My Dog the Dinosaur

By Jackie French and Stephen Michael King

GUNKS DAD WEARS FLUFFY CHICKEN SLIPPERS. His sister, Fliss, is into weightlifting and his mum is searching for aliens. Gunk has Spot, his pet dog or is it? (A dog, that it.) Spot has a long neck, a flat tail and eats lettuce. Lots of it. Come to thnk of it, Spot is the silliest-looking dog Gunk has ever seen. Spot is scared of cats, too, and Fliss\'9291s motorbike. And then Spot starts to grow... Will Spot ever learn to bark? What strange secret does Pete, the girl next door, keep in her shed? Can Gunk teach Spot to like dog food? Or, will everyone in the world want to take Spot away when they find out that he isn't really a dog? the wacky talents of Jackie French and Stephen Michael King will delight younger readers as way out and wild adventures unfold in the Wacky family series. Ages 7+

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Aug 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781460703908

Jackie French

Jackie French AM is an award-winning writer, wombat negotiator, the 2014–2015 Australian Children's Laureate and the 2015 Senior Australian of the Year. In 2016 Jackie became a Member of the Order of Australia for her contribution to children's literature and her advocacy for youth literacy. She is regarded as one of Australia's most popular children's authors and writes across all genres — from picture books, history, fantasy, ecology and sci-fi to her much loved historical fiction for a variety of age groups. ‘A book can change a child's life. A book can change the world' was the primary philosophy behind Jackie's two-year term as Laureate. jackiefrench.com facebook.com/authorjackiefrench

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

A Little Lonely Dog

He was the loneliest dog Gunk had ever seen. He was the dumbest looking too. He sat in the corner of the pound and stared at Gunk.

‘How about that one?’ asked Dad, pointing to a perky little Pekinese. ‘He’s so cute.’

Dad liked cute things. Dad had a whole collection of dinky duck mugs at home and wore pyjamas with baby-blue ducklings on them to bed.

‘It looks like a fluffy toilet brush,’ said Gunk.

‘But a really sweet little toilet brush,’ said Dad. ‘Oo’s a wittle dinky darling then,’ he crooned.

‘It’s still a toilet brush,’ said Gunk.

‘I like that dog,’ said Fliss, pointing to a Rottweiler with fangs like a sabre-toothed tiger. Fliss had a shark tattooed on her arm and rode the biggest, blackest motorbike Gunk had ever seen. Gunk reckoned it was a reaction to living with Dad’s cutesiepie collection for eighteen years.

The Rottweiler bared its fangs. The other dogs in the pound shrank back in their cages.

‘See?’ said Fliss. ‘It’s a great dog.’

Gunk thought the Rottweiler looked like it would eat the whole family for breakfast and then go and chew on the postman’s bones, but he didn’t say anything. Fliss didn’t like it when people argued with her.

Mum looked bored. She always looked bored away from her computer. ‘I don’t see why Gunk has to have a real dog,’ she said. ‘A virtual dog would be much tidier. Or maybe one of those new robot dogs.’

‘It’s Gunk’s birthday,’ said Dad. ‘So he can choose whatever dog he likes.’

‘You want the Rottweiler, don’t you baby brother?’ said Fliss confidently. ‘You wouldn’t even have to feed a cool dog like that! You could just let it hunt its own dinner! It’d live on cats and guinea pigs.’

Gunk hated it when Fliss called him baby brother, but what could he do? Fliss was bigger than he was. Fliss was bigger than most people.

‘I want that one,’ said Gunk, pointing to the puppy in the corner.

It wasn’t much of a dog. It had pale brown fur with dark brown spots and a long neck and a funny, fat tail. It didn’t even have any ears that Gunk could see. It was sitting all alone in the corner of the big cage, as though none of the other dogs wanted anything to do with it.

Fliss snorted. ‘That dog wouldn’t scare away a burglar, though the burglar might die laughing. It doesn’t even have any ears! What sort of dog doesn’t have ears?’

‘Look at that long hair,’ said Mum. ‘It’ll shed all over the carpet and clog up the workings of my mouse.’

‘It’s not going to win any awards at a dog show,’ said Dad doubtfully.

‘I don’t care,’ said Gunk. ‘I want that dog. Here boy!’ he called to the dog.

The dog wagged its big, fat tail, which meant all the rest of it wagged too.

‘That’s the dopiest looking dog I’ve ever seen,’ said Fliss.

‘Spt,’ said the dog.

‘It can’t even bark!’ sighed Mum. ‘Well, I suppose that’s a blessing anyway. It won’t keep us awake barking at the neighbours.’

‘Come here, dog,’ said Gunk.

The dog trotted towards him. It had the longest, flattest, hairiest feet of any dog Gunk had ever seen. But somehow Gunk knew that he and the dog were made for each other.

‘Spt,’ said the dog, as he thrust his wet nose into Gunk’s hand and dribbled onto Gunk’s tracksuit pants.

Dad sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go pay for it.’

CHAPTER 2

Spot Comes Home

The dog was quiet on the way home. It snuggled into Gunk’s lap in the back of the car while Dad drove and Mum dreamt of the computer program she was designing to decipher alien messages (if the aliens ever decided to send any). Fliss’s motorbike roared behind them.

The car pulled up in the driveway. Gunk opened the door as Fliss parked her motorbike on the footpath. ‘See? We’re home,’

Gunk said to the dog.

‘Spt,’ said the dog, dribbling nervously as it peered out the window.

‘This is our yard for you to play in,’ said Gunk encouragingly. ‘And that’s the garden for you to dig in and that’s the next door neighbour’s cat for you to chase, and …’

‘Spttttttttt!’ yelped the dog. It snuggled back into Gunk’s arms and hid its face in his shirt.

Fliss lifted off her helmet. ‘That dog is scared of cats,’ she said. ‘What a wimp! What sort of wimp dog is scared of cats?’

‘He’s not scared,’ said Gunk defensively. ‘It’s just a bit much for him to take in all at once, that’s all!’

‘Huh,’ said Fliss. Her boots clumped up the path. ‘What are you going to call it, baby brother?’

‘How about Byte?’ suggested Mum brightly. ‘Spelt b-y-t-e. It’s a joke,’ she added, ‘you know, a computer byte?’

‘Cuddles is a nice name,’ said Dad.

‘I think you should call it Fang,’ said Fliss. ‘It might give it a bit of guts.’

‘Spt,’ said the dog, looking up adoringly at Gunk.