Never Box with a Kangaroo Read online

  For Amanda and Ian, who have never fit into boxes. And have never wanted to—NK

  For Nick and Karen—SB

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Penguin Young Readers Group

  An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

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  Text copyright © 2016 by Nancy Krulik. Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Sebastien Braun. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC. .

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  eBook ISBN 9780451533180

  Version_1

  Contents

  DEDICATION

  COPYRIGHT

  TITLE PAGE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND ILLUSTRATOR

  FUN FACTS ABOUT SPARKY’S ADVENTURES IN AUSTRALIA

  CHAPTER 1

  “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” I bark excitedly.

  I’m chasing after a ball in the air.

  My paws speed up. Now I am running. Fast. Faster. Fastest.

  My eyes are following the ball as it soars above me.

  “I’m gonna catch you!” I bark to the ball.

  Plop. The ball hits the ground.

  The ball was too fast for me . . . this time. But I’ll get it next time!

  I scoop up the ball in my mouth and bring it back to my two-leg, Josh. Now we can play again.

  I love when Josh brings me to the park. It’s bigger than our yard. There’s much more room to run.

  “Here’s the ball!” I bark. “Throw it again! I’ll catch it this time.”

  Suddenly, I hear puppies talking. Lots of them.

  “Look at me!” one squeals.

  “No, look at me!” yips another.

  “I can roll in the grass,” a third puppy barks.

  “I’m hungry,” whines the littlest one.

  There are four puppies playing by a tree. A bigger dog is standing nearby with her two-leg.

  Wiggle, waggle, weird. All those puppies look alike. I’ve never seen four friends who look so much like one another.

  Those puppies are having fun rolling around in the grass. I want to play, too!

  “Can I play?” I bark to the puppies.

  Before they can answer me, Josh snaps my leash around my neck. He starts to lead me out of the park.

  “I don’t want to go!” I bark to Josh. “I want to play with the other puppies.”

  But Josh keeps leading me out of the park. He doesn’t understand what I am saying. That’s because Josh doesn’t speak dog. And I don’t speak two-leg.

  I will have to show him that I don’t want to leave.

  I flop down on my belly. I dig my paws into the ground.

  I’m not leaving.

  Josh gives me a funny look. I give him a funny look back. Then he gives me another funny look.

  I like this game!

  Suddenly, Josh drops my leash. He starts to walk away.

  Uh-oh! Is Josh leaving me here?

  “Don’t leave me, Josh!” I bark. Then I run to him.

  Josh smiles. He takes my leash. And we go home together.

  When we get to our house, Josh puts me in the yard. Then he closes the gate and leaves me all alone. Boo!

  Vroom. Vroom.

  That’s the sound of Josh’s big metal machine with the four round paws going away.

  I wonder where Josh is going. I bet it’s somewhere fun.

  No fair! I want to go somewhere fun, too!

  Hey. Wait a minute. I can go somewhere fun. And I don’t need a metal machine to do it.

  I run over to the part of my yard where the flowers grow, and I start diggety, dig, digging. I’m a great digger.

  Diggety, dig, dig. Dirt flies everywhere. The hole gets bigger and bigger. And then . . . there it is! My beautiful, sparkly white bone. Just where I buried it.

  “Hello, bone!” I bark.

  My bone doesn’t answer. That’s because bones can’t bark. Not even a special bone like this one.

  My bone isn’t just any bone. It’s a magic bone. It takes me places. All I have to do is take a bite and—kaboom—off I go!

  The first time I took a trip with my magic bone, I went to London, England. London had yummy food like fish and chips. But London also had a scary place called the pound. I got thrown in there, and it was no fun at all. There were some mean dogs in the pound.

  Another time, my magic bone took me to Paris, France, where I got to dance in paint and eat yummy treats called croissants.

  Then there was the day my bone kaboomed me to New York City. It was really crowded there. And they have mean pigeons who try to steal your food. But I got to eat a New York hot dog—which is actually not a dog at all.

  Sniff . . . sniff . . . sniff. My bone smells so meaty. I just have to take a bite.

  CHOMP!

  Wiggle, waggle, whew. I feel dizzy—like my insides are spinning all around—but my outsides are standing still. Stars are twinkling in front of my eyes—even though it’s daytime! All around me I smell food—fried chicken, salmon, roast beef. But there isn’t any food in sight.

  Kaboom! Kaboom! Kaboom!

  CHAPTER 2

  Wiggle, waggle, where am I?

  I look around. I’m standing right by a tall tree.

  Grunt!

  Wow! I’ve never heard a tree make a noise before!

  Grunt.

  I look up. There’s something furry curled up in the branches. I bet it’s what was making that noise.

  The only furry things I’ve ever seen in trees are squirrels. And sometimes Queenie the meanie, our neighborhood cat.

  But that thing doesn’t look like a squirrel. Or a cat.

  Snort!

  It doesn’t sound like a squirrel or a cat, either. It just sounds angry!

  I don’t think the furry thing likes me hanging around under its tree.

  I want to get away from the angry furry thing. But first I have to bury my bone.

  Diggety, dig, dig. I hurry to dig a hole near the bottom of the tree. Diggety, dig, dig.

  I drop my bone into the hole. Then I pushity, push, push the dirt back over it.

  No other dog will be able to find my bone and steal it. When I want to find my bone again, all I will have to do is look for the tree that has an angry furry thing sleeping in its branches.

  Now I’m ready to have some fun!

  “I want my mummy.”

  I hear someone whimpering in the nearby bushes, and I can understand what that someone is saying. Which can only mean one thing: Whatever is hiding in the bushes is a dog. And he sounds ve
ry sad.

  I really want to get far away from the loud, snorting furry thing in the tree. But I can’t leave when there’s a dog in trouble. Dogs have to help each other out.

  I wander over to the bushes. There’s a teeny terrier puppy hiding in them. He’s shaking all over.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “That furry thing is loud. But I don’t think he will hurt us. I think he just wants to scare us away from his tree.”

  The terrier puppy looks up. “You mean that koala?” he asks. “He’s not scaring me.”

  “Then why are you crying?” I ask him.

  “Because I’m never going to see my mummy or my sisters again,” he tells me.

  “Your what?” I ask him.

  “My family,” he says. “You know.”

  No, I don’t know.

  “Don’t you live with anyone?” the terrier asks.

  “Oh yes,” I reply. “My two-leg, Josh.”

  “No other dogs?” he asks.

  “Nope,” I say.

  “Crikey!” the terrier exclaims. “That’s strange.”

  I don’t like being called strange. Or crikey. Whatever that means.

  “Don’t you have a two-leg?” I ask him.

  “No,” he tells me. “It’s always been just us dogs.”

  “Just dogs? Living all alone in a house?”

  The terrier shakes his head. “We don’t live in a house. We live under a bridge. At least we did, until a two-leg came by and grabbed my mummy and my sisters.”

  “But he didn’t grab you?” I ask him.

  “No, I was too fast for him. I ran away and hid.”

  “You were smart to run away,” I tell him. “That two-leg might have been a dogcatcher.”

  “A what?” he asks me.

  “A dogcatcher,” I say again. “A two-leg who puts dogs in the pound. Trust me: You don’t want to go there.”

  The terrier gives me a scared look. “Will my mummy and sisters be okay in the pound?”

  I do not want to frighten this puppy. He looks scared enough. So I say, “Sure.” Even though I’m not sure at all.

  The terrier doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, shaking. I can tell he’s really frightened.

  So am I. Because if there’s a dogcatcher around, he could be looking to catch more dogs. Like me.

  “How far is your bridge from here?” I ask the terrier nervously.

  “Really far,” he tells me. “Across a puddle of water that’s so big, you can’t even see the whole thing.”

  Phew. That’s too far for that dogcatcher to come looking for us.

  But it’s also too far for a dog to swim or walk across. This doesn’t make any sense. “Then how did you get here?” I ask.

  “When I ran off, I looked for a place to hide,” he tells me. “I found a giant metal machine and climbed inside. The next thing I knew, it was floating on the water! And I wound up here.”

  “That’s scary!” I say.

  The teeny terrier nods. “Real scary. Because now I’m all alone.”

  His tail sinks between his legs. His ears droop. He looks so sad.

  “You’re not alone,” I say, trying to cheer him up. “You’re with me. My name is Sparky. What’s yours?”

  “Mick.” The terrier smiles at me. “I’m glad you came along, mate.”

  “Sparky,” I correct him.

  He looks at me funny. “What?”

  “My name’s not Mate,” I say. “It’s Sparky. I just told you that.”

  The terrier laughs. “Sparky, you’re a real dag,” he says.

  “No. I’m a dog,” I tell him. “A sheepdog.”

  Mick laughs again. “I just meant you’re a funny guy. A dag. Anyway, now that you’re here, I feel better. We can spend all our time together.”

  Uh-oh. I know that’s not true. In a little while, I’m going back to Josh.

  Which will leave Mick all alone.

  Except that wouldn’t be nice. Dogs are supposed to help each other out.

  I don’t know what to do. This is baddy, bad, bad.

  “Maybe we can find you a family of dogs here,” I say.

  Mick gives me a funny look. “Are you crackers?” he asks.

  “No, I’m Sparky, remember?” I reply.

  Mick shakes his head. “I told you, my family isn’t here,” he says. “They’re on the other side of that giant puddle. Far, far away.”

  “I know,” I tell him. “But maybe we can find you a new dog family. One where everyone talks the funny way you do.”

  “I don’t talk funny,” Mick answers. “Everybody in Australia talks this way.”

  I guess Australia must be the name of this place.

  “We could find you a mummy and some brothers and sisters,” I continue. “That way you could have a big family. Then you won’t ever be alone.”

  “A new family?” Mick cocks his head sideways. Now he is thinkety, think, thinking. “But I like my old family. They played with me, and they took care of me . . .”

  “Do you think they want you to be happy?” I ask him.

  Mick nods. “Mummy always likes when my tail wags.”

  “Wouldn’t you be happier in a family than just wandering around here?” I ask.

  Mick’s tail wags a little. “I guess it’s worth a try,” he finally says.

  “Come on, Mick,” I say. “Let’s go find you a family!”

  CHAPTER 3

  “G’day, mates!” a big shepherd dog barks to us a little while later as we pass a small house.

  The shepherd is lying down outside. There’s another shepherd right next to her.

  This house has flowers and a big tree in the yard. It reminds me of my house. I am happy in my house. Maybe Mick can be happy here.

  “This is it!” I bark to Mick. “This is your new home.”

  Mick looks at the house.

  And the tree.

  And the two shepherds.

  His ears perk up. His tail starts to wag.

  I think he likes this place.

  “Hi,” I say to the two shepherds. “My name is Sparky. This is my friend Mick.”

  “G’day,” the bigger of the two shepherds says. “I’m Callie. And this is Ollie.”

  Ollie comes over and sniffs my butt to say hello. I sniff him right back.

  “Are you part of a family?” I ask Callie and Ollie.

  “Sure we are,” Callie replies. “Isn’t everyone?”

  Mick’s ears flop. His tail sags.

  “I had a family once,” he says quietly.

  “You could find a new family,” I whisper back. “If you try.” I give him a little nudge with my nose.

  Slowly, Mick walks over to the shepherds. “Will you be my family?” he asks them.

  “I would love that, mate,” Ollie says.

  My tail starts wagging like crazy. It is so happy to hear that. Which is strange, because my tail doesn’t have ears.

  “But we can’t,” Callie adds.

  My tail stops wagging.

  “Why not?” I ask her.

  “Because families can only have two dogs on Kangaroo Island,” she explains. “It’s a rule.”

  “Kangaroo Island?” I look at Mick. “I thought you said this place was called Australia.”

  “Kangaroo Island is part of Australia,” Callie explains. “Not every place in Australia has the two-dog rule. But we do.”

  “It isn’t really fair,” Ollie adds. “Families can have as many two-legs as they want.”

  Mick looks very sad.

  “Don’t worry, Mick,” I say. “We’ll find you a family. You’ll see.”

  “Sure,” Callie agrees. “There are plenty of families on Kangaroo Island with only one dog.”

  “Or wit
h no dogs at all,” Ollie adds.

  What?

  “That’s just not right,” I say. “Every family needs a dog.”

  “And every dog needs a family,” Mick adds. He looks at me. “Do you think my mummy and sisters will find new families?”

  “I bet they will,” I say. Even though I don’t really know.

  “Then I’m going to find a new family, too,” Mick tells Callie and Ollie. “Even if Sparky and I have to search the whole island!”

  Gulp. This island seems pretty big. We could be searching a long, long time.

  Which means it could be a long, long time until I see Josh again.

  I can’t let that happen!

  CHAPTER 4

  “Look at all those birds!” I say a little while later.

  Mick and I have wandered into a strange place. It’s covered with blue-gray and white birds. They’re everywhere.

  Except in the sky. Which is weird. Where I come from, birds fly. But these birds walk.

  I look over at Mick. He is watching a big bird walk beside a tiny bird.

  That’s funny. It looks like the big bird is wearing a coat. Sort of like the coat Josh wears sometimes when he goes away with his friend Sophie.

  I do not know why Josh likes wearing a coat. I do not know why birds would want to wear coats, either. I hate my coat. It makes my fur itch.

  “Look at that baby penguin with his mum,” Mick says quietly.

  “A baby what?” I ask him.

  “The little one is a baby penguin,” Mick repeats. “And the big one must be his mother. They’re a family. I can tell.”

  Hmmm . . .

  “They’re a family,” I say slowly. “And you’re looking for a family. So maybe . . .”

  Mick gives me a funny look. “You think I could be part of a penguin family?”

  “Why not?” I answer. “I’m a dog, and Josh is a two-leg. We’re not the same. But we’re a family. Why can’t dogs and birds be a family?”

  Mick gets real quiet. Finally, he nods. “Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

  Mick runs over to the mother and baby penguin. He gives them a big, friendly grin. Then he asks, “Will you be my family?”