Mim and the Disastrous Dog Show (The Travelling Bookshop, #4)

By Katrina Nannestad and Cheryl Orsini

The right book might just change your life ...

Mim Cohen roams the world in a travelling bookshop, with her dad and brother and a horse called Flossy. Flossy leads them where she will, to the place where they're needed most ... the place where the perfect book will find its way home.

Now Mim has arrived in the Cotswolds, just in time for a dog show. The judge, Lord Melville-Timms, is in a pickle. He has judged cakes and flowers and vegetables, but never dogs. And his bulldog, Bubbles, is shamefully disobedient!

Mim knows they're here to help Lord Melville-Timms. To give him courage. To prevent a dog-show disaster.

If only Mim could find Lord Melville-Timms the right book. If only Dad would stop giving him the wrong book.

The jovial new adventure from award-winning author Katrina Nannestad and beloved illustrator Cheryl Orsini.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Mar 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781460714560

Katrina Nannestad

Katrina Nannestad is a multi-award-winning Australian author. Her books include the CBCA-shortlisted We Are Wolves, The Girl Who Brought Mischief, The Travelling Bookshop series, The Girl, the Dog and the Writer series, the Olive of Groves series, the Red Dirt Diaries series, the Lottie Perkins series, and the historical novels Rabbit, Soldier, Angel, Thief, Waiting for the Storks and Silver Linings. Katrina grew up in country New South Wales in a neighbourhood stuffed full of happy children. Her adult years have been spent raising boys, teaching, daydreaming and pursuing her love of stories. Katrina celebrates family, friendship and belonging in her writing. She also loves creating stories that bring joy or hope to other people's lives. Katrina now lives on a hillside in central Victoria with her husband, a silly whippet called Olive and a mob of kangaroos. www.katrinanannestad.com

Book preview

Dedication

For Sniff and Mouse

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1: A bucket full of Loch Ness monster

Chapter 2: The meeting of two presidents

Chapter 3: Lullabies and Bubbles

Chapter 4: Scones and bottoms with jam and cream

Chapter 5: My grandfather’s a pirate

Chapter 6: A drive in the country and a hike in the jungle

Chapter 7: Lost keys and found C’s

Chapter 8: Extra-high tea

Chapter 9: Overripe tomatoes and toads in holes

Chapter 10: Vampire kittens and blood-sucking Chihuahuas

Chapter 11: Slippery hikers and pies full of farmers

Chapter 12: Potted trees and buried books

Chapter 13: Two hundred and thirty-seven spots

Chapter 14: Simon says dribble on the grass

Chapter 15: Flaming tails and flying eggs

Chapter 16: Jack and Jill and hopscotch

Acknowledgements

The Travelling Bookshop Series

Katrina Nannestad’s Book Awards

About the Author

Books by Katrina Nannestad

Copyright

CHAPTER 1

A bucket full of Loch Ness monster

I’m standing in a shallow stream, nibbling a piece of toast with jam. Water trickles past my ankles, tickling my skin. A fat, little trout swims nearby, staring up at me.

‘Isn’t this a wonderful morning?’ I murmur. ‘Blue sky. Lush green meadow. Dewdrops sparkling in the sunlight, as though diamonds are growing in the grass.’ I sigh. ‘Peaceful, like a poem.’

The trout smiles up at me. Well, maybe she doesn’t smile, but she seems friendly.

‘I’m Miriam-Rose Cohen and I’m ten years old,’ I whisper. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’

I break off a tiny piece of toast and drop it in the stream. The trout drifts forward, gulps it, then wags her tail.

‘Huh.’ I smile. ‘So you like strawberry jam.’ I pick off another morsel of toast and drop it in the water.

My fishy friend approaches the sinking crumb, mouth open in a sweet small O. But before she eats it, she lurches and darts away.

‘Aw, Trouty.’ I sigh. ‘There’s nothing to be scared —’

‘Mim! Mim!’ Nat, my little brother, runs into the stream. He’s splashing, screaming, waving his chubby arms in the air. ‘Get out!’

He grabs my hand and tugs. My toast falls into the water and sinks.

‘Run for your life!’ shouts Nat. ‘The Loch Ness monster is coming!’

‘Nat!’ I cry. ‘The Loch Ness monster lives in Scotland in a deep, dark lake. I’m standing in a shallow stream in the Cotswolds in England.’

‘There!’ screams Nat, pointing upstream.

Something brown slithers through the water, then vanishes.

‘EEEEEK!’ Nat yanks my arm.

I tug back, lose my balance and fall headlong into the stream, taking Nat with me.

‘We’re going to die!’ Nat bawls. ‘The Loch Ness monster is going to gobble us up for breakfast and spit our bones out onto the grass, then he’ll eat Daisy for dessert. Lambs are like chocolate to Loch Ness monsters.’

Since arriving in England two days ago, Dad’s been reading us a book called Legendary Creatures of the British Isles. Nat’s been spotting fairies, elves, werewolves and fauns crouched behind every tree, lurking in every shadow. Last night, he saw a dragon flying through the sky. Which is fair enough, I suppose. He’s only six and has an imagination the size of a hot-air balloon. But this is the first sighting of the Loch Ness monster.

We stagger to our feet and climb onto the grassy bank. Nat’s crying like he’s trying to win a trophy for it.

‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘Look! Flossy’s hitched to the caravan, ready to go. We’ll jump aboard and she’ll gallop away faster than any silly old Loch Ness monster can wriggle along the lanes.’

Nat gasps. ‘Loch Ness monsters can wriggle along lanes?!’

‘Silly me!’ I slap my forehead. ‘I’m thinking of worms. Friendly worms. Tiny, pink, friendly worms.’

‘Pink with glitter?’ asks Nat.

‘That’s right,’ I agree. ‘Pink glitter worms.’

Nat smiles. He wipes the tears from his eyes.

Phew!

I take Nat’s hand and we return to the old wooden caravan, which is our home, but also our travelling bookshop. The door opens and Dad pops out holding a bucket. ‘Almost ready. We just need some water. Will you duck back to the stream and fill this up, please, Mim?’

I swap Nat for the bucket and run back to the stream. I step in, fill the bucket and sit it on the grassy bank.

Something big and brown slides through the water nearby.

My breath catches. I jump out of the stream, heart thudding.

The brown thing follows and slips into the bucket!

I squeal.

The brown thing squirms and twirls, then pops its head up.

I frown.

I lean forward.

What is it? A dog with tiny ears and supersized whiskers? A fat ferret?

‘Oh.’ I sink to my knees. ‘Hello, little otter.’

The otter rubs its face with its front paws and bobs down into the water once more.

‘Come on.’ Dad runs over and grabs the bucket. ‘Flossy’s stomping her hooves and blowing raspberries. She’s eager to go.’ He strides back to the caravan.

I follow, eyes glued to the bucket.

Dad ducks inside and I hear water sloshing into the tank for the kitchen sink. He reappears, Coco the cockatoo perched on his shoulder. He shuts the door and settles on the driver’s bench beside Nat and Daisy the lamb.

Flossy, our chestnut Clydesdale, stomps her enormous front hoof three times.

‘Okay!’ I laugh and climb up beside Nat. My bottom has barely hit the bench when Flossy starts plodding — out of the meadow and into the lane.

‘Dad,’ I say. ‘Did you notice anything odd about the bucket of water?’

The caravan gives a sudden lurch. I hear books thudding to the floor inside. I hope the otter isn’t squashed. Falling books are a real danger when you live in a travelling bookshop. Especially a travelling bookshop pulled by Flossy, who pays no heed to lumps and bumps and swerves in the road. An otter would not be prepared for such dangers.

‘Dad.’ I tap at his shoulder. ‘About the bucket . . .’

Dad chuckles. ‘Did you know they used to call a bucket a pail?’

‘I knew that!’ shouts Nat. ‘Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water!’

‘They were nice kids,’ says Dad.

‘Who?’ I ask.

‘Jack and Jill,’ he replies. ‘Friendly. Polite. But clumsy! Remember the fall they had? Shocking! All we could do was watch and hope they landed on soft grass!’

I roll my eyes. ‘Don’t be silly. We weren’t there. Jack and Jill weren’t even there. They were just tumbling through our book of nursery rhymes.’

‘And our imaginations,’ adds Dad.

‘Yes, but that doesn’t make them real,’ I say.

‘Of course it does!’ cries Dad.

I blush. I nibble my lip. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter. He’s right. Books. Imagination. Real life. The lines between them are not as clear as most people think.

Dad gives the reins a gentle flick. It’s just for show because he