A Dog's Breakfast by Annie Graves Page A

my sources.
    But Glen didn’t believe in fairies. ‘Oh, great,’ he said. ‘Is this somebody’s idea of a joke? It’s not funny.’
    â€˜I am not joking,’ said the person. ‘I can lead you back to your friends if you like. I know this wood like the back of my hand.’
    â€˜It’s a stupid wood,’ said Glen.
    The person stared at him, blinking rapidly. Its eyes were more like a cat’s eyes than a human’s. ‘That’s not very nice,’ it said. ‘This wood is my home and you have insulted it.’
    â€˜Don’t be stupid,’ said Glen, ‘nobody lives here.’
    â€˜ I live here,’said the small person.

    Glen rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, right,’ he said. ‘Up that tree, I suppose.’
    â€˜Sometimes,’ said the small person, nodding. ‘You are not a very nice boy.’

    â€˜I don’t care what you say. You’re not real. You’re just a special effect. This is a waste of time.’
    Glen turned around and walked in the opposite direction from the tree the person was sitting in.
    But after a few steps there was the little person again, perched in a different tree. ‘You won’t find them on your own, you know,’ the person said.

    â€˜I’m not looking for them,’ said Glen. That was a lie.
    â€˜You should be,’ said the person.
    â€˜Why? I don’t like them. They’re all boring.’
    The small person tilted its head to one side. ‘It is easy for someone with no imagination to be bored,’ it said.
    â€˜Yeah, well … you’re annoying.’ He stomped past the tree the person was sitting in.
    There was a crunch beneath his feet. At first he probably thought it was dead leaves, but it was spring and there were no dead leaves on the ground. He lifted his foot and there was a dead snail squashed on the sole of his shoe.
    â€˜Yeurch,’ he muttered, scraping his shoe against a tree trunk. ‘Stupid snails.’

    A moment later, he nearly tripped on the small person, who had reappeared on the path in front of him, standing squarely on the ground with its hands on its hips.
    â€˜It’s not the snail’s fault that you refuse to look where you’re going,’ it said. It was scowling now.
    â€˜If it doesn’t want to get stepped on, it shouldn’t live on the ground,’ said Glen, as if he thought that should settle it. He made as if to step over the person, but when he tried to lift his leg he found he couldn’t move.

    â€˜If you don’t stop being such a sourpuss, I’ll do something you won’t like.’
    â€˜I don’t like anything you do, so that won’t be hard,’ said Glen.
    â€˜Very well!’ said the small person. It waved its hands in the air and pointed both its forefingers at Glen.
    â€˜The next time you set out to make another person feel bad, you’ll start to turn into … hmm … something more useful than what you are now. If you can let a whole day pass without making anyone feel bad, you’ll turn back into your old self.’
    It snapped its fingers and was gone.
    Glen looked around, up and down the path and in the branches of the trees, but he could see nothing. He grumbled to himself and stomped down the path.
    He stepped on as many snails and worms and ladybirds as he could manage.

    The wood was quite small, so it didn’t take him long to find the class. We were making drawings of leaves. He found me bent over a pile of young green leaves and pinched my arm.
    â€˜OW! What are you doing?’
    â€˜I got lost because of you. You’re my partner. You’re supposed to watch out for me and you didn’t!’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ I said, and I meant it. ‘Here, I kept some paper and a pencil for you. We have to draw three different kinds of leaves.’

    Glen snatched the paper and pencil from my hand. I frowned and opened my