Labradoodle on the Loose by T.M. Alexander Page A

shouting and then it was party time. It was like my dream, but better. We all sat round the rug and ate sandwiches, crisps, pork pies, vol-au-vents (Jonno saidthat’s what the pastry things were) and antipasto (Bee’s mum’s platter of meat and cheese and olives). The twins were funny, just like they were at Bee’s first birthday party, before the friends, the noise and the police. (And they apologised about Teapot, Rasher, Bodger and Slim.) You could tell Bee – the most important person – was really, really happy. There was no lost dog, her family were all together and not rowing, she wasn’t in the middle of a crisis, she was just having a good time with her family and her mates – chatting and laughing and being bossy.
    â€˜Time to smack the star,’ said Dad. We all jumped up, ready to whack the piñata as hard as possible. The stick was a bit bendy but after a few goes we got the idea, but we couldn’t crack the clay. We whipped the star, but it would not give us the sweets. Dad had a go. Bee’s dad had a go. Patrick had a go, and nearly decapitated his mum. Louis had a go, and nearly decapitated himself. No way was that clay pot going to break. Until Copper Pie decided it was time to stop messing. He did the most enormous swing, and chucked the stick plus himself at the star. It gave a little. You couldn’t call it a crack, but there was a seam across the middle of the star.
    â€˜My turn, I think,’ said Bee. We all stood in a ring and watched. Bee copied the Copper Pie method of piñata assassination. She swivelled round a couple of times like a hammer thrower and then let rip. It was very effective. She smashed the piñata into a zillion pieces. Sweets showered the gardenlike the best rainstorm ever. We all dived, and only just avoided crushing Probably Rose, who could suddenly walk much more quickly.
    â€˜Don’t panic. There is cake,’ said Fifty’s mum. She looked a bit appalled at the headless-chicken chasing of the last few toffees.
    â€˜Give me a second.’ Dad disappeared into the Tribehouse to light the candles. We could see the flickering lights through the plastic windows.
    â€˜In you come,’ he shouted. Bee went first and sat on the bench. The other Tribers followed, except Fifty whose seat is the safe. The twins stood hunched over in the corner, because they’re taller than the hut. Dad and Fifty’s mum did the same in another corner and Bee’s mum and dad filled the other two corners. Probably Rose sat down in the middle of everyone. We started singing and Bee puffed out the candles. There was a big
Hurrah!
    â€˜Make a wish,’ said Bee’s dad. She shut her eyes. As soon as they opened again, Dad let the net go and balloons floated about, sinking and rising and hovering around our heads. It was brilliant. There’s something about balloons that makes everyone want to bat them about. So that’s what we did until it got too hot. We spilled out of the hut, red and sweaty, and let the balloons come with us and fly up in the air. We ate the fancy cake and drank the jelly Mum made because there were no spoons.
    â€˜OK,’ said Dad. I thought he was going to say we shouldbe going but he said, ‘Let’s all say something we like about Bee. I’ll start.’ Dad looked around at the ten faces. ‘I like Bee because she has definite views about all sorts of important issues, like organic farming and endangered animals.’
    There was clapping.
    Fifty’s mum went next. ‘I like the fact that she doesn’t just have strong views, she acts on them, like picking up rubbish wherever she goes.’
    The next few were cringe-worthy. Bee put her head down. I didn’t blame her. Patrick and Louis stood up together and said how cute she was when she was little. Bee’s dad told a great long story about how she behaved really badly at dinner in a restaurant one evening and