Part 2 (1/2)
Dingoes, she wrote next. Have been rolling in their own poo all morning. Uuuugh! Have been rolling in their own poo all morning. Uuuugh!
Polecats nay revvvvvv-OL-ting! Camels...burping all the time. Gross. Cows...farting all the time. Really gross. Mongooses...
But before they could manage any more Mr Pickles threw up at Miss Ingleby's feet.
One of the mongooses looked up at the two zoo keepers in disgust. Humans were just BEYOND GROSS.
Chapter Seven
It was now Sat.u.r.day afternoon and as Mr Pickles lay in the bath at the zoo with his yellow rubber duck, trying to recover from the morning's events, he realized the crisis had now been going on for twenty-four hours. Which meant-if Miss Ingleby's figures were correct-that there was now approximately three tonnes of whatsit lying around in his zoo. Three tonnes!
He leaped out of the bath and, as soon as he'd dragged some new clothes on-thoughtfully fetched from his home by Miss Busby-he called a meeting of all the keepers.
While they a.s.sembled, he nipped out of the front door of the zoo and walked round to Copplethorpe Road to see how Sergeant Saddle was getting on with the stuck bus.
He was greeted by an extremely hot and bothered Sergeant Saddle, waving his arms at a giant bulldozer which was pulling at a long rope without, it seemed, much success.
”How are you getting on, Sergeant?” asked Mr Pickles. ”Only I've got three tonnes of thingummy still piling up and, well, it's jolly pongy.”
”What's thingummy?” asked a mystified Sergeant Saddle.
”Whatsit,” said Mr Pickles. ”Whatcha-macallit. Who-jermaflip.”
Sergeant Saddle looked blank.
”Number Twos!” said Mr Pickles, blus.h.i.+ng.
”Number Twos,” said Sergeant Saddle crossly, ”are your problem. My problem is Number Seventeens. In other words, getting this 'ere bus out of this 'ere hole.”
And, with that, he went back to waving his arms at the bulldozer and Mr Pickles slunk back to his office, where all the keepers were waiting.
”Now then,” he began briskly, ”I've been talking to Sergeant Saddle, and he's doing his best to pull the bus out of the hole. But that might take a little while, so we just need to sort out our emergency plan. Any ideas?”
Mr Leaf, the lion keeper, spoke up first. ”Why don't we drain the Penguin Pool and put all the poo there?”
Mr Pomfrey, the penguin keeper, was outraged. ”Why pick on the penguins?” he said. ”What's wrong with the Lion House?”
”Why don't we just call the bin men and ask them to take it away?” asked Miss Ingleby.
”Health and safety,” said Mr Pickles gravely None of the keepers knew what that meant, but it sounded impressive.
”Why don't we bag it up and sell it at the front door?” said Mrs Crumble brightly. ”Top-rate manure at bargain-bas.e.m.e.nt prices! Mr Crumble put it on his vegetables.” She added: ”After he'd finished trying to eat it.”
The other keepers all looked rather disturbed at this revelation. Mind you, they-like the croc-also thought Mrs Crumble was a little strange at times.
”We are a zoo, not a garden centre,” said Mr Pickles severely. ”And anyway, I don't think our neighbours would thank us for lining up hundreds of bags of you-know-what all the way up and down the street.”
The keepers all fell silent.
”Can I make a suggestion?” asked Mr Emblem, the elephant keeper. ”The real problem is outside the zoo, not inside.”
”Very helpful, I'm sure,” said Mr Pickles sarcastically.
”I just meant...” said Mr Emblem. ”Well, I just meant, why don't we help pull the bus out of the hole?”
”I suppose you had three Weetabix for breakfast,” said Mr Pomfrey.
”Not me,” said an exasperated Mr Emblem, ”the elephants!”
There was a moment of stunned silence. And then all the other keepers began clapping.
”Brilliant!” said Mr Pickles, looking very relieved. ”Absolutely brilliant!”
”What about the rhinos?” said Mr Raja.
”The more the merrier!” said Mr Pickles.