The two detectives had stylish hats. Hmm. A little too stylish for going out on a secret mission. They put them on the hat shelf.
Then off they went. It had rained all night, but now it was lovely and fine.
They would creep after the magpie and see exactly what a day in her life was like. Maybe then they could find out why she teased others.
They’d been creeping along for a minute when they heard an insolent “Hahaha” from behind a juniper bush. Then they heard a squeal. They hurried over. The magpie sauntered cockily away. A hedgehog was sitting on a rock, crying. Gordon hurried to comfort her.
“She said my babies are worthless and prickly,” sniffed the hedgehog. “That no other baby animals will play with them.”
“That was a silly thing to say,” said Buffy. “She should say sorry.”
But the magpie had flown away and they had to go. The police hurried after her to see what she was up to.
First the magpie landed beside a house. She tipped over the garbage with a crash and searched among the potato peelings and scraps for something to eat.
But she was not alone for long. The owner of the scraps came out of the house: a badger, who yelled and shrieked and threw stones at her.
The magpie flew into a treetop and laughed and shook her tail feathers at him.
“Hmm,” said Gordon. “We have it easy, you and I, being able to eat our cakes in peace and quiet.”
But now the magpie flew on. And the police followed. Buffy darted through the fields, over boulders, hop, skip, and jump, with a leap across the stream. Gordon lumbered through the fields, over the boulders, stomp, clomp, clump, and whoops, into the stream, and then he swam across…
The magpie landed by a compost heap full of rotten apples. She pecked among the fruit and filled her beak with writhing green grubs.
“Hmm,” said Buffy. “Vanilla cakes and little nuts are better.”
“Phew,” said Gordon, who had just arrived.
Then the magpie took off again. She hopped beneath a bush on a muddy hillside. From inside the bush there came a lot of croaking. Here were three magpie babies: half-grown and tousled, with stubby tails. Now they had green grubs for breakfast, which they gobbled up. They were still hungry and croaked for more. The magpie went off again.
So the detectives had to split up into police groups. Gordon decided that he should stay behind, and that Buffy, who was so energetic, should hurry after the magpie. Of course, Buffy decided that, too, because now they were both Chief of Police. She went on her way.
Gordon crept slowly up the wet hillside so he could listen to the baby magpies. But it was slimy and slippery. When at last he reached the top, he slid all the way down again. He rolled over and was forced to scrabble around in the mud.
He slowly climbed up the hillside again, this time on all fours and slithering on his stomach.
He looked like a lump of clay. Ha, the shape I was already, he thought sadly. Now I’m also smeared with mud from top to toe.
But that was good, because he could creep right up close to the baby birds. They didn’t notice him. And then he could sit and listen to every little word.
“Hungry, hungry!” grumbled one of them.
“Boring, boring!” grouched another.
“Nasty, nasty!” griped the third.
Gordon blinked hard where he was sitting disguised as a lump of clay.
No baby animals should live like this in my forest! thought Gordon. In Buffy’s and my forest.
The baby birds continued to grumble and gripe. The same old song, over and over again…
Suddenly a gray bird appeared, flapping its wings. It hopped heavily in under the bushes and eyed the little chicks. The crow!
“There you are, you ugly scraps!” it croaked hoarsely. “Don’t go thinking you can play with my sweet, precious children! Keep away!”
The magpie chicks hissed like snakes to fend off the crow.
The crow leaned in close with his big, sharp beak.
“You’re horrible! Tell your mother that,” croaked the crow and then disappeared.
Gordon’s heart pounded in his chest. It was terrible to hear such things. Poor magpie babies! He actually shed a little tear.
In the meantime Buffy had darted after the magpie mother.
She returned to the compost heap to look for grubs. She filled her beak again. Buffy stood behind a tree trunk and watched. Then she heard the sound of marching feet and:
BOMBA, BOMBA!
Bomba, on our happy walk
We would rather drum than talk
We’re the kindergarten babies
Bomba, bomba, BOMBA!
A long line of small animals in flowery tops marched out of the forest. The magpie looked up. She hopped over to the mouse teacher, who was at the front, holding the little toad by the hand.
“Hello, hello, is there a place yet for my babies?” asked the magpie.
When she opened her beak all the green grubs fell out.
“My babies are so bored. They really want to come to kindergarten. Can’t they start now? Please?”
But the mouse teacher turned back towards the forest and the little train of young ones followed her.
“We don’t dare have anything to do with the quarrel between you and crow,” said the teacher, looking scared.
“Excuse me, but it’s for my children,” called the magpie mother.
What? thought Buffy. Are the magpie babies not allowed to join? It shouldn’t be like that in my forest! In Gordon’s and my forest.
Soon afterwards Buffy met a lump of clay by the stream.
“That was awful,” said Buffy.
“It was nasty,” said the lump. “And contrary to what we were thinking.”
Then Gordon washed off all the mud, and the two police friends walked slowly home.