Chapter One

The Wonderful Wallow

“Find home, Phooey!” Phooey’s very favorite boy Conner did a wheelie in his chair, then threw a pinecone down the trail.

Phooey’s ears twitched. She gripped Dolly tight and sniffed for “home.”

“You can do it, Phooey,” her very favorite boy, Marcus, whispered. “Remember how God gave you instincts and a powerful nose?”

Phooey stood taller. Her nose was powerful. Her instincts were . . . What were instincts again? Phooey thought and thought.

She shook Dolly and barked. Her nose was powerful! That was the most important thing.

Phooey’s tail wagged faster and faster. “Home” was past the giant pine tree that looked like a castle, through the chilly springtime meadow, and toward the tree with a knot tied in the trunk.

“Home” smelled like bunk beds, ham sandwiches, and her boys’ socks balled up and tossed in the corner.

Phooey pointed her snoot toward the twisty dirt trail. All she had to do was gallop down the trail, through the thick pine trees, across the meadow, and straight up the porch steps of their log house.

Then, a different smell floated on the breeze.

A wet and muddy smell. An oozy and wonderful smell. A smell like a mud puddle and Heaven all mixed up together.

Phooey turned away from the ham-and-socks smell of her boys’ home. Her nose twitched toward her other home—a forest home, her muddy home. A home where happy creatures flopped and rolled in the royal muck. The very best place in all the land.

The elk wallow!

If home was where your heart was, the elk wallow was home! It even smelled like her boys’ socks!

With a yip, she pointed her nose toward the elk wallow and shot away at Jet-Dog speed. Dolly’s hair flapped as Phooey galloped.

She and her boys could live in the elk wallow together! All she had to do was lead them there.

“No, Phooey!” Marcus darted after her.

Phooey zigged and zagged—then zipped right between his legs.

“Find home, take us home!” Conner wheeled his chair to block her.

Phooey jumped onto his lap, gave his face a loving slobber, and jumped off the other side.

No one would keep her from the wonderful wallow. A princess deserved her mud bath!

By the time her boys caught up, Phooey was flopped in the royal ooze with all four paws sky high.

She wriggled back and forth, rubbing her itchy back in the mud. Scritch, scritch, scratch. Oh, so nice. Ooze, glub, glob.

With paws in the air and her fur soaking up that special extra- gooey mud, Phooey was all-the-way happy. She barked. Her boys had to try it.

Instead of diving in, Conner flipped through his Shakespearean insult book. He pointed at the lovely muck, and shouted. “That’s the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended my nostrils!”

Marcus sighed. “Yeah, it definitely smells. Who’s going to get her?”

“My wheels don’t do great in twelve inches of mud.” Conner zoomed his chair up and down the path and then skidded to a stop.

“That’s not what you said last week,” Marcus muttered.

“And see where that got us? It took Dad plus the winch on the camp truck to pop my chair out!”

Marcus sighed and tiptoed toward Phooey.

Phooey wagged. Would he jump in?

Marcus’s tennis shoes squelched in the fancy ooze. He leaped back onto the trail.

Phooey growled. What was wrong with them? This was first-rate muck. Fancy muck. Royal muck!

The boys gathered dry sticks and low branches. They tossed them across the mud forming a bridge of pine and fir boughs.

“I wish Nia was here,” Conner said. “She’d build a cool ‘Phooey Nabbing’ machine.”

Phooey dropped Dolly and bit at the closest branch. Needles went everywhere.

She growled. Nia’s last machine had pinched her tail. Their neighbor should build machines to brush her guinea pigs, not Phooey. 

“Elk are dangerous, Phooey,” Marcus said. “And so is their wallow. See?” He held up his Perils Pad, a small notebook where he wrote down how dangerous stuff was.

Marcus scribbled something onto the page and started reading. “The Dangers of the Elk Wallow. Number one, elk. Number two, getting stuck. Number three, getting sick from strange germs in the mud. Number four, slipping and falling and breaking your legs.”

“Are you sure?” Conner asked. “I saw her fall three times and she hasn’t broken anything.”

Phooey wagged. She was amazing at falling.

“Well, number one is definitely a danger.” Marcus looked Phooey right in the eyes. “This is where the elk roll to get rid of flies and scratch itches. That’s why they call it the ‘elk wallow.’ It’s just for wild critters, like elk.”

Phooey wagged and gave him a doggy smile. She was wild, wild for ham, cheese, and fancy mud!

“Wait!” Marcus’s eyes grew wide. “Hold still, Phooey.” He slowly reached toward her, staring at something on Phooey’s head. “Conner, can you help?”

Phooey froze. She felt a terrible tickle. Slowly, she began to tremble. The tremble started with her floppy ears, shivered down her back, and ended at her fluffy tail.

Phooey felt scritchy-scratchy footsteps scramble across her fur.

She shook with pure terror. Phooey knew exactly what was on her head. It was the most dangerous animal in the whole wide forest!

“Stop shaking so I can get it.” Conner cupped his hand on her head and snatched something up. “Phew, that one almost got you!”

“Don’t say that,” Marcus said.

Conner opened his hand. “See, just a baby grasshopper.”

Phooey jumped straight up into the air, flipped over, and landed in the wonderful wallow.

She rolled and rolled and rolled, squishing and squashing the feel of grasshopper legs out of her fur. Finally, her trembling stopped and she heaved a deep sigh.

“Now you’ve done it,” Marcus said. “Look at her.”

Phooey gave a happy wag.

Her boys must be really itchy after running all the way here. Rolling in the wallow was just what they needed.

She pranced in a circle, spraying muck into the air with her beautiful paws. She whined. Didn’t they understand? Why wouldn’t her boys wallow with her?

She barked.

Both her boys backed up, noses wrinkled like they couldn’t smell how amazing the muck was.

Marcus shuffled across the bridge of branches and grabbed her around the middle.

What? No! It was time to wallow! Phooey needed to wallow like a princess!

She twisted and flopped. She wriggled and flipped. She turned and tumbled and fell—right back into the wallow. The royal muck oozed around her like a hug. So nice!

Just then, the rumble of an engine and the crunch of tires on gravel came from far behind the trees. Phooey popped her head up. Mud flew off her ears and splattered her boys.

While Marcus and Conner shouted with joy—because she had shared her wonderful mud—Phooey twisted her head. Where had that sound come from? Was there a truck in the forest?

Conner rolled his chair across the bridge of branches. He shoved the wheels with his hands, going faster and faster. “I’m coming for you, Phooey!”

Phooey’s eyes grew wide. Was her boy trying to smash his princess?

“Don’t scare her, just grab her fast,” Marcus said.

Phooey turned and tried to run.

Conner lurched up beside her and heaved Phooey into his lap.

Oh, no! Phooey thrashed and scratched and squirmed, until, oh so slowly, the wheelchair tipped sideways, falling toward the wallow.

“Phooey Kerflooey!” Conner shouted. He squeezed her tight and gripped his chair.

Tipping, falling—they were for-sure falling.

With a slurp of fancy muck, they plopped into the mud together.

Phooey’s boy had finally joined her! She slobbered his face. What a perfect day!