Chapter 8

8 To the Pylon on the Hill and Back It's Race Day, readers! I hope you have your Dave Pigeon foam wings and Dave Pigeon baseball caps and Dave Pigeon bobbleheads on. I hope you're blowing your Dave Pigeon vuvuzelas feather-splittingly loud in the face of all the pirate parrots because you are now going to hear about the race of the year. And I'm in it.

'Is everybirdy ready?' Dave nodded and flicked out his new wing as Jet, Fluffle, Gary and Cricket-Ball Face chanted the words 'Team Pawsville! Team Pawsville!' over and over and over again. Where's Mickey?' I asked. 'Dad will be here,' Dave said. 'Don't worry, Skipper.' We were gathered outside Pawsville Vets, waiting for Opprobrious Vastanavius the Parrot and his cronies from Dazzle. It was early. There were no Humans about apart from the Man who was driving a street cleaner down the road while his ears were plugged with headphones. Last night Opprobrious Vastanavius the

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Parrot's white cockatoo sidekick had turned up and told us to be ready for an early morning start. 'The race is fifty Human miles long. Twenty-five miles to the pylon on the hill and twenty-five miles back,' he crowed at us from outside the window. 'Prepare to lose, pigeon.' Mickey had gone before we woke up. Last night I thought I had seen him exchange a strange look with the cockatoo, but I shoved the niggling doubt to the back of my mind to focus on helping my best friend. But as the minutes ticked on that morning, I grew more and more worried. What if he had lost his sense of direction and was heading right and right and right, all the way around the world again?

A crowd of birds started to gather on a telephone wire. One bird flew across the crowd, offering snacks of popcorn and bread crusts from the bin. Crumbs rained down on my head as I paced the pavement underneath, watching Dave practise star jumps and hopscotch. 'Yoo hoo!' The familiar twinkly call of our Human Lady's next-door neighbour's pet canary rang over my head. 'Tinkles? What are you doing here?'

The yellow ball of feathers landed on the pavement. She brushed down her plumage as she greeted me. 'I'm here to watch Dave lose to the pirate parrot.' Tinkles had never been much of a friend. 'There they are!' We followed Jet's gaze up to the sky. She started to yelp and chase her tail as a flock of birds came into sight. Opprobrious Vastanavius the Parrot was in the lead, followed by the fluffy white cockatoo and the two yellow and green budgerigars we met three days ago.