Meanwhile, Wilf was doing lucky hops and whistling very hard as he and Dot and Stuart and Richard passed the scarecrow. Wilf kept looking behind to check the scarecrow wasn’t chasing them and because he was looking behind that meant he wasn’t looking in front.

And that meant he bumped right into Alan.

“Ha ha! I knew it!” said Alan. “Heard Kevin howling, did you? Think you understand my dog better than I do, do you . . . ?”

“I was just worried there might be another prickle in his ear,” admitted Wilf.

“Ha ha! You fell for my trick! It was me! It was me all along!” said Alan and then he lifted his head and said, “Awooooowoooooo” just to prove it.

“That’s very clever,” said Wilf. “But if Kevin is all right then we had better be getting home . . .”

“Oh no you don’t,” said Alan. “Not until I have shown you my latest invention.”

“It’s lovely of you to offer,” said Wilf, “but I’m halfway through knitting Dot a pair of socks and—”

“You accused me of not understanding my own dog!” shouted Alan.

“I didn’t actually say that,” said Wilf calmly.

“Yes, you did,” said Alan. “And now I have invented a most marvelous machine. Behold!” he added grandly.

“Behold what?” asked Wilf.

“Hang on, don’t behold yet. It’s in here,” he said, leading them to his shed. “Now you can behold!” he continued, as he unveiled a very strange-looking object. It had a lot of squiggly wires and flashing lights and buttons and dials. On one side was a microphone shaped like an ear and on the other side was a very powerful speaker shaped a bit like a mouth.

Alan polished the ear proudly.

“If I simply point this microphone toward Kevin, like so—and then move these dials and switch these switches, it should work. Are you ready?”

“I think so,” said Wilf.

“Good. Then watch and listen with wonder as—for the first time ever in the history of the world—man can talk to beast!” said Alan, switching the switches.

Wilf and Dot looked from Alan to Kevin, waiting for something to happen.

“Hello, Kevin!” said Alan loudly and proudly.

Kevin blinked a few times and stared at a Wellington boot.

“Hello, Kevin!” said Alan again.

Kevin yawned and then scratched his ear and sniffed his paw.

“Kevin?” repeated Alan.

Kevin scooted slowly across the floor on his bottom.

“Why doesn’t he understand?” asked Alan, adjusting dials frantically.

“Why doesn’t who understand?” asked Kevin.

“Why don’t you understand what I’m trying to—wait a minute!” shouted Alan. “You do understand! Why didn’t you answer when I spoke to you before?”

“I think I wasn’t listening,” explained Kevin. “It’s hard to listen and think about biscuits at the same time.”

“It works!” said Alan.

“Wow!” said Wilf. “That really is amazing!”

“It works, it works!” yelled Alan. “At last, Kevin! You and I can talk to each other. We can communicate. This is incredible! Hey, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I don’t know,” said Kevin. “Are you thinking about biscuits?”

“No. I’m thinking I’m a genius and I have invented the best invention ever! And this moment will go down in history!”

“We should probably celebrate with a biscuit,” said Kevin.

“Yes, yes, in a minute. First of all, I must name my machine. I think I shall call it the machine FOR ANIMALS REALLY TALKING—or the FART,” said Alan proudly.

Wilf smirked.

“What?” said Alan tetchily.

“Nothing,” said Wilf.

“What’s funny about ‘FART’? Oh, I see,” said Alan.

“I don’t,” said Kevin.

“In that case I shall change its name. I shall call it my machine with the POWER OF TALKING TO YOU. Or POTTY.”

Wilf giggled.

“Ha ha! FART!” said Kevin. “I get it now.”

“Shut up, Kevin,” said Alan. “Where was I?”

“Over there,” said Kevin, pointing with his nose.

“No, I meant . . . Oh, nevermind,” said Alan with a sigh.

“Right, forget POTTY.”

“Why?” asked Kevin, mystified.

“Got it!” said Alan proudly. “I shall call it the PREMIER OFFICIAL OPTIMUM BEAST UNDERSTANDING MACHINE—or POOBUM for short.”

Wilf tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it.

“What now?” said Alan, irritated.

“Potty!” said Kevin. “You said potty! Tee-hee!”

“I did not,” said Alan. “I said POOBUM. Oh. Drat.”

Alan kicked his shed crossly.

“Forget the name. The point is I am a genius. Not just any old genius, but an Evil Genius,” said Alan proudly.

“Well, that’s lovely,” said Wilf. “But we really should be getting home . . .”

“Well, now you’re here, you might as well look at my other invention.”

“We’d love to,” said Wilf, “but Dot needs a haircut and I’ve looked up on my computer how to do it.”

And with that, Wilf took Dot’s sticky little hand and headed for the shed door.

As they stepped into the bright sunshine, Wilf and Dot turned and looked at Alan. He looked as lonely as a pea.

Wilf sighed.

“All right. Show us your new invention then,” he said kindly.

“Better than that,” said Alan. “I will try my invention out on you. You can be my guinea pigs!”

“Eeeeeeeeek!” screamed Kevin. “I’m scared of guinea pigs.”

“I’ve got a leaflet that could help with that,” said Wilf.

“Not real guinea pigs,” explained Alan. “That’s just a phrase meaning I’ll use these two disgusting little children to test my machine on.”

“Oh. I see,” said Kevin, although he didn’t.

“Right, just step this way,” said Alan, ushering them toward a cage. “It’s probably best if I tie your hands up too,” he said quickly, tying a length of rope around their wrists.

“Is this a good idea?” asked Wilf.

“This is a great idea!” said Alan, closing the cage door and bolting it with a big metal bolt.

“And now,” said Alan grandly, “you shall both die! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

“I don’t get it,” said Kevin, confused.

“No, that was an evil laugh. Not a joke-ha-ha laugh,” explained Alan.

“Oh, I see,” said Kevin. But he didn’t.

Wilf’s face went all hot. And then all cold. And then all stiff. He felt all fuzzy and his knees wanted to bend the wrong way.

“The thing is,” said Wilf. “I don’t really want to die . . .”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Alan, not looking sorry at all. “But you don’t have a choice. For you are about to experience my Bouncy Explodey Bomb. I shall winch you inside the bomb and then you shall be simultaneously bounced and exploded at the same time—destroying you and everything that you come into contact with. Kevin!” said Alan. “The remote control, please.”

Kevin stared blankly at Alan.

“The remote control, please, Kevin,” repeated Alan. He held out his hand and waited.

“Where is it?” said Kevin.

“I don’t know. You had it last.”

“No, you had it.”

“You buried it—but then I told you to dig it up.”

“I thought I gave it to you.”

Alan and Kevin began hunting around the shed for the remote control. Wilf wished he was at home knitting or whistling or hopping or all three at once, but he wasn’t: he was trapped and he had to do something!

He had a great big old worry and then he had a great big old think and then he thought so hard that his brain got exhaustipated and then . . . he had an idea!

With his hands tied together Wilf managed to reach into his backpack and get the scissors. Then carefully, carefully, he snip-snip-snipped through the rope on Dot’s hands. Then Dot, less carefully, snipped through the rope on Wilf’s hands (and also his T-shirt and some of his hair). Wilf got the dog leash and dangled it through the bars and carefully carefully carefully hoiked it around the bolt handle—then he slowly slowly slowly pulled the end of the dog leash and quietly quietly quietly slid the bolt until the door swung open. Then he and Dot tiptoed (in Dot’s case tip-kneed) out of the cage and out of the shed.

But just then, Alan and Kevin turned and saw Wilf and Dot escaping.

“Stop them!” shouted Alan.

Kevin bounded toward them. And it was at that moment that Wilf unleashed Richard the guinea pig.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!” squealed Kevin.

“It’saguineapigIhateguineapigshelpmehelp!” he said, leaping into Alan’s arms.

“Kevin! Down!” said Alan crossly, putting him on the floor again.

“But I’m scared of it!”

Richard ambled toward Kevin, stopping to sniff some sawdust.

Kevin yelped and ran in circles.

“Kevin! Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only a guinea pig!” shouted Alan, which, as Wilf knew only too well, is pretty much the worst thing you can say to somebody who’s scared of something.

Richard continued to amble toward Kevin, stopping this time to examine Kevin’s tail.

Kevin lifted his head and howled.

Meanwhile, Wilf and Dot were running as fast as they could, back toward the fence and their own backyard.

At that moment, Richard spotted a dandelion. He rushed off to investigate.

Alan looked around and spotted Wilf and Dot about to escape. “Kevin! Quick!” he shouted. “They’re getting away! Fetch!”

Kevin lolloped toward Wilf and Dot, who yelped and started to scramble over the fence. Wilf reached into his backpack and threw the marbles at Kevin—making Kevin slip and skid with his furry little legs flying out in all directions.

“Bite him!” yelled Alan.

“The thing is, I don’t really like the taste of small boys,” explained Kevin. “I much prefer biscuits . . .”

“Don’t argue with me! Just do it!”

But it was too late. Wilf and Dot had reached the top of the fence. Wilf tumbled back into his own yard. Then Dot fell on top of him, her diaper landing with a soft thwump on Wilf’s head.

Wilf and Dot staggered back into their house and Wilf vowed that he would never ever ever see Alan again—for as long as he lived.

“Oh, I’m glad you’re back,” said Wilf’s mom. “I’ve got some exciting news. We’re going on vacation with Alan and Pam.”