. Now I do!”

Every day Tooter and Pepperoni worked hard. They pretended the barnyard was a show ring. They practiced walking properly. Tooter taught Pepperoni how to stand perfectly still with her feet in a perfect rectangle. She trimmed Pepperoni’s hooves and gave her a bath with a hose and scrub brush.

Two days before the county fair, Aunt Sally came to Tooter with hair clippers. “What’re those for?” asked Tooter. “I don’t need a haircut.”

“Maybe not,” said Aunt Sally. “But your show animal does.”

“Pepperoni? What are you talking about?”

“Before you show a goat, you shave off all its hair. Didn’t Jack tell you?”

“No, he didn’t tell me.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.” She held out the clippers. “Here you go.”

Tooter backed off. “No way. I am
not
going to shave a goat.”

“If you don’t shave a goat, you can’t show a goat. If you don’t show a goat, you can’t win a blue ribbon.”

Tooter said nothing. She allowed herself to be led to the pasture, where Pepperoni was munching grass. Aunt Sally flipped a switch. The clippers buzzed. “Just like shaving a head bald,” she said. “Except you do it all over.”

“
All
over?” said Tooter.

“All over. The whole shebang. Whiskers. Eyebrows. Inside the ears.”

Tooter shrieked. “
Eyebrows!
Inside the
ears!
” The thought of it made her own ears tickle.

“Come to think of it,” said Aunt Sally, “there is one little spot you can let be.”

“What’s that?”

Aunt Sally went to Pepperoni’s back end. “The tip of the tail. Leave about an inch there. So there’s a nice little pom-pom on the end.” She waved the clippers. “All right, pay attention. Here’s how you do it.”

Aunt Sally ran the clippers along Pepperoni’s neck. Hair sprinkled to the ground. A strip of creamy white skin appeared. Aunt Sally handed the clippers to Tooter. “Your turn.”

It took Tooter an hour just to shave the rest of Pepperoni’s neck. She was afraid of hurting Pepperoni, but the goat stood still. She seemed to enjoy the haircut. Tooter was fascinated by the creamy smoothness of the
shaved skin. She rubbed it with her hand. Then with her cheek. She hugged the goat. She whispered, “You are the world’s most beautiful goat, Pepperoni Pepperday.”

By afternoon the haircut was done. Tooter left Pepperoni in the pasture. “Now don’t you get dirty,” she said.

On the way back to the house, Tooter
heard squawking in the chicken coop.
Uh-oh
, she thought.
Coyote?
A chicken ran out of the coop, but no coyote followed. All was now silent inside the coop.

Tooter tiptoed to the doorway. She peeked inside. Her little brother was bending over a nest. A can of paint sat on the floor. A brush was in his hand.

“Chuckie?” she said. “What are you doing?”

Chuckie turned. He held up an egg. The egg was blue. He grinned. “Mom said I can use the rest of the paint. I’m painting eggs.”

“So I see,” said Tooter. It was kind of funny, so Tooter decided not to tattle on him.

Tooter dropped by her father’s office. He was pecking away as usual. “I have a new idea for your story, Dad. The girl shaves her goat. Except for a pom-pom on its tail. The shaving takes hours and hours. You’ll probably need a whole chapter for it.”

Mr. Pepperday waved. “Thanks for the advice.”

Tooter went to her room. She picked out the clothes she would wear for the county fair. She practiced her proper walk in front of the mirror.

Before dinner Mrs. Pepperday sent Tooter out to the garden for a cucumber. Every cucumber she reached for was blue. So were several tomatoes and a once-yellow squash.

On her way to report to her mother, Tooter noticed blue paint on the fence. And on the water bucket. And on the grass. And …

Tooter screamed.

A white animal with blue stripes was grazing in the pasture. It looked like a cartoon zebra.

“Pepperoni!”

Tooter scrubbed Pepperoni’s hide for an hour. Pepperoni kicked and fussed. Hardly any paint came off.

Aunt Sally took a look. “That’s it,” she said. “Go at it any longer, and you’ll scrub the poor critter’s hide right off its bones.”

“But how can I show her at the fair, looking like that?” Tooter cried.

Aunt Sally shook her head sadly. “ ’Fraid you can’t. Show’s over for you two. Start planning for next year.”

“No!” Tooter stomped into the house. She
called Jack Hafer on the phone. She told him what had happened. “You’re the expert,” she said. “How can I get this paint off my goat?”

Jack Hafer stopped laughing long enough to say, “You can’t.” Then he went on laughing.

Tooter hung up.

As the moon rose over the pasture, Tooter sat alone on the front porch. Gone was her dream of a blue ribbon. Gone also was her dream of seeing Jack Hafer’s face when she showed up with her beautiful goat. She had imagined the crowd bursting into applause when she and Pepperoni appeared. She had imagined the judge crying out, “Hold it! Here’s our winner!” And pinning the blue ribbon to her shirt … while Jack Hafer gawked in disbelief …

Dreams. Dashed.

Or were they?

Next morning Tooter couldn’t find Chuckie in
his bed. Or at the breakfast table. She knew he was hiding from her.

She found him in the barn—and grabbed him.

“Mom!” he screamed. “She’s gonna kill me!”

Tooter clamped his mouth shut. “Shh. I’m not going to kill you.” She let him go. She smiled. “I just want to shake your hand.”

“Huh?” said Chuckie.

Tooter shook his hand. “I just want to tell you what a great job you did painting my goat. She used to be so boring. Now she’s … beautiful!”

Chuckie stared at her. “She
is?
”

“Yep,” said Tooter. “In fact, you’re so good at it, I think you should paint other people’s goats too.”

“You
do?
” said Chuckie.

“Yep,” said Tooter. “Grab your paint and brush. Let’s go!”

Tooter and Chuckie took a walk down Fox Hollow Road.

“Where are we going?” said Chuckie.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Tooter. “We’ll just walk till we come to a farm. Then we’ll ask the farmer if he would like to have his goat painted.”

“And it doesn’t have to be stripes,” said
Chuckie excitedly. “I can do polka dots too.”

“Right,” said Tooter. “Whatever you want.”

Of course, Tooter knew exactly where they were going. And she had no intention of asking the farmer for permission to paint his goat.

Tooter had been awake half the night, thinking. She got madder each time she thought of Jack Hafer laughing. And winning another blue ribbon. Then it occurred to her: maybe he didn’t have to win. Maybe something could happen to his goat too.

The Hafer farm was a mile down the road. “Hey, Chuckie, look!” Tooter cried when they came near. “There’s a farm. I’ll bet they have a boring goat that needs painting.”

Chuckie raised his paintbrush. “Yeah!”

Tooter smiled. “I’ll bet there’s a goat behind that barn.”

Chuckie started running.
“Ya-hoo!”

Tooter watched her little brother race to Jack Hafer’s farm. She saw him disappear behind the barn. But then—suddenly—he was back in view. He was racing toward her, screaming, terrified.

He grabbed her. “Tooter!” Hiding behind her, he pointed to the barn. “Dog! Bad dog!”

Tooter took his hand and pulled him along. When they reached the barn, Tooter heard a noise. It was a goat noise.
Maa-aa.
But different somehow. And louder.

Chuckie was whimpering, clutching her arm. Tooter crept along the side of the barn. The goat noise was getting louder. She reached back for a fistful of Chuckie’s shirt.

She came to the end of the barn. She took a deep breath and peeked around the corner.

Coyote.

A scrawny, splotchy, brown, dog-looking
animal. Only three spits away from where she stood.

And Jack Hafer’s goat, Cleo. Shaved creamy white for the show. Her head stuck in the fence again. Kicking and thrashing like a rodeo horse. The pom-pom a blur on the end of her tail. The coyote circling, circling, snapping at the flying hooves.

Tooter pulled back behind the corner. Her terrified eyes met Chuckie’s terrified eyes. She couldn’t move.

The goat was screaming.

She grabbed the paint can from Chuckie and charged into the barnyard. She screamed her lungs out—“YAAAAAAAAAAAA!” The coyote turned to look at her. She flung the
paint can. It clanked against the fence. By the time it settled in the barnyard dust, the intruder was gone.

Jack Hafer and his parents came running. “Cleo!” they yelled. “Cleo!” Jack went to his goat and worked its head loose from the fence.

Mrs. Hafer was looking down at Tooter, smiling. “You saved Cleo,” she said. There were tears in her eyes.

Oh, no! What have I done?
Tooter thought.
I saved Jack Hafer’s goat!

Tooter spent the next day at the county fair with her family. She passed the long tables of prize-winning vegetables and preserves. She didn’t go anywhere near the goat show tent. She ended up spending all of her money on the bumper cars.

That night she stopped by her father’s office. It was empty. She started up his computer. When she came to a blank screen, she began to type: