Barry Loser and the trouble with pets

First published in Great Britain 2019

by Egmont UK Ltd, The Yellow Building,

1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text and illustration copyright © Jim Smith 2019

The moral rights of Jim Smith have been asserted.

First e-book edition 2019

ISBN 978 1 4052 9248 1

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1800 4

barryloser.com

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

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Contents

Cover

Copyright

Title Page

Sausage dog

Chapter one, I mean two

Operation Badger

School disco

Smoochy dance time

The snack table

Invisible lasso

What Nancy’s trainer was doing

Monday morning

Worst week ever

The Friday poo story

Sausage dog o’clock

The idea of a dog

Battle of the badgerers

Best badger ever

Granny & Hodge

Badgering grannies

Half an hour later

Three milli-seconds later

Gladys Foo

Give a dog a name

Enter Mr Loser

Our little secret

Tutting Snoggles

The Adventure Playground

Nigel & Snoggy

Gooseberry Bush Cafe

Not the end of that

See through poo bag

Mr Gooseberry

Evening poo

Barry Loser’s lonely Sunday

Mogden Cinema

Disaster Strikes!

Actual real life disaster strikes

Lost dog

Lost Dog posters

Weirdo question

Mogden Home for Old Grannies and Grandads

The OAP disco

Mr Mildew’s terrible idea

Chatting up a granny

Dancing with a granny

The Doggy Walk Wiggle

About the author and drawer

Sausage dog

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always wanted a sausage dog. They’re like two of my favourite things squidged together - a sausage and a dog!

Here are some other pets I’ve always wanted:

I don’t think any of those exist though. If I did get a sausage dog I’d teach it some amazekeel tricks:

But first I’ve got to badger my mum about it non-stop until she buys me one. Which is what this story is about.

Chapter one, I mean two

It all started a couple of weeks ago when I saw a poster stuck to a lamp post on Mogden High Street. The poster said:

‘Look, Mum!’ I said, pointing at the poster. We were walking home from school, which is something I usually do with my best friends Bunky and Nancy, except this time my mum had dragged me into Mogden Town to do some boring old shopping instead.

She stopped pushing the buggy, which had my little brother, Desmond Loser the Second, strapped inside it, and peered at the poster.

‘Gladys Foo?’ chuckled my mum, carrying on walking. ‘That’s a funny old name isn’t it.’

I thought about reminding my mum that her surname was ‘Loser’, and how before she’d married my dad it’d been ‘Harumpadunk’. But I had more important things to be getting on with than that.

I opened my mouth and got ready to do some serious badgering.

Operation Badger

Have you noticed how, when you’re thinking about something a lot, like sausages and dogs for example, they keep popping up everywhere you look?

That’s what started happening next. We’d only walked as far as the next lamp post, when what did I see but a totally normal, boring old dog weeing up against it.

‘Check it out!’ I said, starting to badger my mum. ‘A little doggy having a wee wee. Do you know what that reminds me of ?’

My mum peered down at me. ‘Do you need the toilet, Barry?’ she asked.

‘No mum, I don’t need the toilet,’ I sighed, and we carried on walking until we got to Bruce the butcher’s and I spotted a string of plastic sausages hanging up in the window.

‘Oh my unkeelness,’ I said, pointing at the fake bangers. ‘Plastic sausages! Can you guess what they make me think of, Mum?’

My mum gave me a funny look, like she thought I was trying to tell her I needed a poo or something. ‘Half a dozen sausages please Bruce,’ she said to the butcher.

‘MU-UM!’ I said, trying to get her attention.

‘WHAT, Barry?’ snapped my mum.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘You know how you’re buying sausages right now?’

‘Just get to the point,’ sighed my mum.

‘I WANT A SAUSAGE DOG!’ I cried.

Bruce the butcher handed my mum her sausages. ‘That’s a fiver for you, Losers,’ he said, doing a wink.

‘No chance!’ said my mum, but I don’t think she was talking to Bruce.

We walked out of the butcher and started heading home. ‘Looking forward to the disco, Barry?’ asked my mum, because it was the Mogden School Valentine’s Day Disco tonight.

‘Yeah I spose,’ I said, wondering if I should give up badgering her for a sausage dog and try for a spaghetti Bolognese stick insect instead.

School disco

‘Barry!’ cried Bunky as I walked into Mogden School Hall nine trillion hours later.

Coloured lights were flashing round the edge of the room and music was blaring out of two ginormous speakers. Balloons bounced around on the dance floor and a black box hanging off the ceiling pumped purple clouds of smoke into the air.

In the corner of the hall, standing behind a table, was Mrs Dongle the school secretary.

‘This is DJ Dongles coming at ya on the ones and twos!’ she warbled into a microphone.

Then she pressed a button on her music player and the Future Ratboy theme tune started playing through the speakers.

Future Ratboy, in case you didn’t know, is my all-time favourite TV show. It’s all about this kid who gets zapped to the future and transformed into a half boy, half rat, half TV.

‘Future Ratkeels!’ I cried, sticking my hand out in front of me like I was holding a dog lead, and I jiggled towards Bunky, my bum wagging like it had a tail.

‘What in the name of unkeelness are you doing, Barry?’ laughed Nancy Verkenwerken, who was standing next to Bunky.

‘It’s the Doggy Walk Wiggle!’ I said, skidding to a stop next to them both.

Nancy chuckled. ‘How’s the badgering going?’ she asked. I’d told her all about me badgering my mum for a sausage dog, of keelse.

‘Hasn’t worked yet unfortukeely,’ I said, my nose drooping.

Bunky patted me on the shoulder and grabbed a Cherry Fronkle from a pyramid of cans that’d been stacked up on a table.

‘Have a Fronkle instead,’ he said, like he’d bought it for me.

Just then, Anton Mildew marched past, doing his world famous robot dance. ‘MUST. DESTROY. ALL. BALLOONS,’ he bleeped, and Nancy chuckled.

I cracked my can of Fronkle open and took a sip. ‘Fancy a boogie, Bazza?’ said a familikeels voice.

I twizzled round and spotted Sharonella Sharalumbus from my class, standing three millimetres away from the end of my nose. Next to her was her friend Fay Snoggles.

‘NO WAY!’ I spluttered, Fronkle spraying all over her and Fay’s shoes.

Sharonella fluttered her eyelashes at me. ‘Lemme know if you change your mind,’ she said, dancing off, and I shuddered like a dog who’s just finished a wee.

Smoochy dance time

After that I jiggled around on the dance floor, doing the Doggy Walk Wiggle with Bunky and Nancy for about nineteen hours. Then all of a non-sudden the song we were dancing to stopped.

Mrs Dongle tapped the microphone with one of her shiny red nails. ‘And now something for all you lovers out there!’ boomed her voice through the speakers.

‘Yuck, did you hear that?’ I said, pretending to puke all over Bunky and Nancy’s trainers. ‘DJ Dongles just called us lovers!’

Mrs Dongle pressed a button and a Frankie Teacup song started to warble out of the speakers.

Frankie Teacup is my dad’s favourite singer, in case you didn’t know. He’s so old he isn’t even alive anymore.

‘Ooh, Banana Moon - that’s my gran’s favourite!’ squawked Sharonella, and she twizzled round on the spot, looking for someone to have a smoochy jiggle with.

I stepped backwards a millimetre, remembering how she’d fluttered her eyelashes at me earlier. ‘Let’s get the keelness out of here,’ I cried, grabbing Bunky and Nancy and zooming off the dance floor.

The snack table

‘Hide!’ I whispered, zig-zagging over to the huge triangle of Cherry Fronkle cans, which by the way was right next to the emergency exit.

‘Hey!’ shouted Bunky, skidding to a stop. ‘I was enjoying that song.’ He looked back at the dance floor where Anton was still doing his loserish robot dance.

‘What are you, crazy?’ I said, ducking behind the cans. ‘You wanna end up dancing with a GIRL?’

‘Or even worse - a BOY!’ said Nancy, pretending to puke all over my trainers.

Gordon Smugly, who’s the smuggest, ugliest person in our class, wandered up to us.

‘It’s dangerous out there,’ he said, plucking a salt and vinegar crisp out of a ginormous bowl and slotting it into his annoying mouth. ‘I had to get off the dance floor before Sharonella pounced on me.’

‘Oh please,’ said Nancy. ‘Even Shazza’s not that desperate.’

Stuart Shmendrix, who’s sort of like Gordon’s sidekick, trundled over all sweatily. ‘Phew, that was close,’ he said, grabbing a Cherry Fronkle. ‘Did you see the way Fay Snoggles was staring at my bum?’

‘Listen to you losers!’ chuckled Bunky. ‘What are you afraid of ?’ And he bopped back on to the dance floor.

‘Be careful, Bunky!’ I cried, but it was too late, he was gone.

Invisible lasso

Stuart cracked his Fronkle open and me, him, Nancy and Gordon watched all loserishly as Bunky waggled his legs around on the dance floor.

Sharonella and Fay were circling him like cats about to pounce on a very stupid, bum-wiggling mouse.

I rested my hand on the lever that opens the emergency exit door, getting ready to escape if Shazza spotted me. ‘Poor old Bunkster,’ I said. ‘Silly doggy doesn’t know how much trouble he’s in.’

Bunky’s sort of like my human pet dog, in case that last bit sounded weird.

Just then, Darren Darrenofski from our class wobbled out of the boys’ toilets. He was doing his flies up while holding a Fronkle at the same time, which isn’t an easy thing to do.

‘Darren!’ whisper-shouted Stuart. ‘Get over here before the girls spot you.’

But Frankie Teacup was singing too loud for Darren to hear.

‘Hey, what’s Shazza doing?’ said Nancy, and I spotted her on the dance floor, swinging an invisible lasso around in the air like she was a cowgirl.

‘That’s a funny old dance move isn’t it,’ I said, sounding like a bit of a granny, and I treated myself to a cheese and onion crisp for being so loserish.

‘The woman’s gone completely stark raving bonkers,’ said Gordon, not that I was listening to him.

I was too busy spotting one of Nancy’s trainers.

What Nancy’s trainer was doing

‘What in the name of unkeelness?’ I gasped, staring at Nancy’s left foot. ‘Your trainer - it’s . . . tapping to the music!’

‘Careful Nance,’ chuckled Gordon. ‘You’ll be dancing with Mildew next.’

Nancy rolled her eyes. ‘As if, Smugly,’ she said, and I tried to spot Bunky on the dance floor, but he’d disappeared behind a cloud of purple smoke.

Over on the other side of the room, Darren finished zipping his flies and looked up. Suddenly he froze - Sharonella was staring straight at him.

‘You’re mine, Darrenofski!’ she screeched over the top of Banana Moon, lassoing her invisible rope around his neck and starting to pretend-pull him towards her.

Darren started to edge backwards. He dropped his Fronkle can and a pink fizzy puddle spread out underneath his trainers.

‘Man down!’ cried Stuart, watching as Darren’s trotter slipped in the Fronkle.

He flapped his hands like a pig trying to fly and Sharonella whipped behind him, catching him in her arms.

A nose poked out of a purple cloud and Anton appeared at our table.

‘May I have the pleasure of this boogie?’ he said in his normal, loserish voice, and he shot his robot hand out to Nancy.

I peered down at Nancy’s tapping foot, then up to her smiling face.

‘Oh why the keelness not!’ she said, grabbing Anton’s hand and swooshing on to the dance floor.

‘Nancy!’ I cried, not that there was time for that - Fay was too busy zig-zagging up to my other best friend.

‘Bunky!’ I shouted. ‘Watch out, Snoggles is coming to get you!’

But Bunky just ignored me and started dancing with her.

Monday morning

You know how in TV shows they just cut to a few days later?

That’s what happened next - suddenly it was Monday morning and I was walking into my classroom at school.

‘Oh my days, how brillz was that disco, Fay?’ squawked Sharonella’s voice, and I looked over to where her and Fay Snoggles usually sit next to each other.

The only thing was, Fay wasn’t sitting next to Sharonella at this exact millisecond in the history of the universe - she was sitting next to . . .

‘Erm, there seems to have been some kind of terrible mix up here,’ I said, walking over to my seat, which if you haven’t worked it out yet is where Fay had plonked her bum.

‘Hi Barry,’ grinned Fay. ‘Nigel said I could sit next to him today.’

Nigel Zuckerberg is Bunky’s real-life name, in case you didn’t know.

I looked at Bunky and he smiled up at me, the way a naughty doggy does to its owner.

‘Hmm, yes, well,’ I said all carefully, trying not to get too annoyed. After all, it was just a silly old chair. ‘If you don’t mind, could you pop back over to your own seat please?’

‘This area’s reserved for the Shazzonofskis,’ snapped Sharonella, plomping her handbag down in the chair next to her. ‘That’s me and Darren’s names squidged together,’ she said, fluttering her eyelashes at me. ‘Me and you coulda been the Losernellas if you’d played your cards right, Baz.’

I breathed in through my nostrils all slowly, the way my mum does when I’m badgering her about buying me a sausage dog. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I’ll sit next to Nancy.’

‘SEAT. TAKEN.’ bleeped a familikeels voice, and I spotted Anton Mildew perched next to my other best friend.

‘So wait a millisecond,’ I said, trying to work out where I was going to sit. Then I realised it was where Anton usually sits, which is right at the front of the classroom, next to his invisible friend, Invis.

‘Oh well that’s just blooming brilliant,’ I mumbled, plonking my bum down and getting ready for the worst week ever.

Worst week ever

The whole rest of the week was just like Monday morning, except dotted around in different bits of school.

Like lunch on Tuesday in the canteen when Bunky & Fay and Nancy & Anton and the Shazzonofskis all sat together on a six man table (even though none of them are men).

‘Come dine with us, Barold,’ said Gordon, who was sitting next to Stuart. So I squidged in with them, feeling like even more of a loser than my surname.

And in the boys’ changing rooms on Wednesday when we were getting ready for P.E. and Bunky, Darren and Anton spent the whole time shouting over the wall to Nancy, Sharonella and Fay.

‘Can you keep the noise down please,’ I grumbled, sounding like an old granny. ‘I’m trying to get changed.’

‘Keep your pants on, Loser!’ snarfled Darren, blowing Sharonella a kiss which rebounded off the wall and fell into one of his stinking shoes.

Then on Thursday at break time when I headed over to the corner of the playground to peer through the fence into the back garden of the old lady me and Bunky spy on while she talks to her plants.