Smelliest Day at the Zoo by Alan Rusbridger Page A
Authors: Alan Rusbridger
Tags: Children's Books
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as he gazed into the full bucket in front of him, he couldn’t quite imagine how
a) he could possibly use it for DIY tasks
b) make a barbecue with it.
and, or
But then a brainwave struck him. Fertilizer! That was the other thing they used dung for in India. And Melton Meadow Zoo had some extremely colourful flower beds which he felt sure could just do with a little sprinkling of top-grade compost, or whatever gardeners called it.
“Manure!” he shouted cheerfully, slapping the rhino on its bottom.The rhino shook his head sadly. The heat had clearly gone to Mr Raja’s head.
Checking no one was looking, Mr Raja picked up his tin teacup, tiptoed out of the Rhino House and lugged the red bucket over to a nearby border of tulips. Holding his nose with his left hand, he dipped the teacup into the brown sludge and neatly tipped a little melting mound of it at the base of a tulip.
Feeling rather pleased with himself, Mr Raja fertilized a second, and then a third. He imagined how impressed Mr Pickles would be when he heard of his clever idea. But then he looked up to see Mr Emblem, the elephant keeper, who seemed to be copying him!
“Ah, same idea I see,” said Mr Emblem, who was carrying a box of big round balls of elephant dung. “I’ve read that elephant poo makes excellent fertilizer.”
And with that he placed a very large elephant dropping on the head of a garden gnome which was sitting in the middle of the culips. Mr Raja looked at the poor gnome’s face in dismay: it disappeared from view entirely as the dark brown dropping slid down over its shoulders and came to rest on its knees.
Chapter Three
Mrs Crumble, the crocodile keeper, came round the corner on the way back to the Crocodile House to find Mr Raja and Mr Emblem arguing over whose poo made better fertilizer—a rhino’s or an elephant’s.
How childish , thought Mrs Crumble. Typical men!
But when she got back to the Crocodile House and found a trail of little round brown droppings, she had a second thought, which was, Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all .
Mr Crumble was a keen gardener, with a particularly fine vegetable patch full of runner beans, lettuces and—his pride and joy—prize cabbages. Or, at least, he used to win prizes for his cabbages. Recently, at a considerable knock to his pride, he had struggled to make second, or even third, place.
Mrs Crumble thought with delight how gigantic her husband’s cabbages could be this year if liberally sprinkled with some top-class crocodile manure.
She collected up all the crocodile droppings she could find into a plastic bag.
The crocodile, who had been woken up as each dropping noisily landed in Mrs Grumble’s plastic bag, watched her through half-closed eyes and thought grumpily to himself how very strange his keeper was.
Mrs Crumble left the plastic bag at the zoo gate with a big label saying ‘Arthur Crumble’ on it. And then she went back to the Crocodile House and texted her husband.
HV LEFT PCKGE @ ZOO 4 U. WOT GR8 MAN-UR 4 YR CABBGES!
Mr Crumble was in town when he picked up the text message, so he drove home via the 200 to pick up the plastic bag.
When he got home he pondered his wife’s kind message. For years he had struggled to decipher Mrs Crumble’s scribbled notes. While his wife had become rather expert at motor mechanics, it is fair to say she often struggled with her spelling. Now he had to descramble her text messages, which were often just as confusing as her notes had been.
However, this one seemed very simple: “What a great man you are for your cabbages!”
How typical of Mrs Crumble to send such a thoughtful message, knowing of his recent disappointment in the Melton Meadow Flower and Vegetable Show. He peered into the plastic bag.
“Meatballs!” he chuckled to himself. “My favourite!”And, as soon as he was home, he set about cooking a rich tomato sauce to go with his dinner.
While the sauce was simmering away, Mr Crumble carefully
a) he could possibly use it for DIY tasks
b) make a barbecue with it.
and, or
But then a brainwave struck him. Fertilizer! That was the other thing they used dung for in India. And Melton Meadow Zoo had some extremely colourful flower beds which he felt sure could just do with a little sprinkling of top-grade compost, or whatever gardeners called it.
“Manure!” he shouted cheerfully, slapping the rhino on its bottom.The rhino shook his head sadly. The heat had clearly gone to Mr Raja’s head.
Checking no one was looking, Mr Raja picked up his tin teacup, tiptoed out of the Rhino House and lugged the red bucket over to a nearby border of tulips. Holding his nose with his left hand, he dipped the teacup into the brown sludge and neatly tipped a little melting mound of it at the base of a tulip.
Feeling rather pleased with himself, Mr Raja fertilized a second, and then a third. He imagined how impressed Mr Pickles would be when he heard of his clever idea. But then he looked up to see Mr Emblem, the elephant keeper, who seemed to be copying him!
“Ah, same idea I see,” said Mr Emblem, who was carrying a box of big round balls of elephant dung. “I’ve read that elephant poo makes excellent fertilizer.”
And with that he placed a very large elephant dropping on the head of a garden gnome which was sitting in the middle of the culips. Mr Raja looked at the poor gnome’s face in dismay: it disappeared from view entirely as the dark brown dropping slid down over its shoulders and came to rest on its knees.
Chapter Three
Mrs Crumble, the crocodile keeper, came round the corner on the way back to the Crocodile House to find Mr Raja and Mr Emblem arguing over whose poo made better fertilizer—a rhino’s or an elephant’s.
How childish , thought Mrs Crumble. Typical men!
But when she got back to the Crocodile House and found a trail of little round brown droppings, she had a second thought, which was, Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all .
Mr Crumble was a keen gardener, with a particularly fine vegetable patch full of runner beans, lettuces and—his pride and joy—prize cabbages. Or, at least, he used to win prizes for his cabbages. Recently, at a considerable knock to his pride, he had struggled to make second, or even third, place.
Mrs Crumble thought with delight how gigantic her husband’s cabbages could be this year if liberally sprinkled with some top-class crocodile manure.
She collected up all the crocodile droppings she could find into a plastic bag.
The crocodile, who had been woken up as each dropping noisily landed in Mrs Grumble’s plastic bag, watched her through half-closed eyes and thought grumpily to himself how very strange his keeper was.
Mrs Crumble left the plastic bag at the zoo gate with a big label saying ‘Arthur Crumble’ on it. And then she went back to the Crocodile House and texted her husband.
HV LEFT PCKGE @ ZOO 4 U. WOT GR8 MAN-UR 4 YR CABBGES!
Mr Crumble was in town when he picked up the text message, so he drove home via the 200 to pick up the plastic bag.
When he got home he pondered his wife’s kind message. For years he had struggled to decipher Mrs Crumble’s scribbled notes. While his wife had become rather expert at motor mechanics, it is fair to say she often struggled with her spelling. Now he had to descramble her text messages, which were often just as confusing as her notes had been.
However, this one seemed very simple: “What a great man you are for your cabbages!”
How typical of Mrs Crumble to send such a thoughtful message, knowing of his recent disappointment in the Melton Meadow Flower and Vegetable Show. He peered into the plastic bag.
“Meatballs!” he chuckled to himself. “My favourite!”And, as soon as he was home, he set about cooking a rich tomato sauce to go with his dinner.
While the sauce was simmering away, Mr Crumble carefully
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