The Mishaps of Wendy Burger

Fear has a funny way of ruining everything.

It’s Burger. Wendy Burger. That was her name. Don’t blame her for it, though. Her Mom is Wendys’ biggest fan. And the fact that their last name was Burger didn’t help much. Now, you can imagine that kids school make fun of her. But you’d never understand how bad until you actually see it. Unfortunately, she’s not in school at the moment. But boy, would she ever love to be. Oh wonderful! Here she comes now.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

My, her legs are pumping faster than something that pumps fast. Her braids, one red and one brown, are flapping behind her like they’re going to tear off. Don’t ask why her hair is two different colors, you don’t want to know. Now she’s gone, vanished around the bend. Let’s follow her shall we?

Wendy stood bent over, desperately trying to catch her breath. She looked nervously around her to see if what had scared her had followed (which I doubt, because it couldn’t have caught up). She stood up and looked around. She was standing in a farm yard. An old raggedy sigh claimed that it was:

“Old McDonald’s Organic Farm”

Wendy, of course, didn’t laugh. For some mysterious reason, she didn’t find coincidental names funny.

Suddenly the matching raggedy front door creaked open. Expecting Mr. McDonald to come out, she tensed.

“Bark!”

Bark? Poor guy, he must have sung his theme song so many times that it went to his head. But it wasn’t a man that came out, it was a dog. Now Wendy wasn’t a dog expert, but she knew it was some kind of short hair golden retriever, and it was a girl. But the dog wasn’t golden, her fur was pure white and she had blue eyes. Her appearance was so shocking that Wendy didn’t here her greeting.

“Hello. Oh, you look scared. Are you OK young girl?”

When Wendy didn’t answer the dog came down the porch steps, tail swinging back and forth as she went.

“Can you speak?” She asked.

Wendy shook herself from her gaze and looked blankly down at the dog, not yet realizing that dogs can’t talk.

“Oh, yeah. I can speak. Sorry about that, I was just shocked by your surprising color.” At the dogs confused look, she quickly added. “I think it’s beautiful, very unique.”

The dog lowered her head modestly. “Why thank you, young girl.”

Wendy smiled at her. The dog seemed to be waiting for something. She was looking up expectantly at her. Suddenly Wendy’s eyes widened in shock, she leapt back as if she had been bit.

“Y-you can talk! Dogs can’t talk!”

The dog made an elegant bowing motion, her paw sweeping gracefully beneath her. “Encontre, dear one. My name is Zerelda, it is my pleasure to meet you.”

Wendy stared in amazement at this sophisticated dog. After a few minutes she managed to will herself to speak.

“It is also nice to meet you, I am Wendy Burger,” Said she, remembering her manners. “But I am afraid I don’t have the time to chat,”

Zerelda looked sad at this statement, but finished listening to Wendy anyway.

“You see, I am being chased by Bert- a very dangerous ex-convict.”

Zerelda’s blue eyes widened in shock. “That is horrible! Why, pray tell, is an ex-convict after you?”

“I accidentally stepped on his foot,” Wendy mumbled, looking at the ground.

“He must be a very angry man to chase you like that.” Zerelda said.

“Oh yes,” Wendy nodded rapidly. “I think he said; ‘I’ll squash you flat into the ground and then make cookies out of you!’”

Zerelda looked angry. “That is not very gentleman-like,” she pauses to think for a moment. “Tell you what, I’ll make sure Mr. Bert never bothers you again.”

“You would do that for me?” Wendy asked, trying (and failing) to act modest.

“Sure, I don’t have anything else to do,” Zerelda shrugged.

“Well I hope you’re ready, because here he comes,”

“How do you know, young one?”

“I can hear his angry screams- that guy is very long winded,”

Zerelda listens for a second, sure enough Bert’s harsh voice echoed off the surrounding trees. “Je vois votre point . . .”

“That’s the second time you said funny words. What do they mean?” Wendy asked.

Zerelda looked confused for an instant. “Oh that’s right. You probably don’t understand French.”

“French?”

“It’s another language, young one,”

Before Wendy could ask what that was, Zerelda spoke again:

“We’ll talk more later, right now I need to stop that man.”

Just as the white-coated dog said that, Bad Bert burst out from around the corner.

“Har! Me’s gets ya ‘ow!”

“Hello sir, are you speaking French too?” asked Wendy innocently before Zerelda could stop her.

That made Bert’s face turn so bright red that, thousands of miles away in the north pole, Rudolph shivered.

“Ya jest makin’ me mad ‘ow! Me chase-ed you fer miles an’ ‘ow me has ya!”

Bert looked around for some sort of weapon, he saw a small tree and grabbed it by the trunk. in one fluid move, he yanked it out of the ground, roots and all. He was so angry he didn’t even realize that he did it.

Bert took a huge, menacing step towards Wendy, but Zerelda stepped in his way. Her lips curled up to show her dangerously pointed fangs and a low growl rumbled from her throat.

“I advise you to turn around, take flight, and never return,” Her blue eyes were narrowed into needle-width slits.

Bert, being less smart- er, “educated”, did not understand a single word the mutt was muttering. So of course, he ignored her and continued his advance on Wendy.

Wendy just stood blankly, the thought never really occurred to her to run.

With a mighty yell, Bert lifted the tree above his head and aimed to swing at the little girl. But Zerelda stopped him. With a bark she attacked- but she never moved.

Bert felt the tree lift from his hands, he looked up at it in confusion. But it wasn’t just the tree that was hovering, he was too. He looked down at his feet and gasped.

“Puts ma down!” He bellowed in fear.

Zerelda just focused intently with her eyes as she turned him around.

“Good bye,” She said as Bert started floating down the lane. He yelled and kicked madly in the air. “Leet ma down!” He sounded more pleading this time.

“Très bien,” Zerelda smiled.

Thud! Bert landed on his rear onto the road, a cloud of dust rising around him.

He took one last glimpse at Zerelda and screamed.

“AAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Now it was his turn to scream. Arms flailing above his head, he tore down the road and disappeared over the rise.

“How did you do that?” Wendy gasped.

“Well, you see chère . . .” Zerelda started.

But before she could finish, or before Wendy could even ask what chère meant, a black Yukon skidded around the corner. It barrelled toward them and at the last second slammed on it’s brakes with a loud:

SSSSSSSSSQQQQQQQUUUEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!!!

The nearest door, the passager door, flew open. A man wearing a black suit and sunglasses that matched the vehicle jumped out. “Don’t move!” He was pointing a gun at them, actually, it was kind of hard to see in his enormous hands.

“Put your hands on your heads and get into the vehicle!”

“Excusez-moi monsieur?”

The man looked down at Zerelda without any surprise. He must have known Zerelda talked.

“Just get in,” He growled.

Shakily, Wendy went to climb in the open side door, but in her nervousness tripped. She fell flat on her back on the ground, her feet still inside the Yukon.

“Stop fooling around!” The man ordered.

Wendy scrambled to her feet and this time landed in the seat. Zerelda was already in the seat beside her. She could attack these people but it would be too risky. Unlike Bert, they had guns. The only thing she could do was watch and protect Wendy.

The truck started up and they sped down the lane. Zerelda only had a few seconds to glance back at her beloved farm before it disappeared around the bend. Old McDonald had left for a few days for vacation on some sunny Florida beach. She hoped he would be back soon to take care of the animals.

“Pardon me sir, where are we going?” Wendy didn’t seem scared at all, either she hit her head too hard when she fell, or she was just plain dense.

“An art school in Paris called droit de nice,” The driver replied. He seemed nicer than his accomplice with the gun. Granted, he was dressed the same, but there was just something nicer about him.

“Right Nice Art School?” Zerelda raised an eyebrow, which is a pretty amazing feat if you’re a dog.

“Yup. Don’t make fun of it, though. The teachers there think of it seriously.” The driver said.

Zerelda couldn’t speak. Why were they just being randomly taken to an art school in Paris by two bazaar-body-guard-looking-people?

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This is what happens when I'm bored. Just so you know, some of the ideas came off a random idea generator.