1 Put That Down! “Good girl, Truffle,” said Jasmine, bending down to scratch her pig behind the ears. “Good girl.”
Jasmine and her best friend, Tom, were walking Truffle around the edge of the biggest field on Oak Tree Farm, checking Jasmine’s dad’s flock of Southdown sheep. It was a lovely warm March morning. The sky was a beautiful pale blue, with high, fluffy clouds.
The sheep were due to lamb next month, and they had to be checked twice a day to make sure
they were all right. Jasmine always took Truffle with her on these walks. She had rescued the pig from another farm, as a tiny newborn runt, and nursed her back to health. Now four months old, Truffle lived happily in the orchard next to the farmhouse, but she loved to go for walks with Jasmine.
“That sheep’s stuck,” said Tom, pointing toward the bottom of the field. A ewe lay upside down, arching her back and kicking her legs in the air, trying to get onto her feet.
The children walked quickly toward the sheep, Truffle trotting beside them.
“She must have rolled over to rub an itchy patch,” said Jasmine. “She’s too heavy in lamb to get up again, poor thing.”
When they reached the stuck sheep, Jasmine said, “Sit, Truffle.” Truffle sat obediently while Jasmine and Tom crouched beside the ewe.
“Let’s get you back on your feet,” Jasmine said. “We don’t want a fox or a badger attacking you, do we?”
They placed their hands under the ewe’s side and heaved her up. She scrambled to her feet and trotted off without a backward glance. Jasmine watched her happily. But Tom was frowning.
“There’s a dog over there. Down by the river.”
The far side of the meadow bordered the river. Trees and bushes grew along the banks. Some sheep had been grazing peacefully there, but now they started running across the field, baaing in panic.
Jasmine saw a flash of brown among the bushes.
“Off the leash, in a field full of sheep,” she said. “It must be a stray. You run and get my dad. I’ll stay here to chase it away if it tries to attack the ewes.”
“Ugh,” said Tom. “Look. I bet it’s hers.”
A girl in purple boots and a black coat with a fur-trimmed hood was walking along the public footpath that ran across the fields by the river. Somebody Jasmine and Tom knew all too well: Bella Bradley, the most annoying girl in their class.
Fury surged through Jasmine. She grabbed Truffle’s leash and marched over to the girl.
“Bella Bradley! Is that your dog?”
Bella barely glanced at Jasmine. “Duh,” she said. “Who else’s dog would it be? I don’t see anyone else around here.”
“Well, you need to put it on a leash.”
“Why should I?”
“Because these sheep are all in lamb. If your dog chases them, they could lose their lambs.”
“My dog doesn’t chase sheep. And you can’t tell me what to do.”
She strode off across the field.
Jasmine, boiling with rage, was about to retort when a tremendous squawking and beating of wings came from the direction of the river. She turned to see what was going on.
Bella’s terrier shot out from the bushes. In its
mouth was a duck, flapping its wings and quacking frantically.
“Hey!” shouted Jasmine. “Put that down!”
She and Tom raced across the field after the dog, the duck clamped in its jaws. Tom picked up a clod of earth and hurled it at the terrier, but it missed.
When it reached the hedge, the dog dropped the duck and squeezed into the hedgerow. Jasmine and Tom fell to their knees beside the duck. It was a female mallard. Jasmine placed her hands on the soft, warm underbody.
There was no movement beneath her feathers.
No heartbeat.
“She’s dead,” said Jasmine. “That dog killed her.”
2 What If She Was Nesting? Tom sprang to his feet. Jasmine had never seen him look so angry.
“Hey!” he yelled.
Bella carried on walking. “Rupert!” she called. “Rupert, come here!”
“Rupert?” scoffed Tom. “Awful name for a dog.”
Jasmine got to her feet, cradling the duck in her arms. She and Tom ran across the field, stumbling over the rutted ground, Truffle trotting beside them.
“Hey!” shouted Tom again.
The dog still hadn’t appeared, so Bella had to slow down. Tom and Jasmine caught up with her.
“Your dog,” said Jasmine, standing in Bella’s path, “just killed this duck.”
Bella looked scornfully at the mallard’s body.
“So?” she said. “It’s just a duck. They’re not exactly rare.”
“What does that have to do with it?” said
Jasmine. “What if she was nesting?”
“So what?” said Bella. She rounded on Tom. “Stop taking photos! Don’t you know it’s rude to take pictures without permission?”
“Don’t you know it’s rude to kill an animal without permission?” said Tom, pointing his phone at her face and clicking another shot.
“We’ll report you,” said Jasmine. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Oh, no,” said Bella with an exaggerated fake shudder. “I’m so scared.”
She gave them a contemptuous look and walked off. The terrier squeezed out of the
hedge and bounded over to her. Tom took several pictures of it.
“I hate her so much,” said Jasmine.
“At least we can report her to the police,” said Tom. “That’ll give her a shock.” He put the phone back in his pocket and stroked the duck. “Poor thing.”
“We need to search the riverbank,” said Jasmine. “In case she had a nest.”
“Maybe there’ll be ducklings,” said Tom. “We could take them home and look after them.”
“I think it’s too early for ducklings,” said
Jasmine. “More likely to be eggs.”
Tom’s face lit up. “If it’s eggs,” he said, “we could put them in an incubator and hatch them.”
Jasmine frowned. “I don’t think we’ve got an incubator.”
Copyright © 2020 by Helen Peters. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
