Phooey Kerflooey vs The Battle Squirrel

Chapter One

Phooey’s Mighty Battle

Phooey Kerflooey faced the angry squirrel.

Her fur bristled and her tail stuck out straight behind her.

She would battle Rasputin for her new home.

Phooey weighed twenty-two pounds, much more than a squirrel. She had floppy ears and the squirrel did not. She had a beautiful tail and the squirrel . . . Well, the squirrel also had a beautiful tail.

But Phooey was fierce. So very fierce. She could do this. She might even growl. Nothing could stop a puppy princess once she growled!

Rasputin chittered and chewed on a stolen hotdog bun from the counter.

Phooey ignored the danger and stepped forward. There, so brave! Almost brave enough to growl. She would definitely be growling soon. Her boys were here. Her fluffy dog bed was here. Her fancy, fancy teacup filled with ice-cold water was here. Now that she had a home, she would not let some pesky squirrel take it away.

Phooey looked at her very favorite boy, Conner.

Conner zoomed his wheelchair around the corner, waving a foam sword in the air. “A house with a squirrel can never be a home! Onward, Phooey!”

Phooey looked at her very favorite boy, Marcus.

Marcus moved his gaze between Phooey and his younger brother. “I only said that one time, Conner. The more you shout it, the more I think maybe I was wrong.” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and muttered as he scribbled. “What are the dangers of having a squirrel in the house?” He looked around the room. “One, destroyed comic books. Two, shredded shoe laces. Three, stolen food.”

Phooey looked at her very much not-favorite squirrel, Rasputin.

She bristled her tail and took another itty-bitty step onward. So brave. So beautiful. Definitely onward. This was her moment. Her fearsome attack was coming . . . any minute now. Like a beautiful forest wolf, Phooey bared her teeth. She gulped down a breath and crouched.

Finally, Phooey Kerflooey growled.

There, she’d done it! Rasputin was as good as gone, now.

The squirrel flicked his tail and pranced off with a packet of fruit snacks.

“No, you were totally right, Marcus. How can this be home with that squirrel wrecking everything. Plus, the more you call it ‘wheelchair-safe house #4’ the more I hate this place. Who wants safe? Not me!”

“Clearly,” Marcus said. He pointed to his notebook full of dangers. “But launching your chair off the porch lost us wheelchair-safe house #2 and launching your chair down the stairs lost us wheelchair-safe house #3. You’ve got to stop launching off, down, and over stuff.”

Phooey looked back and forth between her boys. They looked upset. She had to fix this. She was their puppy princess. Her soft fur brought smiles. Her waggy tail brought laughter. Her slurpy kisses brought screams of joy. Those had been screams of joy, right?

“You think this is bad?” Marcus said. “No grass, no trees. Just bland, gray safety that’s ten whole blocks from the skate park. Imagine what wheelchair-safe house #5 will look like! Dad and Mom will have us living in a hamster ball next if we aren’t careful.”

“No, being careful won’t fix this.” Conner gripped his foam sword. “Rasputin is a destroyer of homes! Remember that verse about the peaceful dwellings? Onward, Phooey!”

Phooey lowered to her belly and oozed toward the squirrel. Onward. She was for sure going onward—almost a whole inch!

“What?” Marcus froze, staring at his brother. “You actually remember the memory verse?”

“Isaiah 32:18!” Conner shouted at the squirrel. “‘My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.’ Look around, Marcus. Not peaceful, not secure—so disturbed.”

Rasputin shredded a paper towel roll then bounded across the floor to nibble a packet of ramen noodles.

Phooey crept across the floor. OK, so she hadn’t gotten him the last time, but now she would for sure save the day. Really soon. Any minute, now . . .

“The house is fine, Conner. Sure, I miss the porch swing and everything, but it’s a house. It’s fine.”

Conner tossed a paintball at Rasputin.

The squirrel grabbed it and took a big bite, spraying blue paint across the counter.

“Gaw! See? Rasputin is the worst.” Conner’s eyes flashed as he shot a look at his brother. Then he turned his glare toward the squirrel. “Get him, girl. Get that lily-liver’d knave!”

Marcus groaned. “Not more Shakespearean insults. I thought Mom took away that book.”

Conner grinned and pulled a mug from the pouch under his chair. “Yeah, but Grandma also got us a Shakespearean insult mug!”

Phooey froze, waiting for her bravery to arrive. The Shakespearean insult didn’t send her any magic powers. It was so fancy that she’d been hopeful. She had already growled, so there was no turning back. She would make this house a home for her boys. Phooey bunched her strong muscles, gave a ferocious yip of doom, then charged.

She galloped across the kitchen floor at Jet-Dog speed.

Rasputin flicked his tail and gave an evil chitter.

Phooey took the corner around the garbage can super-fast.

Rasputin bounded to the floor right in front of her and flicked his tail.

Phooey gave a fearsome bark and stiffened her legs. Her paws slipped and slid. She wasn’t stopping. The shiny, shiny kitchen floor was too slick. Phooey skidded toward Rasputin like a runaway moose. She couldn’t stop!

Rasputin squeaked out a challenge and darted to the side.

Phooey slipped past Rasputin, smashed through a stack of decorative pinecones, and crunched right into a bag of potato chips that Great Aunt Stella had just set down.

Everything was silent for a moment. Then an onion rolled off the cutting board, across the counter, and plunged downward, smooshing Phooey’s tail. Phooey lifted her snout in a howl of pain and fled the room as fast as her fuzzy paws could go.

“See,” Conner muttered. “Not peaceful, not secure . . . so disturbed.”