Читать книгу Dean and the mushroom weasel - Nataliya Bogoluibova - Страница 1

Dean goes to the woods

Dean was a hugely fluffy teddy-bear-looking dog. He felt so excited about his first hiking in the woods.

“What are the woods like?” he wondered. The anticipation sent shivers racing down his spine. His first idea was to ask Daisy who was napping on the porch.

Daisy was a Pomeranian. She had a mind of her own. In her mind, she was much larger than she really was.

“Hey, there! I’ve got something to ask you about,” he was a little bit confused.

“What?” she asked yawning lazily.

“I’m going to the woods!” he said proudly.

“And? What’s this fuss about?” she smiled indulgently.

“Is there anything I should know about the woods before I go there?”

Daisy liked being asked questions. Moreover, that was a good chance to show her immense knowledge and priceless experience.

“Well, there is something for you to know. The wood trails are full of unknown beasts! They’re gigantic and furious. They may be hungry as well. It depends on the season.”

“What beasts?” he warily asked.

“The UNKNOWN! I’ve already told you, silly doggy. The WEIRD ones,” she whispered, “Some of them crawl in the grass. They don’t even have paws, but they have poisonous teeth and sharp claws.”

She glanced at him and murmured, “I’ll tell you a secret. I saw them flying! Between you and me, simple-hearted dogs like you have very few chances to escape.”

Dean gasped for air, “I’m good at disguises. They won’t find me.”

“Stay away from the Swamp,” Daisy warned him, “I’ve heard it’s a deadly place.”

“You will see hundreds of butterflies in the Swamp. They flutter over it and attract newcomers for the UNKNOWN BEASTS to prey,” she continued in a scary voice, “They say… the butterflies are the souls of the eaten!”

Dean shuddered with fear at the thought of evil butterflies. But he tried not to show it. He smiled at Daisy gamely, “I’m fit and strong enough to stand up for myself.”

“Oh, really? Why is Fluffy eating YOUR FOOD out of YOUR BOWL then?” she said with a mocking smile.

“It’s not mine. And he isn’t,” he growled.

That night he had nightmares. Gigantic butterflies were fluttering above the reeds. He dreamt that he was walking across the quagmire. Not alone. Someone was with him, out of sight. He could hear it coming closer. Its red eyes were gleaming ominously. Dean struggled to run but he couldn’t move. He barked at the top of his lungs. A huge weasel was floating over the deadly Swamp. She snarled and sprang at him. Dean woke up in a cold sweat. Fear threatened to overwhelm him.

“This monstrous weasel and the swamp butterflies must be the unknown beasts,” he pondered, “Great! Now I know how they look like.”

“Those beasts aren’t friendly,” he added.

These thoughts made him wince and turn away in discomfort. The hammers of fear tapped lightly in his heart. He squirmed around for the rest of the night, unable to sleep. The images from his nightmares kept flashing by his eyes.

The Neglected Earl

“Meow!” Fluffy said in a soft, chirpy voice. He was quite chatty today.

Fluffy was very proud of his origin and his ancestors. Being asked about his roots he would say that there were counts in the family.

According to his cat passport his name was Akbar. It sounded really great. It was a respectful name for a proud cat. To his disappointment…everyone called him Fluffy. He didn’t like this name. It wasn’t an appropriate name, especially, for such a graceful and honorable cat as he was.

Playing with a toy mouse he quickly became bored. Where was the challenge? His inquisitive and smart personality wasn’t satisfied.

Teasing dogs was real fun! It was just the thing that helped him stay sharp.

Fluffy was hungry. He checked his plate. It was empty.

“Fortune favors the bold!” he looked around and darted to the left corner of the room to Dean’s bowl. It was full of ham.

“It isn’t his nature to leave food. The dog always eats ham on the spot,” the cat was amazed.

“What are you doing, fraidy-cat?” Daisy barked.

“Mind your own business!” he growled, “You shouldn’t worry about what I’m doing. Curiosity killed a cat.”

Daisy looked down her nose at him, “Behave yourself! Stealing food is not what earls do!”

She took her little backpack and left, headed straight to the beach.

“As you name the boat, so shall it float!” the cat thought fishing strips of ham out of Dean’s bowl. So he behaved as Fluffy … a scruffy alley cat in search of a meal.

the POWER of the ham thief

Fluffy had spent the early part of that morning under the sofa. Dean’s behavior confirmed his suspicions and fears that he’d known about the stolen ham, anyway.

“There he was! Not a meow!” he whispered to himself and sucked in a harsh, deep breath. He felt a little lightheaded. Dean shuffled across the kitchen. The cat was watching his body language.

“Something’s wrong with him. I must know what’s going on! Out of mere curiosity,” Fluffy said to himself.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He sprang from cover with a question, “Where are you going, Dean?”

“It’s none of your business, Smelly cat.”

“Is it a new insult? One thing has always amazed me. Your brain is so tiny, but it’s filled with thoughts about me. I appreciate that. No offence taken. Where are you going, anyway?”

“Out of my sight! The ham thief can’t be trusted,” the dog exploded a second time.

“The case has become more personal. Will he seek revenge?” Fluffy wondered, “I’ve just wanted to help you.”

“Why? Do I look like I need your help?” Dean snapped at him.

“You look extremely fragile. I feel that you are scared,” the cat muttered, “You desperately want to share your hidden fears with someone.”

“Do I?” the dog looked puzzled.

“Sure, you do. Confess your fears. You’ll feel relieved,” the cunning cat hissed.

“I’m going deep into the woods. There are UNKNOWN BEASTS there. I have a nagging suspicion that they aren’t friendly,” he groaned.

Fluffy thought of the benefits he could gain from the situation.

“Let me guess, you couldn’t have seen them yourself… I'm assuming the involvement of a third party. Daisy! I bet you’ve listened to her shoelace stories about monstrous beasts,” the cat murmured.

“Have you ever come face to face with the beasts in the woods?” the dog asked.

“Sure. I can draw you the beast I saw.”

“It will be very helpful!” Dean brightened instantly.

Fluffy scribbled the image of the beast.

“This one isn’t scary,” the dog said.

“Of course, it isn’t. It’s the tamed beast!”

“Who tamed it?”

The cat felt glorious. That was the question he was waiting for. He came up with a story of Brodie the Brave.

“Let me show you a portrait,” Fluffy said in a low voice, “It is old, torn, faded. But I treasure it.”

“This is my father. His name was Brodie. Once he spent two horrid nights in the woods and survived,” Fluffy said proudly.

“How did he escape from the beasts?” Dean asked.

“He was a strong-willed sorcerer. He never lost courage and hope. He was able to tame the furious beasts.”

“Oh, TAME them?” the dog was bewildered.

“Sure, he could make them do what he wanted,” the cat affirmed.

“Where are the beasts that your father tamed?” Dean asked. He tried to imagine Brodie the Brave surrounded by obedient beasts.