“So I see,” said Tooter. It was kind of funny, so Tooter decided not to tattle on him.
Tooter dropped by her father’s office. He was pecking away as usual. “I have a new idea for your story, Dad. The girl shaves her goat. Except for a pom-pom on its tail. The shaving takes hours and hours. You’ll probably need a whole chapter for it.”
Mr. Pepperday waved. “Thanks for the advice.”
Tooter went to her room. She picked out the clothes she would wear for the county fair. She practiced her proper walk in front of the mirror.
Before dinner Mrs. Pepperday sent Tooter out to the garden for a cucumber. Every cucumber she reached for was blue. So were several tomatoes and a once-yellow squash.
On her way to report to her mother, Tooter noticed blue paint on the fence. And on the water bucket. And on the grass. And …
Tooter screamed.
A white animal with blue stripes was grazing in the pasture. It looked like a cartoon zebra.
“Pepperoni!”
9
No!
Tooter scrubbed Pepperoni’s hide for an hour. Pepperoni kicked and fussed. Hardly any paint came off.
Aunt Sally took a look. “That’s it,” she said. “Go at it any longer, and you’ll scrub the poor critter’s hide right off its bones.”
“But how can I show her at the fair, looking like that?” Tooter cried.
Aunt Sally shook her head sadly. “ ’Fraid you can’t. Show’s over for you two. Start planning for next year.”
“No!” Tooter stomped into the house. She called Jack Hafer on the phone. She told him what had happened. “You’re the expert,” she said. “How can I get this paint off my goat?”
Jack Hafer stopped laughing long enough to say, “You can’t.” Then he went on laughing.
Tooter hung up.
As the moon rose over the pasture, Tooter sat alone on the front porch. Gone was her dream of a blue ribbon. Gone also was her dream of seeing Jack Hafer’s face when she showed up with her beautiful goat. She had imagined the crowd bursting into applause when she and Pepperoni appeared. She had imagined the judge crying out, “Hold it! Here’s our winner!” And pinning the blue ribbon to her shirt … while Jack Hafer gawked in disbelief …
Dreams. Dashed.
Or were they?
Next morning Tooter couldn’t find Chuckie in his bed. Or at the breakfast table. She knew he was hiding from her.
She found him in the barn—and grabbed him.
“Mom!” he screamed. “She’s gonna kill me!”
Tooter clamped his mouth shut. “Shh. I’m not going to kill you.” She let him go. She smiled. “I just want to shake your hand.”
“Huh?” said Chuckie.
Tooter shook his hand. “I just want to tell you what a great job you did painting my goat. She used to be so boring. Now she’s … beautiful!”
Chuckie stared at her. “She is?”
“Yep,” said Tooter. “In fact, you’re so good at it, I think you should paint other people’s goats too.”
“You do?” said Chuckie.
“Yep,” said Tooter. “Grab your paint and brush. Let’s go!”
Tooter and Chuckie took a walk down Fox Hollow Road.
“Where are we going?” said Chuckie.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Tooter. “We’ll just walk till we come to a farm. Then we’ll ask the farmer if he would like to have his goat painted.”
“And it doesn’t have to be stripes,” said Chuckie excitedly. “I can do polka dots too.”
“Right,” said Tooter. “Whatever you want.”
Of course, Tooter knew exactly where they were going. And she had no intention of asking the farmer for permission to paint his goat.
Tooter had been awake half the night, thinking. She got madder each time she thought of Jack Hafer laughing. And winning another blue ribbon. Then it occurred to her: maybe he didn’t have to win. Maybe something could happen to his goat too.
The Hafer farm was a mile down the road. “Hey, Chuckie, look!” Tooter cried when they came near. “There’s a farm. I’ll bet they have a boring goat that needs painting.”
Chuckie raised his paintbrush. “Yeah!”
Tooter smiled. “I’ll bet there’s a goat behind that barn.”
Chuckie started running. “Ya-hoo!”
Tooter watched her little brother race to Jack Hafer’s farm. She saw him disappear behind the barn. But then—suddenly—he was back in view. He was racing toward her, screaming, terrified.
He grabbed her. “Tooter!” Hiding behind her, he pointed to the barn. “Dog! Bad dog!”
Tooter took his hand and pulled him along. When they reached the barn, Tooter heard a noise. It was a goat noise. Maa-aa. But different somehow. And louder.
Chuckie was whimpering, clutching her arm. Tooter crept along the side of the barn. The goat noise was getting louder. She reached back for a fistful of Chuckie’s shirt.
She came to the end of the barn. She took a deep breath and peeked around the corner.
Coyote.
A scrawny, splotchy, brown, dog-looking animal. Only three spits away from where she stood.
And Jack Hafer’s goat, Cleo. Shaved creamy white for the show. Her head stuck in the fence again. Kicking and thrashing like a rodeo horse. The pom-pom a blur on the end of her tail. The coyote circling, circling, snapping at the flying hooves.
Tooter pulled back behind the corner. Her terrified eyes met Chuckie’s terrified eyes. She couldn’t move.
The goat was screaming.
She grabbed the paint can from Chuckie and charged into the barnyard. She screamed her lungs out—“YAAAAAAAAAAAA!” The coyote turned to look at her. She flung the paint can. It clanked against the fence. By the time it settled in the barnyard dust, the intruder was gone.
Jack Hafer and his parents came running. “Cleo!” they yelled. “Cleo!” Jack went to his goat and worked its head loose from the fence.
Mrs. Hafer was looking down at Tooter, smiling. “You saved Cleo,” she said. There were tears in her eyes.
Oh, no! What have I done? Tooter thought. I saved Jack Hafer’s goat!
10
The Winner Is …
Tooter spent the next day at the county fair with her family. She passed the long tables of prize-winning vegetables and preserves. She didn’t go anywhere near the goat show tent. She ended up spending all of her money on the bumper cars.
That night she stopped by her father’s office. It was empty. She started up his computer. When she came to a blank screen, she began to type:
The girl and her goat, Pepperoni Pepperday, worked very hard. They really did. But the girl’s brother painted Pepperoni with blue stripes. And so the girl could not enter the show. It was very sad.
The End
She turned off the computer and went to bed.
Next morning Tooter went to search for eggs. Feeling around in the darkness of the chicken coop, she heard a voice in the barnyard. Jack Hafer’s. He was calling her name.
She knew why he was here. He had come to show off the blue ribbon he’d won. To wave it in her face. Who needed that? She crouched in the shadows of the coop.
But then Jack was in the doorway, peering in. “Tooter? You there?”
“No,” she said.
“I can’t see you. Come on out.”
“I’m gathering eggs. Like the great farmer that I am.”
He laughed. “Come on out anyway. I have something to show you.”
“Don’t bother. I know what it is.”
“Tooter,” he said. “Please.”
Tooter gave in. She walked outside. Jack was standing there with a big grin on his face. And sure enough, he held a blue ribbon in his hand. He waved it in front of her.
“Big deal,” she said. “If Pepperoni was there, you wouldn’t have won.”
Jack seemed to think about that. He shrugged. “Maybe not.” He smiled. “Anyway, here—” He grabbed her hand and placed the blue ri
bbon in it. “This is yours as much as mine. For saving Cleo. I think you should have it.”
Tooter stared at the ribbon. She didn’t know what to say.
“Bye,” said Jack, and ran to his bike.
When Jack disappeared down Fox Hollow Road, Tooter ran to the house. She came out with a hammer. She ran to the barn. She showed Pepperoni the blue ribbon. “This is yours too,” she said. Pepperoni looked proud.
Tooter pulled a nail from her pocket. She tacked the blue ribbon onto the front post of the stall. She kissed Pepperoni on her proud, bony nose. “We’ll take turns with it,” she said. “You can have it the first week.”
Then she raced into the house. “Dad! Dad!” she called as she flew up the stairs. Her father was at his usual place at the computer. He turned as she burst into the office. “Forget that ending I gave you,” she gushed. “I have a new one.” She jumped into his arms. “And this one is happy!”
About the Author
None of Jerry Spinelli’s six children was ever saddled with the responsibility of raising a chicken or training a goat, but his daughter Molly was just as persistent with him as Tooter Pepperday is with her father. While writing one of his books, Jerry didn’t hear his daughter calling him until she sat on his desk and began writing him a note vertically along the page of his longhand manuscript! He told her to “Scoot!” but he did pay more attention to her the next time she came into the room.
Other books by Jerry Spinelli include Tooter Pepperday, Stargirl, and Maniac Magee, for which he won the Newbery Medal in 1991. Jerry lives with his wife, Eileen, also a children’s book author, in Pennsylvania.
Don’t miss the first book about Tooter!
“You’re gonna regret this.”
“We are?” said Mr. Pepperday.
“Yeah,” said Tooter. “You can drag me out of here, but there’s one thing you can’t make me do.”
For the last time, the Pepperday family left their house in Morgantown.
“You’re not giving me the silent treatment, are you?” said Mr. Pepperday.
There was no answer. Tooter’s lips were clamped tight.
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Then I hear Miss Spraggins saying, “What about you, Michael Andrew? Do you understand?”
“No, Ma’am,” I say. Now, I’m meaning, No, please don’t call me Michael Andrew, but she’s thinking I’m saying, No, I don’t understand.
Miss Spraggins is not with me on this. “I see,” she says. “So you’re a smarty-mouth. Then see if you can understand this. Michael Andrew, you have detention.”
“What? But—”
“Not another word, young sir.”
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Billy looked from one parent to the other. “If you’d just get me a dog for my birthday, I’d be real good.”
Mrs. Getten shook her head. “I think you should be good first.”
“You don’t seem like you’re ready for a dog, son.”
“Not ready? That’s all I ever wanted!”
His mother stood.
His father said, “If you’d help around here, maybe we’d consider a dog. But not with the kind of stunt you pulled this morning.”
Billy didn’t dare say what he was thinking. They really should have gotten a dog instead of a baby. What good was a baby? She couldn’t even run after a stick.
Jerry Spinelli, Blue Ribbon Blues: A Tooter Tale
(Series: # )
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