Phooey Kerflooey

Copyright © 2024 Kristen Joy Wilks

All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright ©1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Lynnette Bonner at Indie Cover Design

Character art by Hayley Kohler at HEKohlerArt

Edited by Devon Steele

Contents

Dedication

1.Daredevils, Squirrel Devils, and Dares

2.A Quest for Non-Deadly Fun

3.The Squirrel Declares War

4.The Puppies Are Mysteriously Massive

5.Stick to the Plan

6.Marcus Chooses the Family Moose

7.Battle Princess, Ragnarök, Dire Bear, or Phooey

8.Phooey is Afraid

9.Phooey Needs a Cheering Squad to go Potty

10.The Squirrel Attacks and Phooey Does Not

11.Rube Goldberg Machine

12.Phooey Loves China Teacups More Than Boxing

13.The Monster’s Lair

14.The Emergency Room Does Not Deal with Squirrels

15.Squirrel Unleashed

16.Phooey Smells Danger

17.Phooey Goes Kerflooey

18.Phooey’s Fearsome Sit of Destruction

19.Puppy Snuggles and an Epic Amount of Cleaning

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Free Stuff!

About the author

Also by Kristen Joy Wilks

Unwanted, Unexpected, A Whisper, A Gift

To Scruffy . . .

I dreamed of writing a book for years, but it was you who grabbed the flyer for that first writing class and told me, You should do this!

I considered the cost of learning the craft. The cost in time, energy, money, and rejection. It was you who said, But do you love it?

This one is for you, My Love.

Thank you for washing dishes, wrangling our boys, wiping my tears after rejections, and celebrating acceptance letters. For your love and care every single day and for the madness, mayhem, and fun that you bring into our world. Also, thank you for that dream where you babysat while I fought dragons while riding a flying sheep! What woman couldn’t dream big after knowing that her man dreamed mighty battles for her?

I’ve poured everything I have learned in the last twenty-three years of writing into this story and it would never have been written if it wasn’t for you.

Chapter 1

Daredevils, Squirrel Devils, and Dares

Marcus bolted out the door of wheelchair-safe house #4, looking for his little brother, Conner. It had been two seconds. Marcus cleaned his glasses on the edge of his t-shirt and turned in a circle. Where could a ten-year-old in a wheelchair possibly zoom off to in that amount of time?

A squirrel perched on their fence gave an angry chitter. A very familiar squirrel.

I can’t feed you anymore, Marcus said. No nuts, no bread crusts, no snickerdoodles. Dad and Mom said no. You shouldn’t have chewed Dad’s work boots.

As the squirrel flicked his tail and darted away, Marcus spotted something fluttering across the decorative rocks that surrounded wheel-chair-safe house #4 instead of grass.

A small piece of paper had settled between the rocks and the rim of the sidewalk. Marcus snatched it up. Maybe Nia had asked Conner to come over to train her guinea pigs to play fetch again.

I see your cast is off. Meet me at the skate park after school. I bet you can’t—

Marcus dropped the note without reading the rest and took off.

It didn’t matter what Adam Weisburn had bet Marcus’s brother. Conner would do it. Conner would rush to do it. Conner would totally battle all of the other kids in their sleepy little town for the right to do it first and fastest, no matter how foolish or dangerous.

Marcus took a right at the library. Maybe he should have gotten Mom or Dad. The skate park was ten whole blocks away.

That was the point of wheelchair-safe house #4. Ten blocks from the skate park (unlike wheelchair-safe house #1), no interior stairs (unlike wheelchair-safe house #3), and no front porch for launching the wheelchair (unlike wheelchair-safe house #2). But Dad hadn’t gotten home from work yet and Mom was still on her phone, trying to find out if their rhododendron bush was poisonous.

Why would a young daredevil even want to make his own tea? Conner hated tea. If he’d suddenly decided he needed a hot beverage, why not use a teabag instead of weird leaves he’d found in the yard? He had added a lot of sugar, though.

Marcus pushed himself to run faster. He absolutely could not let his brother get hurt again. Conner had no fear. Marcus needed to have enough fear for both of them.

He’d slept right through Conner tiptoeing outside to go adventuring a year before. His little brother had followed an owl, climbed an enormous oak looking for its nest, and slipped on the icy spring branches. The fall had broken his back.

If only Conner had taken Marcus with him . . . Well, Marcus was sticking with his brother now, even if that meant a race to the park when he’d rather be writing or making a boardgame.

Marcus took a left at a small thrift shop called The Snazzy Goat, then chugged down Maple Street as it angled toward the park. There, at the far end—he could just make out a speeding wheelchair with technicolor lights flashing from both back wheels and a giant squirt gun mounted on the armrest.

Marcus sucked in a deep breath and turned onto the bike path that led to the park, pushing himself to a full sprint.

Conner was already peering into the giant pit where skateboards and bikes zoomed with pleasant nonchalance, but wheelchairs tended to perform terrifying flips of destruction. He’d just gotten the cast off his leg that proved skateparks had not been built with wheelchairs in mind. Both he and Adam Weisburn should know better.

But nope, there was Adam and his new puppy.

Marcus ran a few more steps and then slowed before approaching the boys. He didn’t want to startle Conner off the ledge by leaping out of nowhere and seizing his chair. Marcus ducked behind the closest tree. If given the chance, maybe his brother would resist whatever foolishness Adam had in mind.

Adam approached Conner with a sneer on his face that jolted Marcus’s heart rate back to super speed. He edged closer. Hadn’t one ill-considered dare at the skatepark been enough? The last thing Conner needed was another broken bone.

Will you do it or are you scared? Adam shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled.

Conner pulled a spiral flip book out of the storage pocket on the side of his chair and opened it up.

Conner’s Shakespearian Insult Generator! The innocent-looking book contained a heap of fancy rudeness from 400 years ago. Hadn’t Mom taken that away?

Conner sat tall in his chair and faced his nemesis.

Hi, Adam! Marcus darted out from behind the tree and shouted in a wildly cheerful voice. Is that a new puppy?

Conner simply shouted louder, to be heard over Marcus’s interruption. Your wit’s as thick as a Tewkesbury mustard.

Adam squinted at the small book, then laughed. Just ’cause it’s Shakespeare doesn’t mean it’s a good insult.

Dad should never have gotten Conner hooked on Shakespeare! Marcus jogged the last few steps to stand behind his brother and grab his chair. How about this one, he said, taking a moment to suck in a few breaths of air. If both of you don’t go home now, I’m calling Dad.

That is a threat, not an insult. You don’t even have a phone. Adam knelt and gave his Labrador pup a pat.

Don’t bother Dad, Marcus. I’ve got this. Conner jerked on his wheels, trying to break Marcus’s grip.

Are you sure, Adam? Marcus reached into his pocket for the phone he’d made out of cardboard, duct tape, and the ink from three permanent markers. The phone that had been waiting three whole hours for such a time as this.

Adam paused for a long moment, eyeing Marcus. Then he ducked his head and hustled away, the puppy dancing along beside him.

Conner snorted and yanked free. He wheeled back toward the house so fast Marcus had to run to keep up.

Mom met them at the front door. Honey, did you just make the tea or did you drink any?

The evil squirrel chittered from his perch on the roof and tossed chewed-up darts down at them.

Mom batted a dart away and gave the boys a stern look.

I’m fine, Mom. It was just a little tea and my mouth hardly feels funny at all. Why is everyone so boring and— Conner froze, made a face, then hunched over and vomited into the decorative rocks next to their for-sure-poisonous rhododendron bush.

Chapter 2

A Quest for Non-Deadly Fun

The squirrel was now officially rampaging.

Had the squirrel set out to prove his chaotic prowess before Conner returned from getting his stomach pumped? It was like the wretched rodent heard that Conner was the most destructive living thing in town and had taken offense.

Marcus plopped onto the pebble walkway and sighed, taking in the swath of destruction. Hammocks, ravaged. Homemade comics, mangled. Baseball gloves, nibbled to death. Even their shoelaces were in tatters.

This must be why there were so many Don’t Feed the Wildlife signs in National Parks. Not for the bears. No, they were worried people would feed the squirrels, encouraging this kind of rampant destruction.

If only they had a dog. A puppy would provide good, wholesome, non-life-threatening fun for his little brother—and chase the squirrel away, too. Marcus could snuggle a dog instead of biting his fingernails in constant terror for his younger sibling. He glanced at the glossy wooden sign Mom had hung over their new back door.

You will keep in perfect peace . . . all whose thoughts are fixed on you. —Isaiah 26:3

Marcus scowled, looking around their dogless, squirrel-ravaged yard. They had a long way to go to perfect anything, much less perfect peace. Perfect chaos, maybe. Conner was bored, Dad and Mom were stressed, even the squirrel seemed unhappy.

They’d lived in all-out pandemonium for so long. What would perfect peace even look like? Marcus pulled in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The faint warmth of sunshine pressed against his eyelids and a stiff spring breeze brought the scent of grass from other people’s yards. Maybe Dad would laugh and make more cheesy puns. Mom wouldn’t pace at night or spend so much time searching How to calm hyper children on her phone. Conner would find adventure, even in his chair. Marcus would make homemade comics with his brother again. They would finally have their own dog. A dog who would chase away that psycho squirrel.

Perfect peace.

It was pretty much the opposite of a squirrel rampage or a wheelchair flipping end-over-end down concrete steps, wooden steps, brick steps, or a homemade jump. Marcus opened his eyes. There had to be something he could do. Some way to help his parents, calm his brother, chase off the squirrel. A way to get that perfect peace from the sign.

Maybe find something fun for Conner to do? Fun, but not dangerous. A box in the garage caught Marcus’s eye: Dad’s new bird feeder.

Wildlife was fun. Non-squirrel wildlife. If they couldn’t have a puppy, maybe some birds would cheer Conner up. And steer him away from trying to sneak out at night looking for frogs or Sasquatch dens. Marcus pulled a tiny notebook out of his back pocket and bent to snag the pencil he kept tucked beneath the laces of his right shoe.

He scribbled, Bird Watching, at the top of the page. Then, Possible Dangers. Marcus thought a moment. Conner could flip his chair and Marcus could trip rushing to see some amazing feathered visitor. A bird might steal some of their hair for a nest, or bite them on the finger. He scribbled down these possible perils and then scanned the short list. This was an acceptable level of risk. He drew a smiley face at the top.

Now to make it exciting enough for Conner.

Maybe he could pile adventure upon adventure into a great heap of activity? Like that time Conner had tried to do a wheelie, shoot cans off the fence with his paintball gun, and jump his chair off the porch all at once. Marcus sighed. That had ended their stay in wheelchair-safe house #2, and any hope of having another porch ever again.

Yes, a pile of adventures would do it. Only, safe ones this time.

Marcus hauled the birdfeeder down the twisty little sidewalk that meandered around the house for Conner’s chair and into the front yard. At the center of the decorative rocks there was already a birdbath.

Marcus strung a wire between the house and a fencepost. After filling the feeder with seed, he hung it on the wire, just to the side of the birdbath. The wire sagged in the middle over the birdbath, but at least it held the feeder aloft.

He glanced at the twin windows that looked out into the yard from the front room of the house. Perfect! They could even watch from the safety of the indoors.

That is, if Mom let them into her showroom without a hazmat suit. The front room was for clients to see Mom’s interior decorator designs. Which was why he and Conner were stuck watching birds instead of roughhousing with their very own puppy. Apparently, none of her designs included dog hair or slobber.

In the next yard over, behind their tall cedar fence, Marcus heard their neighbor, Nia, bouncing on her trampoline. Sprong, sprong, sprong. A trampoline wasn’t an option for Conner, and so far Marcus didn’t think his brother had his eye on it. Still, Marcus hoped the bird feeder would distract him from joining Nia when he got home from the ER.

Marcus eyed the feeder. OK, time to add some excitement.

The bouncing sound behind the fence paused.

Then one more big sprong and Nia’s fingers appeared at the top of the fence. After a growl and some scuffling, her pink shoe appeared and