The Day the Bluebells Turned Green
Bertie the puppy had always considered himself a brave explorer. He had chased butterflies, barked at a wheelbarrow and once frightened a garden gnome so badly that it fell over. But nothing had prepared him for the small black and white creature standing amongst the bluebells with its enormous tail pointing towards heaven. “Good morning!” Bertie announced cheerfully, giving the stranger an enthusiastic sniff. “I’m Bertie. Are you a cat?” The skunk looked offended. “A CAT? My dear boy, I am Sir Stinkington the Third, and I strongly suggest you stand back.” Unfortunately, Bertie had already stuck his nose somewhere no sensible nose should ever venture. There was a peculiar pffffft, followed by a smell so spectacularly dreadful that three butterflies fainted, a nearby rosebush wilted and a passing pigeon abandoned its lunch in mid-flight.
Bertie staggered backwards, his eyes watering. “GOOD GRIEF! HAVE YOU DIED INSIDE?” he squeaked. Sir Stinkington merely adjusted his magnificent tail and looked smug. “Natural defence, dear boy. Very effective against predators.” Bertie stared at him in horror. “Predators? I ONLY WANTED TO SAY HELLO!” By the time Bertie reached the house, his owner had opened every window, the cat had moved next door and the postman was refusing to deliver within fifty yards of the property. Bertie spent the afternoon sitting miserably in a bath of tomato juice while Sir Stinkington enjoyed a peaceful nap amongst the bluebells. And that was how Bertie learnt two important lessons: never sniff a stranger’s bottom, and never trust an animal wearing its own warning stripes.
