Stink and the Great Guinea Pig Express (6 page)

   
“Guinea giganticus!”
said Stink, making up a scientific name.

When they got back to Squeals on Wheels, people were peering through the windows of the camper at all the guinea pigs.

“Get your cute guinea pigs here,” they announced. In no time, Squeals on Wheels was a little less squeal-y.

Stink studied the map. “Next stop — World’s Biggest Ham!”

After crossing over the James River Bridge, they pulled into Smithfield, Virginia — Pig City, USA.

“There it is!” said Stink. “The museum with the pet ham.”

Inside the museum, displayed in a glass case, was a small, wrinkly lump covered in green mold.

   “Gross!” said Sophie. “It looks like a shrunken head.”

“Double gross!” said Webster. “It looks like a giant turd. Maybe we came to the World’s Biggest Turd Museum by mistake.”

“I don’t get it,” said Stink. “The sign says it’s more than one hundred years old. See? Oh, I get it now. It’s the world’s
oldest
ham, not biggest.”

“Does the sign say it’s super-disgusting?” said Webster.

A half hour later, they left the ham museum.

“We didn’t even adopt out one single guinea pig,” said Sophie.

“Yeah, ’cause in this town they all like
ham
-sters,” Stink said.

Over bridges, across rivers, and through a dark tunnel they drove until Mrs. B. pulled up to a big fountain in the middle of Norfolk. They let Izzy, Scarlett O’Hairy, Harry, Captain Jack, Hopscotch, Piggy Wiggy, Wrinkles, Pumpkin, Mimi, and Mr. Nibbles wade in the fountain. Astro, too.

“Super-suds city!” screeched Webster. “Somebody must have put soap in the fountain.”

“Hey, let’s give the guinea pigs a bubble bath!” said Sophie.

   Webster and Stink and Sophie washed and dried and fluffed the eleven guinea pigs.

“Get your squeaky-clean guinea pigs here,” they yelled, and ten more of the world’s cleanest guinea pigs left for new homes.

Another seventeen miles down the road, at last they hit Virginia Beach! A big green sign said:

   “What’s Mt. Trashmore? Is it really a mountain?” asked Webster.

“Is it a park?” asked Sophie.

“Is it really made of trash?” Stink slid open the window and sniffed.

“Mt. Trashmore used to be a huge garbage dump,” said Mrs. B. “But then they covered it up with layers of soil, turning it into a kind of big hill or mountain. And now it’s a park.”

“Whoa,” said Stink. “A giant trash sandwich.”

At Mt. Trashmore, kids and families were fishing, feeding ducks, flying kites, skateboarding, and racing remote-controlled boats off the pier.

   They found homes for fourteen guinea pigs at Mt. Trashmore alone.

Virginia Beach was pig heaven.
Guinea pig
heaven, that is. People went gaga for guinea pigs in this town.

At the Beatles Museum, they gave away John, Paul, George, and Ringo. At Ocean Breeze Water Park, they gave away zero. But they got to see a giant gorilla named Hugh Mongous. At the amusement park they gave away eight more. Plus, one lady adopted ten because she kept falling in love with one, and then another, and then another.

   “Virginia Beach rocks,” Webster said.

“Operation Guinea Pig rocks!” said Stink.

“Time to get back to Squeals on Wheels,” said Mrs. Birdwistle. “Next stop, my friend Daisy’s house.”

But when they got to the camper, something was not right. The horn was honking. The radio was blasting. The windshield wipers were wiping.

Great balls of fur!
Twenty-three guinea pigs were on the loose. Those hair balls were having one big piggy party. “Hurry, Mrs. B.! Guinea pigs are going bonkers in there!”

“Holey tamoley!” screeched Webster when he saw Mrs. B.’s coffee thermos knocked over. “The guinea pigs drank your coffee!”

Hyperdrive!
The Guinea Pig Express had turned into the Guinea Pig Espresso. Guinea pigs were here, there, and everywhere, poking out of every box, bag, backpack, cupboard, and cubbyhole.

Guinea pigs ran races around the camper. Guinea pigs spun circles on the counters. Guinea pigs slipped and slid into the empty sink. Curly Sue went snooping in the closet!

All three kids chased after the squirming fur balls and put them back in their cages.

   After they finished cleaning up the mess, Mrs. B. said, “Phew! Last stop — my friend Daisy’s house!”

On the way to the rescue, Astro poked his head out of Stink’s backpack. “This is it, boy,” said Stink, rubbing noses with his favorite fur ball. “I’m going to miss you, boy.”

Mrs. Birdwistle’s friend, Daisy, met them at the front door. “Aren’t they adorable?” she cooed.

“We have twenty-three left,” said Stink. “How many can you take?”

“Twenty-three’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Twenty-
two
is a much better number. Twenty-three just sounds like one too many.”

“I’m sure,” said Daisy. “Three more won’t be a problem at all.”

“I’m afraid these little guys are escape artists,” Mrs. B. told her.

“And they’re hyper on coffee!” said Webster.

“I have just the thing to wear them out,” Daisy said, and pointed to a play area on the floor.