Wizki Tales

Wizki Eats Paint

He wasn’t really poorly. Wizki was pretending to be ill, and Fiona, as usual, had fallen for it. He claimed to have a poorly tummy but what he really had was unfinished homework for Mrs Brown, his Maths teacher. So Fiona had been forced to leave him cooped up at home on his own while she went to out work.

Other than being concerned for the poor little mite’s health, Fiona wasn’t worried about leaving Wizki at home. He was usually very good at amusing himself. He had a favourite jigsaw which he’d commissioned that pictured him astride a horse in a suit of armour looking noble. It only had eight pieces but it usual occupied him all day. Or he sometimes went snorkelling for swordfish in the bath, (and sometimes got lost while in there, which baffled everyone). Or he tried his hand at recipes he picked up from Jamie Oliver’s ‘Naked Pup’ cookbook. Or he would watch his Muppet videos. Or he played with his Tonka toys. He was a resourceful creature.

But on this day none of his toys distracted him. Wizki found himself at home with no one to play with and with nothing to do. He was bored.

Now, in Wizki’s case, a bored puppy is a naughty puppy, and Wizki was very, very bored. And with his usual tendency toward naughtiness, it was never going to be long before Wizki got himself into trouble.

He decided to paint his kennel.

Wizki’s kennel took up his entire bedroom and was papered with pictures of Kylie Minogue. Why he needed a kennel when his bedroom was perfectly good was a mystery only Wizki or a Puppy Psychologist could answer. He said he needed a deep down doggy vibe to keep in touch with his canine roots, but since he had declared it the ‘Royal Puppipality of Wizkdom’ and had changed the locks and claimed Fiona needed a passport to visit him, and that she could only spend the currency of Europups there, she had begun to think it was less to do with keeping Wizki sane and was more to do with Wizki seeing what he could get away with if he was supremely cheeky. After all, he still ate food that Fiona had paid for, with Fiona’s best napkins tucked into his collar keeping his shiny going-out shirt clean, in the flat’s dining room with the view of the squirrel trees, and he certainly didn’t seem to need a passport for that! Anyway, the kennel hadn’t been painted for several weeks, and Wizki felt it was time to try out a dashing red on the ceiling and walls.

He donned his best overalls and picked the best brush from the utility cupboard. He flipped the lid of the paint tin with a screwdriver and then stood and stared at the paint. It was creamy and swirly and it looked quite delicious. It looked good enough to eat.

“No,” he thought, “it might look delicious but it’s not nice. It’s bad to eat. Otherwise we would have it for tea.” And with that momentary flash of common sense, Wizki put the idea of eating the paint behind and got on with preparing to paint.

He was fed up with Kylie Minogue so he figured he would leave the posters up on the wall and paint over them, rather than going to the trouble of taking them down like anyone sensible would have done. And instead of taking the tin of paint into the kennel, Wizki loaded his brush with paint in the kitchen, then carried the paintbrush through to the kennel, leaving a trail of paint all the way.

Wizki was very careful with how he painted. Each brushstroke was perfectly executed, each was blended into the rest. By the time Wizki had used up his first brushfull of paint, there was a tiny patch on the wall that looked fantastic.

Unfortunately, that was the point Wizki got bored, and, rather than trailing through to the kitchen to load his paint brush again, he threw the brush into the corner of his kennel and sat down to read ‘Smash Hits’, his favourite magazine.

He realised he was a little peckish. It had been at least ten minutes since he had scoffed tomato soup and toast so it was logical that his tummy was rumbling now. He wandered through to the kitchen and raided the fridge, heating up a pan of milk to make Ready Brek. He ate the Ready Brek in front of the T.V., watching ‘Neighbours’.

When he finished his Ready Brek, still hungry, he ran back through to the kitchen to make some more, but sadly Wizki had not put away the tin of paint, nor had he replaced the lid. Wizki tripped over a Tonka Truck he had previously left in the middle of the kitchen floor and looped headlong toward the tin of paint.

For a creature so dim, a lot passed through Wizki’s mind as he flew through the air. He could see the paint tin heading toward him, and the delicious creamy redness appealed to his sense of injustice that there was no dessert to be found anywhere in the house. The paint looked so tasty. Just what a puppy needed after three hard minutes painting his kennel. So he could have kept his mouth closed, he could have put his paws out to protect his face, but instead he chose to land head-first in the paint and to heartily drink as much paint as he could guzzle.

It was a mistake. No sooner had Wizki tasted the paint, he knew he didn’t like it and that he didn’t want any more. But it was too late to go back, and Wizki soon had not just a mouthful of paint but a whole bellyful, as he swallowed hard and sent a huge wad hurtling down his throat.

Wizki lay on the lino in pain. His tummy hurt. He didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like it a bit.

He phoned Fiona’s mobile.

“Mummy, I’m poorly!”

“I know, sweetheart, that’s why you’re off school”.

“No, but I’m really poorly.”

“Did you eat anything for lunch? Has something disagreed with you?”

“Paint,” Wizki said, tragically, “I ate paint.”

“Paint? What kind of silly creature eats paint?”

“I do,” he said morosely.

“Oh Wizki. You’re such a naughty Puppy.”

By the time Wizki got off the phone, Fiona was on her way home to help the Pup back to health and to give him a firm telling off.

Because now Wizki was really poorly. He’s a silly Puppy.

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