Free Stink and the Great Guinea Pig Express by Megan McDonald Page B

pig?” said Mom. “You already have a furry pet.”
    Stink went to try Dad.
    “A guinea pig?” said Dad. “What is it with you kids and guinea pigs? And what about Toady?”
    “Have you ever tried to cuddle a toad?” Stink asked.
    But it was no use. Astro had just become Astro-NOT.





 
    Stink and his friends knocked on doors all over Webster’s neighborhood. “How would you like to adopt a guinea pig?” Stink asked at one house, holding up a box full of wiggly piggies.
    “No, thanks. We already have three dogs.”
    They knocked on another door. “They’re really cute,” said Sophie, holding one up.
    “They’re really,
really
cute!” said Webster.
    “My son has allergies. Animals with fur make him sneeze.”

       They knocked on another door. “Come back when you’re selling Girl Scout cookies!”
    And yet another. “What
is
it?” one lady asked.
    “A guinea pig,” said Stink.

       “I can’t have pigs in the house,” the lady said.
    “Not an
oink-oink
pig,” said Stink.
    “A furry pet,” said Webster. “Like a hamster.”
    “Actually, guinea pigs are rodents,” said Stink, holding one up. The guinea pig wiggled his way right out of Stink’s grasp and dropped onto the floor of the lady’s house.
    “A rodent! Get that rat out of my house!” The lady chased the speedy guinea pig around her living room with a broom. Finally, she swept it out the door and Stink scooped it up.

       “Phew, that was a close one,” he said to the guinea pig.
    At the next house, Stink said, “Hi, I’m Stink Moody, and —”
    “Did you say your name is Moody?” asked the old guy at the door. “Didn’t I read about you in the paper? Aren’t you the one with the cat that makes toast?”
    “That’s my sister,” said Stink.
    “Do these little critters make toast, too? I’d like to see that.”
    “I don’t think so,” said Stink.
    “No toast, eh? Thanks anyway,” the man said, shaking his head.
    “Let’s try that apartment building,” said Webster. They rang a bell on the first floor.
    “Guinea pigs, huh? You got any more? I’ll take fifty,” said the guy at the door. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and had a blue tattoo of a cobra on his arm.
    “Really? You will? That’s great! Are you sure?” said Stink.
    “Sure, I’m sure,” said the man, grinning under his hairy mustache.
    Just then, Sophie nudged her friends and pointed to a van in the parking lot. Across the top it said S QUAMATA S ERPENTES . S AM THE S NAKE M AN . S NAKES OF ALL SIZES FOR YOUR CLASSROOM OR PARTY.

       “Hey, wait a minute,” said Webster. “You’re that guy who came to school to talk about —”
    “Snakes!” said Stink. “And their habits, like what they eat. Um, sorry, mister, we gotta go.”
    “Yeah, I think maybe my house is on fire!” said Webster, sniffing the air.
    “Good save,” said Sophie as they hurried away from the building.
    “That guy gave me the creeps,” said Webster.
    “He gave me the squirmy-wormies,” said Sophie. “His van should say
Squirm
-ata Serpentes.” Stink and Webster cracked up.
    The three friends sat down on the curb. “We knocked on fifty million doors and didn’t find a good home for one single fur ball,” said Sophie.
    “Think,” said Stink. “Where would we find a lot of people in one place?”
    “Church!” said Webster.
    “Guinea pigs can’t go to church,” said Stink. “I mean a place people go if they love animals.”
    Webster snapped his fingers. “I got it! The pet cemetery!”
    “Live animals, Webster. We want to make people happy, not sad.”
    “How about the dog park? People there love animals.”
    “Yeah, and
dogs
love
guinea pigs
. Pretty soon all the guinea pigs
would
be in the pet cemetery.”
    Stink thought and thought. Finally, he said, “Time for Operation Guinea Pig!”
    “Uh-oh,” said Sophie.
    “Uh-oh,” said Webster.





 
    On Saturday morning, Judy asked, “Stink, where are you going?”
    “For your