Smelliest Day at the Zoo Read Online Free PDF

placed the crocodile droppings on a baking tray and drizzled a little sunflower oil over them, adding a little pepper and salt for good measure. He placed them in the oven and went out to pick an especially tasty-looking cabbage.
    Back at the zoo, Mrs Crumble was feeling very pleased with her efforts and was a bit miffed not to have received at least a little thank you back from Mr Crumble. So she texted him again:
GOOD MAN-UR?
    This one puzzled Mr Crumble, now back in the kitchen, as he put a knob of butter over his lightly boiled cabbage. They were very fond of each other, but it wasn’t like Mrs Crumble to go to the trouble of telling him ‘What a good man you are’ twice in one day. And why the question mark? He texted back:
GOOD WOMAN-UR
    And with that he poured the tomato sauce over the crocodile droppings and sat down to eat.

    Back at the zoo, Mrs Crumble frowned. Why was Mr Crumble telling her what a good woman she was?
    “I don’t know,” she said out loud. “What’s he on about?” The crocodile shook his big head in disdain. His keeper seemed to be getting stranger by the minute.
    In the meantime, Mr Crumble chewed enthusiastically on his first bite of crocodile poo. It tasted very funny. He tried spooning some more tomato sauce on to his fork, but it still tasted very odd indeed. He didn’t wish to hurt his wife’s feelings, so he texted once more:
DID UR MUM MAKE 1 MEATBALLS?
    He picked away at some of his delicious cabbage, and thought that perhaps he should be the one to make dinner from now on. His phone peeped and he scrolled down for the response.
WOT MEATBALLS?
    Mr Crumble stared at the little brown balls on the place in front of him, and cut one in half. It seemed to have half-chewed grass inside it. He texted Mrs Crumble:
IN PLSTC BAG?
    This time, he didn’t try any more meatballs, but waited for the response.
NOT MEATBALLS! MANURE!
    Mr Crumble stared in horror at his mobile phone, rooted to his chair as his stomach heaved and rumbled and gurgled. Then he rushed over to the kitchen sink where, I’m afraid to say, he was violently sick.
    Back at the zoo, Mrs Crumble couldn’t believe her husband was so stupid. She sent him a final text:
WOT A DAFT MAN-UR
    “He’s eaten your poo!” she screeched at the crocodile.
    The crocodile eyed Mrs Crumble sorrowfully. She was obviously stark-raving bonkers. He turned round and decided it might be a good time to go back to sleep.

Chapter Four

    Back in his office, Mr Pickles was gazing out of his window, toying with the idea of catching up with the Test Match score. Suddenly—CRASH!—the window shattered, showering broken glass all over the office.
    “What on earth is—?” shouted Mr Pickles.
    But the question froze on his lips. He could see at a glance what was going on. Half a dozen chimps had broken loose from Mr Chisel, their keeper, and escaped from the Chimp House and were running riot in Mr Pickles’s prize flower beds.
    It turned out that the flower beds were a much better place to play than the chimp house, which to tell the truth, the chimps had been getting rather bored with lately They had discovered a number of round balls hidden among the flower beds—too small and hard for football, too big for cricket. But just perfect for throwing at each other.

    And even better for throwing at the head zoo keeper.
    Mr Pickles ran out of his office, shaking his fist. He felt really quite cross. The chimps, however, thought he was urging them on. Brilliant! Mr Pickles was obviously much more fun than Mr Chisel—maybe they could even swap keepers after this.
    One chimp picked up a large ball of elephant dung. THUD! It landed on the top of Mr Pickles’s head with a painful thump. The chimps screeched with laughter. Mr Pickles was such a sport for joining in the fun.

    “I’m so sorry about this,” gasped Mr Chisel. “I was just trying to give them some air while I cleaned their house.”
    Mr Pickles spun round and saw (far too late) another