PeeWee and Plush (8 page)

The next morning we started out. It was a cool and cloudy day that could easily become a rainy one. But for now, it was a perfect day for travel. There are always fewer people about when the sun isn't shining.

I led the way, with Pudge, Pip, and Squeak following close behind. In the rear came Plush and Perky side by side. Plush had not given Perky any seeds for breakfast
and only the smallest swallow of milk. “We'll find food along the way,” she promised him, hoping his hunger would keep him moving. She had to urge Perky every step of the way.

“That's it. Good. Good. Come on, another step. Another. Another.”

Meanwhile, I had to keep busy watching after our other offspring. Each one went off in a different direction pursuing a leaf or a seed or a nut that they saw. “Stick close together,” I reminded them over and over. “Be ready to hide if necessary.”

I don't know who had the more difficult job, Plush or me. Often I'd hear Perky crying out in alarm. At first I ran back every time. But after the fourth or fifth episode, I realized that he was just frightened by things
like a leaf fluttering to the ground or his foot accidentally kicking a small pebble. He was not in any danger at all, so I hurried to catch up with my three other children who had gone ahead.

“This is fun,” Pip called to me. Her eyes were shining with delight.

We went on a bit longer before I realized that I was no longer hearing any sounds coming from Plush or Perky. That couldn't be a good sign. “Pups, wait here. Don't go any farther until I return,” I instructed Pudge, Pip, and Squeak. Then I retraced my steps looking for the others.

“Here we are,” Plush called out to me from under a bush. “We had to stop. Perky can't go any farther. He's twisted his paw.”

“Then let him ride on Lexi,” I said impatiently. I loved my son, but I was concerned about the safety of my whole family. We couldn't risk being exposed to the cold weather and snow. Even the bush we were resting under wasn't the good hiding place it would have been a moon ago. Many of its leaves had already fallen off.

“Perky won't do it,” said Plush. Then she whispered so Perky wouldn't hear. “And though I admire Lexi, I'd be afraid too. He might start off slowly, but the chances are he'd suddenly see one of his cousins and start chasing after him. That's the way squirrels are. They aren't meant to carry others around.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, suddenly remembering
my other responsibility. “Now I've got to find the other pups. Wait here. I'll bring them back and then we'll talk this over.”

It was easier said than done. I found Pudge close to where I'd left him. He was chewing on a pinecone and savoring each of its seeds. “Where are Pip and Squeak?” I asked him.

“Who?” he asked, as if he'd never heard those names before.

“Your sisters, that's who. Where are they?”

“Oh. I don't know. Around, I guess,” said Pudge, removing another seed from the pinecone.

“Stay here,” I told him, but it was quite unnecessary. There were enough seeds to keep him busy for a long while.

I rushed along the path stopping from
time to time to listen. The problem was that the wind blowing through the leaves sounded similar to two guinea pigs running through the dried grass. I stopped to catch my breath. Perhaps Lexi was smart not to get involved with the responsibilities of parenthood. But I couldn't turn off my concern. I worried that a dog had caught my children and I continued on my search. Suddenly I heard a strange whirring noise. Instinctively, I crouched low while I looked around. There before me was a large shoe with wheels attached. It moved closer and I backed away.

I'd seen such shoes before. Lexi told me they were called
roller skates
. Usually they were seen in pairs and a human would be wearing them. But this one roller skate was unattached to anything.

“Hi, Pop,” a voice called to me. “Look what we found. It was under a park bench.”

“What do you think you're doing?” I exclaimed to Pip, who came forward from the other side of the roller skate. “Why are you playing in full view where anyone could see you?”

“There's no one around today,” Pip said.

“Where's Squeak now?” I asked.

“Here I am, Pop,” my younger daughter said, crawling out from inside the shoe. I hadn't even noticed her.

“Well, come along at once, both of you.
We have to go back to your mother and Perky. We have a big journey ahead of us. There's no time to play,” I scolded them.

So there we were, Plush and I and our four offspring. We hadn't gotten very far from our hole and it didn't seem as if we'd ever make it to the rain forest. We huddled together under a bush for a midmorning rest.

While the others slept, I worried about the situation and considered our options:

1. We could return home and brave out the winter.
   
2. I could return home with Perky while Plush and the other pups spend the winter in the rain forest.
   
3. Or, I could force Perky to ride on Lexi.
   

The third choice seemed to be the best. But I knew I had to reject it. Plush was absolutely right. Lexi was bound to begin climbing trees and leaping on branches even if he was carrying my little Perky. Squirrels just behave that way. It's their nature. But if we didn't get to the rain forest, I was afraid we'd be doomed.

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member
—

Member
. That was a funny word for “limb,” I thought, dozing off, thinking of paws and hands and tails and feet. Feet! Suddenly I woke with a start. The solution to our problem had come to me. We could use the skate to get to
the rain forest. Perky could ride in it. That is, if we could convince him to get inside.

Luckily, the skate was still where Pip and Squeak had left it. With some effort, I managed to move the skate along the bumpy ground toward where my family still lay sleeping. I woke everyone up and explained my new plan. There was much chatter among them when they heard what I had to say.

“What fun you're going to have,” Squeak shouted to Perky. He didn't look so sure of that.

Plush and I had to help Perky climb inside the shoe part of the skate. As always he was reluctant to try a new experience, and I had to give him a few hard pushes to get
him moving. Once inside the skate, he curled himself into a ball.

“Don't you want to look out?” Pip called to her brother. “You won't be able to see where you're going.”

Perky lifted his head for a moment. “I don't want to see,” he replied.

“I don't care if you look or not,” I said. “The important thing is that now you'll be moving at a better speed.” Then I took the laces that hung down from the skate in my mouth and used them to pull the skate along. It was harder than ever to move the skate now that it had the weight of Perky added to it. It occurred to me that if I went on the cement path, instead of traveling in the grass as I usually did, the skate would roll with much greater ease.

Now there was a new problem. Out on the walkway, I was visible to any passersby. It was a piece of luck that the cool, damp weather of the day did not encourage many people to use the park. There were no mothers or nannies pushing carriages. Only a few solitary individuals were walking their dogs or strolling through the park. So from time to time as I saw someone, I had to pull the skate and veer off the path and into a bush to avoid a human I saw coming toward us. It was quite exhausting.

After a time, Perky stuck his head out. “This is fun!” he exclaimed. I don't believe my son had ever in his life found anything to be fun before.

So I kept on going. Perky's change of heart gave me new strength. I panted when
there was a steep incline on the sidewalk, but I kept on pulling. Suddenly the incline ended and the sidewalk sloped downhill. What a relief. I dropped the shoelace and stopped to catch my breath. I turned and waved to Plush who was a short distance away with our other children. Suddenly her face filled with horror and she screamed out to me.

“PeeWee! Look at the skate!”

I looked back at the skate and saw that it had started to roll down the hill on its own. I ran after it, trying to grab the shoelace, and finally I caught it by its tip. I held on as tightly as I could, but the skate was moving so fast that it lifted my feet off the ground.

Suddenly the shoelace was pulled out of my mouth and I landed on the cement path
with a thud. A moment later I sat up, dazed, and then horrified, as I saw that the skate was rolling downhill faster than ever with poor little Perky trapped inside.

“Stop! Stop!” I shouted.

But Perky couldn't and the skate wouldn't.

Ignoring my bruises, I raced down the hill after the runaway skate.

Plush, Pudge, Pip, and Squeak came running and calling out behind me. But we discovered that guinea pigs are no match for a roller skate.

Finally the wild skate slowed down and
fell over on its side as it veered off the walkway. I rushed toward it terrified of what I would find inside. Could Perky have survived such a tumble?

And then I saw his little head peeking out of the skate. “Hi, Pop,” he shouted cheerfully. “That was great. Can we do it again?”

“Great?” I sputtered, thinking of how the skate had run me down and left me so frightened regarding Perky's fate. And what about my sore body?

“It was like flying,” Perky said. “I felt like I was a bird!”

“You're a guinea pig,” I said. “Why do you want to feel like a bird?” But then I laughed. Perky was safe, unharmed, and happy. And I was happy too.

We decided it was high time for a little rest.

“Lucky you,” said Pudge, looking at Perky still inside the shoe. “You're getting a ride all the way to our new home. It's not fair.”

I was about to defend Perky. After all, he had twisted his paw earlier. But to my surprise, Perky spoke up. “You can have a turn, Pudge,” he offered. And with that, he climbed out of the shoe without any assistance and walked alongside of it with Pip and Squeak when our rest period was over. The twisted paw seemed just fine. Perhaps Perky hadn't really twisted it at all.

Plush and I looked at each other with amazement. What had happened to change our timid son? Was it the first real dose of good fresh air in his lungs? Was it the fact that the park was almost empty of humans and dogs that cold, cloudy day? I don't know
the answer. But it was a joy to watch all of our children chattering happily, running, and riding in the skate. Each had a turn inside. Even Plush.

“Pop. You should have a turn too,” said Pudge.

“Well, I don't mind if I do,” I replied. “But you'll have to work to pull me. This skate won't move by itself.”

Twice during our journey we saw Lexi. His eyes nearly popped out of his head the first time he saw the skate.

“PeeWee, you're even smarter than I ever guessed,” he told me. “
A good head is better than two tails
.”

He'd told me that once before, but repetition didn't make those words any less satisfying.

We arrived at the zoo in the late afternoon.
With great regret we abandoned the skate. I pushed it under a bush and tried to cover it with leaves. I doubted it would remain there all winter long. But having seen Perky actually being perky for the first time in his life, I felt we would be able to manage to return to our home when the weather turned warm again, even if we didn't have the skate to transport us.

Thankfully, all of us, even Pudge, were small enough to slip under the door of the rain forest without waiting for a human to open it. Inside, we stood savoring the warmth and good smells around us. I knew in a few days the pups would be running all over this place. There was much to explore and many new animals to befriend. And best of all, we would be safe from the winter.

I settled my family in a hollow log and then slipped outdoors again. As I had hoped, there was Lexi waiting at the entrance.