Louise Trapeze Did NOT Lose the Juggling Chickens Read online

  Daddy pushed one eyebrow up. “Louise,” he said, “are you forgetting what happened when Miss Kitty Fantastico asked you to keep an eye on her ant farm?”

  “That wasn’t my fault!” I pouted. “She should have warned me to make sure the cover part was all-the-way screwed on.”

  (Miss Kitty Fantastico is the assistant to Magnificent Blue the magician. Really, she should have just used magic to keep those ants in their glass case, if you ask me.)

  “And what about when you tied Tolstoy the Clown’s balloon animals too loosely, and they all flew away just before showtime?” Mama added.

  I made a frowny face. “It was the wind that took the balloons away.”

  (Boy, did it ever! Tolstoy had to work like craziness to get new balloon animals ready in time for our show. That was terrible.)

  “And then there was—” Mama started. I cut her off. I couldn’t help myself. “Never mind!” I said. My voice was loud and my face was tamale hot.

  I took a deep breath and tried to be more calm.

  “Those things all happened when I was still six,” I explained. My voice was more regular-person now. “I’ve grown a lot since my seventh birthday. I’m extra-super mature now. I promise.”

  Mama and Daddy looked doubtish. But they were still listening.

  “Please can I have a mature responsibility of only-my-own?” I didn’t care what, as long as it was something grown-up. “Prettiest please with purple ponies* on top?”

  Daddy looked at Mama. “We’re not saying no, Lou—” he said.

  “HOORAY!” I exploded into a little happiness dance.

  “But we’re not saying yes yet, either,” Mama finished. “We’ll think about it.”

  “Hmm.” A lot of the time, We’ll think about it is a grown-up way of saying We’re probably going to say no later. But they weren’t saying no now!

  “In the meantime,” she said, “maybe you can think about ways to show us that you’re more mature and responsible now.”

  “I will!” I said. I nodded my head a bunch.

  I just hoped those imaginary purple ponies in my brain had some ideas. Because I didn’t have any of my own yet.

  After-lunchtime on the Sweet Potato grounds is a very quiet, resting-and-being-still time. Ringmaster Riley calls it siesta hour, which is a fancy, Spanish way of saying nappish time. Most of the Sweet Potatoes were tucked away in their tents, sleeping or reading or finding other ways to not be noisy.

  Mama and Daddy were in bed, snoozing away. Morning practice had tired them out. I tried lying down on my bed to rest like them. But my eyelids would not stay shut!

  I was not at all nappish. My brain was running in thinking circles inside my head!

  Mama and Daddy wanted actual, real live proof that I was a very responsible seven-year-old. So that’s what I had to give them! How hard could real live proof be to get?

  Blink-blink-blink went my eyelids.

  Think-think-think went my brain.

  It felt like foreverness before I had a good idea of how to show how grown-up I was.

  But then:

  I had the most perfect idea in the whole worldwide!

  On a lot of days, we take care of that first thing in the morning. But we hadn’t yet today.

  So I decided: I’d oil Clara’s unicycle myself!

  And if a-little-bit-oiled was good for Clara’s unicycle, then a-lot-bit-oiled would be even better!

  Daddy is always talking about the importance of trying our best. And I could for sure try harder to oil the unicycle the very best!

  It was probably the most mature idea I’d ever had.

  We keep the oil can in the supply trailer, right next to the box office tent (where the tickets are sold). When I got to the trailer, no one was around. That was perfect.

  The door to the trailer was unlocked. That was even perfect-er. I went into the trailer and took the can off its shelf. I brought it over to the equipment trailer next door, where Clara’s unicycle was leaning—perfectly—up against a corner, right next to Koko Rico the Monkey’s monkey-sized ukulele.

  I took the unicycle out onto the grass in front of the trailer and poured oil all over the spokes of the wheel. Then I rubbed that oil in extra well with a special towel. Soon the unicycle was moonbeam shiny.

  When I was done, the can was almost empty. The towel was greasy and black, and the unicycle wheel was as slippery as the banana peels Tolstoy uses in his act. When I turned it, it spun faster than Mama doing flips on her aerial hoop!

  Perfect-est! I thought. This was the best-oiled unicycle wheel of all times. I couldn’t wait for Clara to give it a try!

  After I finished oiling Clara’s unicycle, I waited outside of her pen for her to wake up. It felt like siesta would never be over. Inside my body, butterflies of excitement were exploding all over! I wanted to grab Koko Rico’s ukulele and run circles around Clara’s pen playing music, just so she’d wake up. Then I could show her my big surprise.

  Finally, the little hand on the box office clock said 2:00. Tent flaps and trailer doors peeled open. Sweet Potatoes poked their heads outside, blinking in still-sleepyish ways. I waited as patiently as I could for Clara Bear, even though my excitement butterflies were ready to fly to the moon.

  At last, Clara Bear snuffled, turned over, and stood up. She lumbered over to me. She was blinking and rubbing her eyes, too. Clara loves-loves-loves siesta time. It’s her favorite part of the day, besides snack time. (Bears are excellent nappers.)

  “Guess what!” I said to Clara with my most excited face on. “I have a huge surprise for you.” I wheeled her unicycle over.

  “I oiled it extra!” I explained. “Let’s see how fast you can go now!”

  Clara nodded. I led her to the top of the nearest circus ramp, which was set up just behind the box office. It was very quiet there. “I guess people are still siesta-ing,” I said to Clara. “But we can practice anyway!”

  Carefully, Clara climbed onto her unicycle. Once she was up, she pedaled her hind legs. They went slowly at first. But that wheel still spun shiny and quick.

  Then Clara’s legs started moving faster and faster. Her unicycle wheel spun whizz-swish-zip. Now that it was double-oiled, that unicycle was the fastest thing I’d ever seen…way faster than Mama on her aerial hoop.

  Actually, maybe that unicycle was a little too fast now?

  Clara’s eyes were wide. Her snout was turning in a scaredish way. Her legs were pedaling so quickly she was bouncing in her seat! And—oh no!—her unicycle wheel was wobbling left and right!

  Zip-whizz-swish! The unicycle pitched over to one side. Then it kaboomed over the edge of the circus ramp!

  “Clara!” I shouted. She was still zig-zag-zooming along. Her legs were swishing away. Her eyes were the widest ever.

  Uh-oh! Clara was rolling right toward a tree! “Watch out!” I called.

  At the exact lastest minute, Clara turned on her unicycle to the right. Screech! She swooped to one side and missed the tree by the tiniest smidge!

  “Clara!” I ran to her and untangled her from the unicycle. I checked her carefully for any scrapes and bruises. Clara snuggled tight-tight-tight up against me.

  I felt terrible. “Are you okay?”

  Clara nodded.

  “Thank goodness gracious,” I said. I sighed my most relieved-person sigh.

  Then I felt a shadow over my shoulder. When I turned around, Mama was standing behind me. She made questioning eyebrows at me.

  “What’s going on here, Louise?” she asked.

  I swallowed. “We…”

  I put a hand on Clara’s fuzzy, bearish shoulder. “We were just practicing a new trick with the unicycle. Practice makes perfect. Right, Clara?” I gave her a Very Important Look. As long as Clara was okay, maybe Mama didn’t need to know I’d made another mistake.

  Clara gave a tiny nod to show she understood. She looked straight at Mama in a very agreeing way.

  Mama looked thoughtful. “Are you sure you
don’t need any help, Louise?” she asked finally.

  “Totally sure,” I said in my most serious-business voice. I was so tired of help from grown-ups!

  “Okay,” Mama said. “Because I have to meet with Ringmaster Riley right now, so I don’t have time for drama.”*

  “No drama here!” I chirped.

  Mama sighed, but she didn’t ask any more questions. “Great,” she said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  The minute Mama walked off, I checked Clara Bear from top to tail to be one hundred percent sure she was a-okay. She was. What a relief!

  She waved a paw at me to tell me she needed to get back to practicing with her trainer, Mary Lou-Lew. And then she gave a bearish wink to show she wouldn’t ever tell about how I oiled her wheel too much.

  Once Mary Lou-Lew led Clara away, I let out another giant sigh. So much sighing! This day was not turning out the way I planned!

  The bad news was, I still hadn’t proved to anyone how responsible I could be.

  The worse news was, I had no idea how to do that!

  But before I could think about it any more, Chuck Cluck came running up. He was breathing hard, and his face was red.

  “Louise!” he said. “Thank goodness you’re here! Your parents and the others are meeting with Ringmaster Riley now. And I have an emergency!”

  My ears perked up. An emergency probably needed a mature, grown-up person to fix it. And Chuck Cluck came to me!

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I have to run to town to get the chickens’ skateboards repaired before tomorrow night’s show. And the shop closes in an hour. There’s no time to waste!”

  Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

  “I need someone to watch over the chickens while I’m out,” Chuck said. “I know you’ve never watched them on your own before, but there’s no one else. And I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Cheeze Louise and holy trapeze!” I shouted. “I’ll take perfect care of the chickens, I promise! Triple purple pony swear!”

  Chuck smiled. “Thanks, Louise,” he said. “You’re a lifesaver. And I’ll rush right back. You won’t be alone for too long.”

  I loved being called a lifesaver. I threw my arms around Chuck. “Don’t worry! You don’t even have to rush! I am totally and completely, one hundred percent, ready for this!”

  Chuck Cluck quickly showed me how to open and shut the latch to the chicken coop. He told me where he keeps the chicken feed and explained all about what to give the chickens for snack time.

  (He feeds them a special seed-shaped cereal that he says is delicious to chickens. But for regular human people it looks like ick!)

  “Thanks again, Louise,” he said in his most serious-business voice. Then he rushed off to Funky Town with three chicken-sized skateboards tucked under his arms.

  And then it was just me and the three juggling chickens: Oona, Loona, and Maude.

  “Hello, chickens!” I said in my very cheeriest voice. “I’m going to be your babysitter.” (Even though they were chickens, not babies, watching them was a kind of babysitting.)

  They all clucked and waved their wings in a featherish way. Oona waved the loudest—she is the older twin and the bossiest of the chickens. I could tell they were very, extremely excited to have such a mature person watching them.

  “Would you like your snack now?” I asked.

  They bobbed their heads, very chickeny, to say yes. I took the bag of feed that Chuck left and poured some into their bowls: one, two, three!

  They gobbled their food right down. (I guess it really is delicious to them!) Then they chicken-walked to the front of their coop, Oona leading the way.

  Oona clucked, and Loona flapped her wings. Maude bobbed her head down again in her shy baby-sister way. They poked their little beaks through the holes in the mesh and stared at me with chickenish eyes.

  They stared and stared. I never saw chickens stare so much.

  Those chickens sure looked like they wanted something. But what?

  I looked at their bowls, which were completely empty. “Are you still hungry?” I asked.

  They cluck-cluck-clucked! Even shy Maude was flapping her wings. They totally were!

  Hmm. Chuck Cluck didn’t say anything about how much feed to give them. And they were definitely still hungry.

  “Okay,” I said. “I can give you a little bit more.”

  Now they all flapped their wings like this was the best news they’d ever heard in their entire chicken lives.

  I took the bag of feed into their coop again and kneeled down to pour some more into each bowl.

  But then—oops! I dropped the whole bag on the ground!

  The chickens clucked like mad. They flapped all around me and peck-peck-pecked at the ground. Before I could pick the bag up again, all the feed had been gobbled up!

  Yikes! It really was a lot of feed they ate. I hoped Chuck wouldn’t mind.

  Oona chicken-walked up to me. She flapped a wing against my arm and gave a little chicken hiccup. That was when I noticed she had flecks of feed sticking all over her feathers.

  Oh no! Loona and Maude were covered in feed, too. All three of them were filthy! Chuck Cluck would not be happy about that.

  What was I going to do?

  I thought very, very hard. I even crinkled up my forehead to help the thinking go faster.

  Finally! There it was: a eureka! idea!

  Problem: The chickens were dirty. Chuck Cluck would not be happy about that.

  Solution: I, Louise Trapeze, would give them a bath! Then they would be squeaky clean again!

  An eensy part of my brain was remembering how I messed up trying to give Clementine her sponge bath. But a bigger, more mature part of my brain said I’d learned my lesson and would be much more careful when bathing the chickens.

  It was time to clean some chickens!

  In our circus, we have a fenced-in place near the Big Top tent where we keep a bunch of metal tubs for bathing the smaller animals. It’s called the bathing pen. The bathing pen has teensy, wonder-dog-sized tubs and medium-sized tubs for animals like Clara Bear and Leo Torpedo the lion, too.

  So I knew it would be easy to find a tub for three sister chickens.

  “Follow me,” I told the chickens. Oona looked at her sisters and bobbed her head to show that they should listen to me. I unlatched the door to their coop, and off we went.

  The chickens marched straight-straight-straight in a line, Oona leading the way. She kept one wing up like she was pointing the whole entire time. Loona walked with her chicken rump wobbling side to side. Little Maude walked more slowly than her sisters, but she could still keep up. Along we marched!

  All the Sweet Potatoes were out of Ringmaster Riley’s meeting and busy with afternoon practice.

  Tolstoy was teaching Leo how to backflip over and through his fire hoop! (The hoop wasn’t fiery now, since they were just practicing.)

  Stefano Wondrous’s Wonder Dogs were tap-dancing on top of upside-down buckets.

  And Maharaja Moe was practicing a new tune on his recorder while his cobra, Khan, swish-swoosh-swished a little snakey dance.

  Everyone was so busy practicing that they didn’t notice me—or the chickens—at all. That was good. I wanted it to be a one hundred percent surprise when Chuck Cluck came back from town to find his chickens squeaky-clean.

  Right away, I found exactly the right-sized tub for the chickens. It was mediumish, so all three of them could fit in it together.

  “Here you go!” I popped Oona inside. She clucked and flapped with excitement. One by one, Loona and Maude jumped in after her.

  I found the long spraying hose and turned on the water. It felt a little cold to me, but the chickens didn’t mind. (They have all those feathers to keep them warm.)

  I had the water, I had the bathtub, and I had the chickens. But I was still missing one thing:

  The soap!

  I forgot the soap!

  “Don
’t move,” I told the chickens. “Oona, you’re in charge!” She gave a loud squawk at her sisters. They all bobbed their heads to say they would behave. “I’ll be right back.”

  I ran to the supply trailer lickety-split. It was dark and dusty inside. It took a minute for me to find the shelf of soap. At first all I could see were:

  1. a box of screws for tightening tightwires and other circus equipment

  2. glitter shakers for glittering-up Dinah-Mite White’s cannon

  3. a bin of silk scarves that Tolstoy sometimes pulls from his sleeve

  But then—there they were! Bottles and bottles of soapiness, right in the corner, on a low, Louise-height shelf.

  I ran to the bottles and looked hard at all the labels. None of them said special, just-for-chickens soap, so I just grabbed the bottle that looked the most like bubble bath.

  When I got back to the chickens, the water was way-high-up in the tub.

  “Look what I have!” I said.

  I opened the bottle of soap and turned it upside down over the tub. Squishy, bubbly soap ran out in a thick stream. It smelled like bubble gum.

  Bubble-gum soap! That was probably the best kind of soap ever!

  The chickens squawked as the bubbles bubbled higher and higher. It was almost spilling out! So I took the sprayer out of the water and laid it on the grass. The smell of bubble gum was almost making me dizzy! Oona pecked her beak into the water quick-quick-quick. When she took it out, she clucked.

  And then!

  The funniest thing of the whole-entire-evertimes happened:

  Oona blew a bubble!

  “Wow!” I said. “That’s amazing!”