Sheila told Jimmy. "I don't worry! I think ahead." "Too bad you didn't think ahead before you swallowed that fly," Sheila said. The two of them went inside. They're probably going to tell Isobel about the fly! I thought. She'll probably come out to see if I'm okay. She'll remind me about that baseball book I put on hold. And if she looks at me the way she did the other day I'll get dizzy again. Then Jimmy and Sheila will know the truth...
105
They weren't gone for long. "Izzy's not there," Jimmy said, disappointed. "She only works afternoons."
"Too bad!" I said.
"What's so great about swallowing a fly?" Fudge said that night. We were having an outdoor barbecue to celebrate the first warm night of our vacation. "One time I swallowed a turtle."
"We know," I told him.
"And I had to go to the hospital!"
"We know," I told him.
"Everybody was worried," he said. "And sad, too."
"Nobody was sad but me," I said. "Because it was my turtle!"
"I remember that turtle," Jimmy said. "You won him at my birthday party."
"Pul-eeese!" Sheila said. "Could we talk about something else? I'm trying to enjoy my supper."
Fudge laughed. "That's how Turtle got his name... right, Pete?"
"Yeah," I said. "I named my dog after my first pet to remind me of what you did to him!"
Fudge danced around, holding up a french fry as if it were my turtle. "Oh turtles are so tasty," he sang, "boiled, baked or raw..."
"Cut that out!" I yelled.
106
"You can't make me!" He laughed, daring me to try.
"Oh yes I can!" I reached out, grabbed him, then poured my whole cup of juice over his head.
He looked surprised. "Pete..." he cried, as the juice dripped down into his face. "How could you do that to me?"
"It was easier than I thought," I said.
107
12 Baby Feet
Mr. Fargo set up an outdoor studio in the side yard. He spread his canvas on the grass, like a rug. On Saturday morning, I saw him climb a ladder with a bucket of blue paint. When he got to the top he tossed it at his canvas.
So when Sheila screamed, "Mrs. Hatcher... come quick... Fudge is all blue!" I figured he'd gotten into Mr. Fargo's paint.
Grandma and Mom came running from one direction. Me and Jimmy from another. Fudge was sprawled out on the ground near his garden. His face was streaked with blue, his shirt was
108
stained blue, his hands were blue, he had blue in his hair. Even his tongue, which hung halfway out of his mouth, was blue. "Mr. Fargo's going to go nuts!" I told Mom. "None of us are supposed to get anywhere near his art supplies."
"I don't think it's paint," Mom said, spying an empty fruit basket on the ground. She picked it up and waved it at Fudge. "Did you eat up all the blueberries?"
Fudge moaned.
"You ate our blueberries!" I said. "Jimmy and I were on our knees more than two hours picking them. And Grandma was going to bake us a pie!"
"I didn't eat them all," Fudge said, in a very small voice. "Turtle ate some."
"You fed Turtle blueberries?" I asked.
"He liked them."
"Turtle's a dog!" I said. At the sound of his name, Turtle appeared from behind the bushes. He plopped down next to me. "Let me see your tongue," I said, opening his mouth. Blue! His tongue and teeth were all blue.
Fudge clutched his stomach and moaned again.
"Boy, are you going to be sick!" Jimmy told him.
"I already am," Fudge cried. "My tummy hurts so bad!"
109
"I'm not surprised," Mom said.
"I know exactly what he needs," Grandma said, heading for the house. She came back with that peppermint medicine we get every time we have an upset stomach. "Down the hatch!" she sang, feeding him one teaspoonful.
"How about some for Turtle?" I asked.
"Why not?" Grandma said. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander." I held Turtle's mouth open and Grandma poured in a spoonful.
"Blue gas," Jimmy whispered. "He's going to make blue, steamy, gurgling gas."
"I don't want blue gas!" Fudge cried.
"What are you talking about?" Mom said. "There's no such thing as blue gas."
"There is if you
105
They weren't gone for long. "Izzy's not there," Jimmy said, disappointed. "She only works afternoons."
"Too bad!" I said.
"What's so great about swallowing a fly?" Fudge said that night. We were having an outdoor barbecue to celebrate the first warm night of our vacation. "One time I swallowed a turtle."
"We know," I told him.
"And I had to go to the hospital!"
"We know," I told him.
"Everybody was worried," he said. "And sad, too."
"Nobody was sad but me," I said. "Because it was my turtle!"
"I remember that turtle," Jimmy said. "You won him at my birthday party."
"Pul-eeese!" Sheila said. "Could we talk about something else? I'm trying to enjoy my supper."
Fudge laughed. "That's how Turtle got his name... right, Pete?"
"Yeah," I said. "I named my dog after my first pet to remind me of what you did to him!"
Fudge danced around, holding up a french fry as if it were my turtle. "Oh turtles are so tasty," he sang, "boiled, baked or raw..."
"Cut that out!" I yelled.
106
"You can't make me!" He laughed, daring me to try.
"Oh yes I can!" I reached out, grabbed him, then poured my whole cup of juice over his head.
He looked surprised. "Pete..." he cried, as the juice dripped down into his face. "How could you do that to me?"
"It was easier than I thought," I said.
107
12 Baby Feet
Mr. Fargo set up an outdoor studio in the side yard. He spread his canvas on the grass, like a rug. On Saturday morning, I saw him climb a ladder with a bucket of blue paint. When he got to the top he tossed it at his canvas.
So when Sheila screamed, "Mrs. Hatcher... come quick... Fudge is all blue!" I figured he'd gotten into Mr. Fargo's paint.
Grandma and Mom came running from one direction. Me and Jimmy from another. Fudge was sprawled out on the ground near his garden. His face was streaked with blue, his shirt was
108
stained blue, his hands were blue, he had blue in his hair. Even his tongue, which hung halfway out of his mouth, was blue. "Mr. Fargo's going to go nuts!" I told Mom. "None of us are supposed to get anywhere near his art supplies."
"I don't think it's paint," Mom said, spying an empty fruit basket on the ground. She picked it up and waved it at Fudge. "Did you eat up all the blueberries?"
Fudge moaned.
"You ate our blueberries!" I said. "Jimmy and I were on our knees more than two hours picking them. And Grandma was going to bake us a pie!"
"I didn't eat them all," Fudge said, in a very small voice. "Turtle ate some."
"You fed Turtle blueberries?" I asked.
"He liked them."
"Turtle's a dog!" I said. At the sound of his name, Turtle appeared from behind the bushes. He plopped down next to me. "Let me see your tongue," I said, opening his mouth. Blue! His tongue and teeth were all blue.
Fudge clutched his stomach and moaned again.
"Boy, are you going to be sick!" Jimmy told him.
"I already am," Fudge cried. "My tummy hurts so bad!"
109
"I'm not surprised," Mom said.
"I know exactly what he needs," Grandma said, heading for the house. She came back with that peppermint medicine we get every time we have an upset stomach. "Down the hatch!" she sang, feeding him one teaspoonful.
"How about some for Turtle?" I asked.
"Why not?" Grandma said. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander." I held Turtle's mouth open and Grandma poured in a spoonful.
"Blue gas," Jimmy whispered. "He's going to make blue, steamy, gurgling gas."
"I don't want blue gas!" Fudge cried.
"What are you talking about?" Mom said. "There's no such thing as blue gas."
"There is if you
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