Chapter 15

15 The Forty-fifth Mile of the Race Opprobrious Vastanavius the Parrot was still ahead but now it was by eleven beaks. Dave was dropping behind. Fast. Twelve beaks. Fifteen beaks. Nineteen beaks. 'I. Can't. Do. This, Dave panted as he flapped hard, his new wing clicking and snapping as it struggled to flap quicker.

He dropped behind by five more beaks. And then five more. As Opprobrious Vastanavius the Parrot became a smaller and smaller dot on the horizon, I knew I had to do something. 'Don't give up, Dave,' I squawked. 'I'll be back soon.' There was only one bird who could help Dave now: his dad. I fell behind and searched the flock for Mickey. There he was, bringing up the rear. I blasted through the throng of birds, aiming straight for him. 'Dave needs help,' I said, pulling up alongside Mickey.

'I can see that,' Mickey said. 'What were you doing this morning?' I asked. 'I saw you.' 'Saw me where?' 'With him,' I screeched. 'With Opprobrious Vastanavius the Parrot.' 'It's not what you think,' Mickey shrieked back. 'What were you doing with that parrot when you should have been with Dave?' 'I was trying to talk Opprobrious out of the race.' 'What?' I knew Dave had to rest his wing and I didn't want that parrot to hurt my son.' 'You weren't switching sides?' I asked. 'Never.' Mickey grinned. 'I always pick

the winning team.' 'Why didn't you come back and see Dave off?' 'Opprobrious got his crew to lock me in Pawsville,' Mickey cried. 'Everybody had left to follow the race and I was all alone. I had to find the keys, fly up to the lock, peck it open with the keys and then use them to wedge the door open so I could get out. 'Why does no one ever use the dog flap?!' Mickey paused. 'That's actually a really good idea.' 'We don't have time for this now.' Up ahead, I could see Dave had fallen behind by fourteen more beaks. 'Dave needs us.' 'Get in my slipstream, Skipper,' Mickey ordered. 'I'm going to get us to him.'

Mickey's slipstream smelt of cabbage and pigeon poo-farts. (You know the ones you do when you aren't sure if you need a poo or a fart so you do a little one and check what comes out.) It might've smelt bad but Mickey still had his racing talent. We soared towards my best friend, who was now sinking lower and lower in the sky. 'Dad?' 'We're here, son.'

'I thought you weren't coming,' Dave said as he gasped for air. 'Of course I was,' Mickey said. 'I'm so proud of you.' We looked forward and saw Opprobrious Vastanavius the Parrot far ahead. He was now a colourful dot, piercing perfect holes in the clouds as he darted towards the end of the race. 'Full throttle on the feathers, son,' Mickey ordered Dave. 'You can do this.'