Norbert, Page 2

  “Oh Noooooorbert!” she hollered, much louder this time. “Yoo hooo!”

  Unable to ignore her any longer, Norbert raised his head and turned slowly towards the sound of her voice. Even from fifty yards away, he could clearly see the sun glinting off her dazzling white teeth.

  “Hello Delilah.” Norbert spoke like a bad ventriloquist, moving his lips as little as possible lest she should catch a glimpse of his mouldy molars.

  Delilah was puzzled, if not a little offended. Usually Norbert would trot across to talk to her as soon as she came home. Had he gone off her? Had he fallen for another filly?

  Norbert needed to think quickly. Unfortunately, thinking quickly was not one of his strongest points.

  “Why don’t you come over to the gate?” Delilah whinnied happily, craning her neck as far as she could over into Norbert’s field. “Then we can catch up without having to shout at the top of our voices.”

  Norbert began to panic.

  “I’ve erm... I’ve got a bit of a sore leg today,” he cringed “so I think it’s best if I stay over here for the time being.”

  The distance between the two horses, combined with Norbert’s determination not to reveal even a glimpse of his teeth rendered his feeble excuse completely unintelligible to Delilah.

  “I do wish you wouldn’t mumble so, Norbert. I’m only trying to be friendly, but if you don’t want to see me, then you can suit yourself, old misery guts!” she snapped before turning and cantering off to the furthest end of her field in a huff.

  Chapter 4

  Meanwhile, up at Finbar’s farmhouse, Colin had alighted silently on the roof of the front porch and was busy carrying out a detailed reconnaissance of the enemy terrain. At least, this was the version of events that he later gave to Norbert when recounting his daring deeds to the gullible horse. In truth, he had flown hurtling and out of control towards the house and had struck a pane of glass in the porch doorway with an almighty thump. Rendered completely senseless by the collision, he had then proceeded to drop like a brick onto the concrete doorstep where he reposed lifelessly for almost half-an-hour, his stumpy yellow legs sticking straight up in the air. When he came to, it took him a further fifteen minutes to remember who he was, where he was, and why he was there.

  Little did Colin know that this was merely the beginning of the multiple misfortunes that fate had in store for him that day. Tragically, he had chosen to undertake his heroic mission on a Friday. Friday, alas, just happened to be the day when, after a hard week’s work, Farmer Finbar liked to take a long, hot soak in the bathtub. Like many people, Finbar kept his bathtub in the bathroom, the very same room that housed his toothbrush and toothpaste.

  “Aaaaaaaah,” the farmer grunted contentedly as he lowered his bulky frame into the warm, bubbly water. A grubby individual at the best of times, Finbar had earlier that morning cleaned out both the henhouse and the pigsty, and for this reason he was even dirtier and smellier than normal. For some moments he lay in a state of bliss, wallowing like a pink walrus in the hot suds, a large flannel draped over his face, his fat belly protruding like a small island above the frothy surface of the water as he dreamed happy dreams about a string of sausages in the fridge downstairs that he had earmarked for his supper. Then came the noise…

  It was a light, fluttering, flapping kind of noise, and it came from the vicinity of the open window. For a split second, Farmer Finbar froze, still and silent, largely submerged beneath the soapy suds. Then came another flutter. And another. Very slowly, his heart beating like a drum, he peeled the flannel back from his bright red face, and what he saw almost made his piggy eyes start from their sockets. There was a bird… A bird in his bathroom! Nay – not just any bird… It looked like a cuckoo… A fat cuckoo! Goodness me - there was a fat cuckoo in his bathroom! He continued to goggle in silent amazement. What was it doing now? It was using its beak to remove his toothbrush from the china pot on the sink… His mouth agape, Finbar watched as the bird proceeded to flutter back across to the window and drop his toothbrush out on to the ground below before repeating the procedure with his tube of toothpaste.

  So absorbed was Colin in his task that he was completely unaware of the danger that lurked beneath the soapy suds, and it thus came as a nasty shock when, from the vicinity of the bathtub in the corner of the room there came an almighty roar.

  “GARN!” Finbar bellowed as he emerged from the bathwater like a Kraken from the deep. Soap-suds poured like a waterfall from his enormous belly, his face bright purple with rage as he clambered clumsily out onto the bathmat.

  “GAAAAARN!” he roared again, as if to emphasize his point.

  “Gug, gug , gug, gug!” Colin retorted as he flapped and fluttered around the ceiling of the bathroom, frantically trying to navigate his way towards the open window.

  You may recall from earlier in the story, reader, that gug, gug, gug, gug is the sound that a cuckoo makes when agitated; I think we can all agree that there are few things more likely to induce a state of agitation than being chased around a bathroom by a naked farmer who is brandishing a loofah and who is clearly intent on using it to mash you into a sort of jelly. Such was Colin’s terror as he swooped and dived that he accidentally emitted a runny pellet of cuckoo droppings which struck Finbar squarely on the forehead with a loud splat!

  “GAAARN!” the farmer bawled, lashing out ever more furiously with the loofah, forcing Colin to retreat into a corner of the room away from the window that offered his route to salvation. But it was in this very moment, this darkest hour when all hope seemed lost, that Lady Luck seemed to smile down on the beleaguered cuckoo. For it was now, just as Finbar was preparing to close in for the kill, that the gooey white bird droppings began to dribble down the farmer’s forehead and into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Seizing his opportunity, Colin skimmed past his deadly foe with a gleeful gug, gug, gug, gug and made for the open window. Rubbing his eyes and seeing his prey slipping from his grasp, Finbar made a final desperate lunge with the loofah, almost losing his balance as he did so. As he charged like a bull towards the window, he then suffered the final indignity of stepping on a bar of soap, upon which he performed what appeared to be an elaborate double pirouette on the wet, soapy tiles, before going to ground with a sickening CRUMP, clipping his forehead on the corner of the sink as he went down.

  “Garn!” he muttered feebly as his world faded into blackness.

  Chapter 5

  As the sun moved steadily westwards across the sky, Norbert once again found himself standing beneath the leafy canopy of the old sycamore tree. Pondering the events of the last few hours, it seemed that he must be daydreaming. In the hedge that bordered the field, a host of sparrows were chitter-chattering busily among themselves in preparation for bedtime. Under normal circumstances, Norbert found these noisy little birds particularly irritating, but not today. Indeed, he did not even mind when a big hairy blue-bottle alighted on his nose and took a short stroll up his face and across his eyeball, such was his state of deepest bliss. Because today was the day when his teeth had finally been cleaned! In his long and uneventful life, he could not recall a time when he had ever felt happier.

  Earlier that afternoon, things had been very different. Having watched Colin setting out on his daring mission, Norbert had been driven close to despair when, after more than an hour, there was no sign of his return. Then a speck had emerged into view on the horizon. A plump, odd-looking speck. As the speck drew nearer, Norbert could see that it was clutching something in its beak. A toothbrush! But wait... The speck appeared to have dropped the toothbrush in a field of corn... Oh no! But what was this? The speck was diving down to retrieve it...

  When Colin finally had made it back to the sycamore tree and dropped the toothbrush between his friend’s hooves, Norbert had studied it doubtfully. It didn’t seem to have very many bristles left, and the few that remained were badly discoloured, having been used twice daily by Farmer Finbar over a period of several years, but it was sti
ll a toothbrush of sorts and would have to do.

  “But what about the...” Norbert had begun, his voice bursting with anxiety.

  “The toothpaste? Yes - I know!” Colin had clucked breathlessly, visibly distressed.

  “I couldn’t carry both, so I’m now going to have to go all the way back to Finbar’s farm to get it! I did manage to drop it out of the window, so at least I will not need to risk a further foray into the Bathroom of Terror.”

  “Bathroom of Terror?”

  “Yes. It’s how I shall be referring to the bathroom at Finbar’s farm from now on.”

  “Oh – I see.”

  “Now clear the runway for take-off.”

  Twenty minutes later, Colin had returned carrying the tube of toothpaste, looking even more haggard than before. He had, he explained, only narrowly survived an encounter with Farmer Finbar’s cat, Jasper, whilst retrieving the tube from its resting place beneath the bathroom window. Norbert had noted with some sympathy that his friend appeared to have considerably fewer tail feathers than he had possessed at the outset of his mission.

  If I told you that the tooth-cleaning process had been straightforward, I would be leading you astray. Indeed, it was fraught with difficulty, largely due to the fact that neither Norbert (being a horse) nor Colin (being a cuckoo) possessed anything that could accurately be described as ‘hands’. Next time you clean your teeth, try doing so without using your hands and you will gain some understanding of the sheer enormity of the task that confronted the two friends on that sunny afternoon in May.

  Over a period of several hours, they tried and tested innumerable schemes and stratagems in a bid to clean Norbert’s teeth, each failing to produce the desired results. There is a well-known saying that states “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try and try again.” Norbert and Colin had never heard this saying, but nevertheless they tried, tried and tried again. And again. And again.

  To describe the final method whereby they finally did manage to clean Norbert’s teeth would require several very long and complicated chapters, so I shall merely mention that it involved the use of a plank of wood, a piece of barbed wire, nine hedge-sparrows, a rusty baked-bean tin, a length of old rope and an extremely unhappy badger.

  Well reader - work it out for yourself...

  Chapter 6

  It was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that Norbert approached the trough in order to study his reflection. Colin had assured him that his teeth were clean, but cuckoos are not always the best judges in matters of dental hygiene.

  His friend had long since retired to his nest, high up in the branches of the old sycamore tree. The whole affair had undoubtedly taken its toll on the ageing bird and the loud snoring sounds from up in the dense foliage were drifting far and wide, carried across the fields on the gentle May breeze. Otherwise, apart from the occasional buzzing of a bumble bee going about his daily chores, all was quiet in Finbar’s Field.

  Norbert turned his gaze across to Delilah’s paddock. She appeared to have forgotten about their earlier unpleasant exchange, and was now standing in a sunny spot close to the five bar gate that separated their fields.

  This was it - the moment of truth! The moment upon which his entire future would depend!

  Squinting at the shimmering surface of the water, Norbert leaned over the trough and drew back his pink, rubbery lips. He blinked. And blinked again... It could not be... Or could it? Yes – the truth was undeniable...

  NORBERT’S TEETH WERE WHITE!

  Some people believe that a horse’s face is not capable of expressing emotions or feelings; these people are wrong. Norbert’s face as he trotted across the field towards the five bar gate where Delilah awaited him was every bit as expressive as that of any human being. Indeed, it could be said that he grinned like no horse had ever grinned before. There are, of course, different types of grins. There are cheeky grins; there are friendly grins; there are crafty grins. Unfortunately for Norbert, his grin resembled that of a raving lunatic, his lips pulled right back over his teeth, the sheer concentration required to maintain his bizarre expression leaving him cross-eyed.

  “Hi Norbert!” Delilah called brightly, noticing his waddling approach. “So you’ve decided to come and see me after all. I was just wondering if you fancied... Oh...” She stopped mid-sentence, gaping at the dazzling dentures on display before her, Norbert looking on in dismay and confusion as the smile froze on Delilah’s face and then vanished.

  “Oh Norbert! How could you?” she squealed.

  “B... B... But... I...I thought...”

  “Look at your teeth! They’re white!”

  “Y...Yes...Well I just thought...”

  “You thought you would show me up didn’t you? By having teeth that were whiter than mine! How dare you! I shall never, ever speak to you again!”

  And with these words, she turned and galloped furiously away to the farthest corner of her field.

  For several minutes, Norbert stood as still as a statue before turning and waddling back to his favourite spot in the shade of the old sycamore tree.

  “Are you awake Colin?” he whinnied sadly.

  “I am now, Norbert.”

  The cuckoo listened in rapt horror as the full details of the difficult encounter with Delilah were relayed to him.

  “But things could always be worse, Colin,” Norbert ended with rising optimism in his voice.

  “How do you mean?” came the suspicious reply.

  “Well – at least I still have one friend...YOU!”

  There was a lengthy pause, followed by a gug, gug, gug, gug so loud that it could be heard in several adjoining counties.

  This, reader, in case you have forgotten, is the sound that a cuckoo makes when agitated.

  Epilogue

  Farmer Finbar awoke with a shiver. Where was he? It was pitch dark and he was lying on a cold, hard floor in a puddle of soapy water. His head throbbed as he tried in vain to piece together the events of the day. Rising unsteadily, he groped around the walls for the light switch, wincing in agony as the bright strip light on the bathroom ceiling illuminated the room. What had happened? Had he been drinking a little too much home-made cider again? He reeled a little, clutching at the sink for support. Gripping the porcelain firmly with both hands to steady himself, it occurred to him that there was something different about the sink. Something that was usually there, but which had mysteriously disappeared. What could it be? Then came the realisation: his toothbrush and toothpaste were missing! He blinked twice and splashed a little cold water on his face. Slowly but surely as his thoughts unscrambled, the high drama that had earlier unfolded in that very room came flooding back to him... There had been a bird... A cuckoo... No... It had been a FAT cuckoo... In his bathroom, stealing his toothbrush and toothpaste. But no... That was surely impossible… Cuckoos stealing dental products? That just didn’t happen... Or did it?

  “Sometimes I wonder if you’re losing your marbles, Finbar,” he muttered as he turned to head for the bedroom. “You must have taken that there toothbrush downstairs without meaning to. That bump on the head is making your memory play tricks on you, I reckon.”

  Half way to the bathroom door, he stopped. There was something stuck to the sole of his foot. In his heart of hearts, Finbar knew immediately what it was, but hardly dared to look. Still dazed, half wondering whether he was still in the middle of a bad dream, he stooped down and peeled the object from his foot.

  “GARN!” he cried, goggling in utter disbelief. For there in the palm of his hand, soggy, grey and crooked, but unmistakable nonetheless, lay a feather. A feather that looked suspiciously like it might have once belonged to a fat cuckoo...

  The End

  Brand new for 2017!

  Ernie

  Banned from the Miller household following an unfortunate incident with Dad’s slipper, Ernie the dog is, quite literally, in the dog house. Things only get worse when his owner, a little girl named Marth
a, accidentally throws his favourite toy bone into next door’s garden.

  With the help of Montgomery, a small, somewhat mangy mouse who lives under an old wheelbarrow, Ernie sets out on a desperate mission to rescue his bone. Little does he know that the garden next door is patrolled by a fierce and bad-tempered bulldog named Max who, having discovered the toy bone, has already decided it belongs to him, and who will not take kindly to anyone he catches trying to steal it…

  Will Ernie and Montgomery survive their daring mission?

  Will Dad ever find it in his heart to forgive Ernie for ‘The Tartan Slipper Scandal’?

  And will Ernie ever manage to recover his most precious possession in the whole wide world – his beloved yellow rubber bone?

  A fun, comic adventure for kids from the writer of Norbert!

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  Other titles in the “Norbert the Horse” series

  Norbert’s Summer Holiday

  Christmas with Norbert

  Norbert to the Rescue

  Norbert’s Spooky Night

  Norbert – The Collection

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  Find out about Norbert’s other adventures, horsey facts, competitions and MORE at

  www.norbertthehorse.com

  *

  Other titles by James Sutherland

  Frogarty the Witch

  The Tale of the Miserous Mip

  Roger the Frog

  The Further Adventures of Roger the Frog

  Jimmy Black and the Curse of Poseidon

  Visit www.jamessutherlandbooks.com for more information and all the latest news!

  About the Author

  James Sutherland was born in Stoke-on-Trent, England, many, many, many years ago. So long ago, in fact, that he can't remember a thing about it. The son of a musician, he moved around lots as a youngster, attending schools in the Isle of Man and Spain before returning to Stoke where he lurked until the age of 18. After gaining a French degree at Bangor University, North Wales, James toiled manfully at a variety of office jobs before making a daring escape through a fire exit, hell-bent on writing silly nonsense full-time. In his spare time, James enjoys hunting for slugs in the garden, chatting with his goldfish and frolicking around the house in his tartan nightie.