“I think we might be getting ever so slightly closer!” cried Wilf.1
Floaty floaty float, went Alan’s balloon.
Drifty drifty drift, went Wilf’s balloon behind.
“Yes, we’re definitely a teeny tiny bit nearer than we were before!” shouted Wilf.2
Floaty floaty drift, went Alan’s balloon.
Drifty drifty float, went Wilf’s balloon.
“Actually, on second thought, I think we might be a little bit farther away than before.”
Floaty drifty float, went Alan’s balloon.
Drifty floaty drift, went Wilf’s balloon.
“Oh dear. Now we’re never going to catch him,” said Wilf. “This is hopeless! If only we had Alan’s POOBUM—we could talk to the animals and try to get them to help.”
“You don’t need a POOBUM to communicate with animals,” said Abi. “I do it all the time. You do it all the time.”
“Really?” said Wilf.
“And what’s even better is that animals are brilliant at understanding things—even when we’re not good at expressing ourselves,” said Abi.
“What do you mean?” asked Wilf.
Before Abi could answer, the sky above them suddenly grew dark. But not a normal nighty sort of dark—a big swooping circling dark. Wilf and Dot and Abi looked up into the sky and saw hundreds and hundreds of birds swooping and circling and rising and falling and swirling and whirling toward Alan’s balloon.
They surrounded Alan’s balloon in a big cloud.
In the distance, Wilf heard Alan say, “What are we going to do?”
And then he heard Kevin say something about biscuits.
And then he saw one little bird lean forward and go peck . . . and then he heard an enormous
POP!
And suddenly Alan’s balloon went shooting off . . .
. . . up
. . . right
. . . down
left . . .
. . . around and around and around and with the loudest farty noise that has ever been heard. Louder even than one of Dot’s actual farts.
Then it plonked itself upside down in a tree with Alan dangling by his ankle.
The balloon flopped onto the ground, sending the basket sideways and the BOUNCY EXPLODEY BOMB thing rolled slowly toward a tree, where it stopped with a gentle thud.