by Martha Hynson
Macy and Flappy Go to Work
Once the mess was cleaned up, Mama and Macy had a meeting. Mama sat on the end of the sofa. Macy sat on her favorite chair. She liked it because there was a ruffle at the bottom that tickled her legs when she swung them back and forth. “Your library book is ruined,” Mama said. “You’ll have to work to pay for it.”
Macy popped up from her chair. “I know just what to do.” She hugged herself and twirled around. “I can teach art.”
Mama did not agree to that plan. “You can help Mrs. Tucker pull weeds from her flower bed,” she said. Macy stopped twirling and looked at Mama.
“Well, at least can Flappy come with me?” She hopped from one foot to the other. “Because she is the one who pecked the pages.”
“I don’t think—”
“Please, please, please,” Macy clasped her hands together. “Can I just ask Mrs. Tucker. That little lady loves chickens—”
Mama talked to Mrs. Tucker and, the next day, Macy and Flappy went to work. Macy’s job was pulling weeds. Flappy’s job was eating bugs.
Mrs. Tucker needed lots of help. She was bent over, but not low enough to pull weeds. What if Macy had not got in trouble and Mama had not said, “Macy you must go to work.”?
Macy looked over at Mrs. Tucker who was sweeping the sidewalk. She was bent just right for that job. “It’s a good thing I came,” Macy said “or these weeds might have grown tall like a jungle. Maybe wild animals would have moved in.”
Hey, what was creeping through the grass? A hungry beast was headed straight for Mrs. Tucker. That nice lady was high up in the ages. She could never fight it off. How could Macy save her?
The animal crept closer. Macy let out a very glad breath. Mrs. Tucker would not have to be saved, after all. Because the beast turned out to be just Milo, the old wiener dog who lived across the street. He waddled over to Mrs. Tucker and rolled in the trash she was sweeping.
Macy wiggled a loose tooth with her tongue. If she looked at Milo with her eyes squinched she could imagine he was a lion cub playing in the jungle. A cub wouldn’t be dangerous. But what if his mother was watching close by?
“Hey, Mrs. Tucker,” Macy jumped up and put her hands on her hips. “What would you do if a fierce mother lion was crouching in your yard?”
“A lion?” Mrs. Tucker stopped sweeping and winked at Macy. “Why, I would hand her my broom and tell her to sweep up this litter.”
Macy looked at what Mrs. Tucker was sweeping. Hey, some of that wasn’t litter. There was a good-choice ticket right in the middle. “Yay! That must be the one I put in my lucky sock!”
Macy skipped across the yard to get it. Wait, what was Milo doing? Why was he sniffing the ticket? Macy began to run. “No, Milo! Don’t eat my good-choice ticket.”
Milo obeyed those words. He did not eat the ticket. But he still made a very not-good choice because he looked at the little red paper in the trash pile, lifted his leg, and wet on that thing.