Ginger and the Great Wubby Rescue

Ginger and the Great Wubby Rescue

by Michael Roark

Chapter 1: The Day Wubby Disappeared

Her human parents were mumbling, but she was certain she heard "Gingersnap Cookie."

She lifted her head.

Nobody calls me that except on fancy days.

On ordinary days she was just Ginger, or sometimes Ginnifer.

She ignored the talking as she laid back down. The sun was warm on her face. She stretched and reached for her favorite thing in the world, Wubby. Old. Soft.

This toy has been by her side forever. She had loved it all that time.

Wubby was a little scruffy. Once, a fluffy stuffed bear.

But now its fuzz wasn't fuzzy. Its stuffing was barely there.

But none of that mattered.

Her favorite corner still smelled of her dad’s cheesy soup from that "accident" a while back.

As she chewed on it, the smell never went away. It settled deep inside her where memories live.

Her dad waved a squeaky new toy in front of her. Ginger held her old toy firm and just tilted her head sideways. Wubby's dangling arms and legs swayed in sync.

He made the new toy squeak once. Wubby stayed silent. The new toy squeaked twice. Ginger didn't fall for it.

Dad reached for Wubby.

Ginger clamped down on her old friend.

TUG-OF-WAR!

He pulled. She growled a playful growl.

They tugged forever until Ginger’s jaws gave up. She slipped on the kitchen floor. Plop! She landed beside her water bowl.

"Tugs do make me thirsty…"

When she looked up from her bowl, Dad wagged his finger. “No more stinky toy, Ginger.”

He dropped Wubby into the trash can.

The lid closed with a thud.

Ginger stared at the can. Her tail drooped.

He gave her the non-smelly new toy.

"Fine." She carried it to her bed, just to prove she won the tug-of-war.

That night, when everyone slept, Ginger’s nose twitched.

Somewhere in that mystery box her Wubby waited.

Chapter 2: Operation Wubby

For a few days, she pretended to love her new toy. She dragged it around, even squeaked it politely.

But Ginger’s eyes were fixed on the kitchen trash can. That was where her Wubby had vanished.

What if Wubby’s cold in there? What if the trash monsters got it? What if it's missing my favorite corner?

Then one afternoon, she paced in the kitchen for hours. She suddenly stopped and perked her head up.

“I can’t take it anymore,” she said aloud, “ I’m going on a rescue mission.”

The cat was basking on the windowsill. She flicked her tail. "Into the trash? Charming."

Ginger stood still in front of the big can. Using her detective voice, she said,

"Tall. Big Lid. Scary. The kind of place the bravest of dogs wouldn't dare go."

The kitchen was quiet. Only the wind chimes on the back porch and the cat's purr could be heard.

Perfect. Time for Operation Wubby.

She pawed at the lid. It clanked shut.

“Hmm,” she muttered. “Tricky gizmo.”

She nudged her snout behind the can. Forced in her head and shoulders. She shoved it away from the wall far enough to get her front paws up on it.

With a few pushes she bumped the can just enough to make it wobble, then…

Crash!

It toppled forward, spilling a little trash out.

“Don’t just sit there,” Ginger grumbled to the cat. “Help me dig for Wubby.”

The cat raised an eyebrow, "I am not going anywhere near that mess."

The lid hung partly open like a door. She crept forward. Her paws sank into something squishy.

“Ewww… what is that?!”

She shook her paw, sending a bit of mush flying. Then she sniffed again.

A faint scent… something familiar… cheesy and warm.

“Wubby? You in there?” she whispered.

She swallowed hard.

“If you’re here, I’ll find you,” she announced, her ears high and tail firm.

Using her news-reporter voice, she stated, "Ginger, professional Wubby-rescuer. Going into the great unknown…"

The cat just rolled her eyes.

Chapter 3: Nose Vision

Ginger poked her head inside. Her nose twitched faster as she leaned in.

The can was dark. Too dark to see anything.

Can't see a darn thing in here, she thought, Time for Nose Vision.

Ginger closed her eyes and focused on the smells. She imagined that they made trails that swirled through the darkness. Sweet and pink one second, sour and green the next. Her mind then wove the trails into a world she could explore.

Click. On.

The darkness of the can drifted away and Ginger saw wooden crates piled high. A mountain of banana skins slid off the stack. It landed with a splat right beside her paw.

“Shoo, dog!” barked a voice.

Ginger yipped and jumped back. A tall man with a greasy apron swung his sloppy mop at her.

“I’m not just any dog!” Ginger wanted to bark. “I’m on a rescue mission!”

Unfortunately, all that came out was a nervous "Woof!"

The man stomped his foot. “Go on!”

Ginger dashed between two wobbly stacks of crates, heart thumping.

He must be a cat person.

She pressed her belly to the ground. The smell trails turned to a busy market.

Birds soared overhead, sometimes swooping to steal grapes.

A cart full of oranges rattled by, pulled by a goat.

And somewhere between all the smells Ginger caught that smell.

Cheesy goodness. Faint, but real.

Her tail lifted. “Wubby?"

She sniffed again. The scent made a trail that wound through the market stalls. She followed it with her nose low, tail wagging.

It led past a barrel of pickles, and straight to a table covered in socks. Dozens of them. Long, short, dirty, dirtier. The seller, a plump raccoon wearing a sock scarf, was polishing a shiny shoe buckle.

“Excuse me, have you seen… ” Ginger began, but the raccoon shrieked, “DOOOG!”

“I just wanted to ask… ” She stopped when he threw a sock at her, landing on her snout.

The sock had dust, lint, and stinky perfume. Definitely not Wubby’s cheesy perfume.

She shook it off and backed away slowly. Ginger and the racoon stared at each other.

The real cheesy scent was still there, drifting beyond the sock table. Stronger now.

She turned and chased it, right to a food stall.

Chapter 4: Oodles of Noodles

Woks clanged, spoons scraped. The air smelled like noodles, sauce and a hint of cheese.

Ginger’s mouth watered. She loved noodles.

She climbed onto a crate for a better look.

A little snack wouldn't hurt, she thought.

She found it.

No, not Wubby. She found a great big pile of leftover noodles.

"Oh my… I could get used to this!" She plopped down in the noodles and slurped one into her mouth. "Nom nom nom…"

Through the steam, she thought she saw a familiar shape — lumpy, faded, dangling from the corner of a table.

“Wubby?” she whispered.

"Wubby!" She sprang up from the slippery slope of noodles. She

spat out her last bite.

"I didn't forget about you! I just…needed a snack!"

But as she stepped forward, a cloud of steam blew from a wok. A squirrel strutted through it slowly.

Not just any squirrel. That squirrel. The squirrel that sits on top of the fence and chatters at Ginger through the window.

He was holding Wubby in his arms.

Ginger crouched and growled. It was not the same playful growl she used in Tug-o-war.

"It's you. Gimme my Wubby."

She dashed forward, slipping on noodles, and leapt for Wubby. But she just flew right through the cloud with a poof!

On the other side, she crashed through a door into a café. She slid across the floor. With a thud, she bumped into a counter. The floor was covered in coffee grounds. No Wubby.

"So close," she huffed.

This is hopeless. I'll never find it.

She was ready to give up and just plopped down on the floor. People sat muttering at tables. Cups clinked and kettles clanked. They all ignored her.

"Squeak!"

A little old mouse appeared and looked up at Ginger. She had a chunk of cheese in her paws as big as her head.

"Whatcha looking for? Some cheese?" The mouse said while chewing.

"Not anymore. My cheesy friend is lost forever."

The mouse disappeared and started talking behind Ginger. "Sometimes the trail you seek begins behind you."

Ginger turned, but the mouse winked at her and disappeared again.

“You’ve already come this far for that raggedy friend. Don’t let little stinks stop you from finding the big stink,” she said from behind Ginger. Ginger spun around again. This time the mouse strolled out from an empty dented soup can.

Ginger leaned down and the mouse put her paw on top of Ginger's nose. Her other paw was holding the cheese out in front.

“Your heart remembers Wubby’s smell. Even when your nose gets tired. Let your heart lead for a bit.”

Ginger lifted her chin and huffed. Her heart wanted Wubby, she must go on.

Then she put her nose down and searched. Under all the tables. Between all the feet.

All she found was a sneeze. Then another. And another. Then… Whew. Only three this time.

But Ginnifer would not let her sniffer quit.

Wherever Wubby was, she’d follow that scent. Even if it meant running straight into trouble.

Chapter 5: When Cheese Lies

The smell was stronger now. Bold, tangy, and oh-so-cheesy.

Ginger trotted faster, nose low, tail high.

The scent trail wound through an alley that buzzed with noise.

It led to a giant bowl that looked like her food bowl only much, much bigger.

Squirrels zoomed around inside on wheeled boards, spinning and

leaping like excited kids.

Ginger froze at the edge, ears perked.

Right there, on one of those boards, something dangled in the wind.

Same dull, grayish color.

Same stringy edges.

Her heart leapt.

“Wubby!” she barked.

The board zipped past. The shape bounced in the air.

Wubby! It had to be!

Without thinking, Ginger bolted down the ramp.

She skidded left, dodged a rolling board on her right, and squeezed between two startled squirrels.

Wheels clattered, squirrels chattered. Ginger chased the bouncing blur across the big bowl and got close.

I won't miss this time…

Her teeth closed around something lumpy and cold.

She stopped and looked down.

Not Wubby.

Just an old sock. It was coated in crusty mac and cheese.

Ginger sat, dusty bits clinging to her chin.

Her tail drooped as she dropped the sock.

She sniffed the sock again, just in case.

No cheesy-soup comfort. Only week-old pasta and dust.

“Oh. Not Wubby…” she said with a heavy sigh.

A few squirrels pointed and giggled. One took a picture.

Ginger didn’t care. She trudged back up the ramp, the sock dragging below her.

The mouse, holding her same chunk of cheese, was at the top.

"Sometimes, the best smells live in memories, not in trashcans." She broke off a piece of her cheese and offered it to Ginger. "If you lose the scent, remember the feeling, it'll find you again."

Maybe the smell I’m chasing isn’t in Wubby. Maybe it’s in my heart. Ginger thought.

The smells faded away. With each blink, views of her home reappeared.

The trash can. The kitchen.

The cat.

"Welcome ba… Ew! What is that?" The cat squinted at the sock.

"My second place trophy," Ginger replied.

Ginger dropped it beside her bed and laid her chin on it.

Maybe Wubby was really gone. At least the sock was kind of tasty.

She curled up beside it, and drifted off to sleep. That pesky squirrel, crazy sock seller, and old mouse danced in her dream.

Chapter 6: Smells Like Home Again

Ginger yawned and stretched, one paw landing on the crusty sock trophy beside her bed.

She sniffed it.

Still not Wubby. Still not right.

From the couch, the cat watched with her usual unimpressed stare. "Ew."

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ginger said. "I thought it was Wubby."

The cat blinked once, then began washing her paw. Typical.

Ginger sighed and turned toward the corner where her new toy waited.

Fresh. Boring.

She nudged it with her nose.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll give you a chance.”

Ginger plopped her chin on it. The toy squeaked. A polite little grateful squeak.

It wasn’t Wubby, but at least it was soft.

Her eyes drooped. The kitchen smelled normal again, no stinky trashcan smells.

Then it hit her.

Cheese.

She sat up so fast the cat flinched.

“Soup!” she whispered. “That’s what’s missing!”

Her parents were making dinner.

And not just any dinner. Dad’s famous cheesy soup.

The scent drifted through the air, thick and perfect.

Ginger closed in, tail slowly swishing.

It was ready. Dad brought steaming bowls out from the kitchen.

The bowls hit the table. The spoons clanked.

Dad stepped away to get water.

Now!

Ginger grabbed her New Toy and climbed up onto the table with silent paws.

She peeked at the soup. It looked golden, steamy, and delicious.

“If New Toy smells like the old toy,” she whispered, “maybe it can become Wubby”

With one careful flick, she dropped the squeaky toy into the soup.

PLOP!

She froze. The cat’s tail twitched.

“Gingersnaaaaap!” Dad’s voice boomed behind her.

She jumped down as Dad fished the soggy toy from the bowl with his spoon.

Cheese dripped down its sides like melted treasure.

Success.

“Oh, Ginnifer,” Mom said, trying so hard not to laugh.

Dad sighed, shaking his head. “Not again.”

The cat was mildly amused, finally.

Mom rinsed the new Wubby in the sink.

“You’re silly,” she told her, “and completely lovable.”

Ginger was overjoyed. She gleefully flopped onto her bed, waiting for her prize.

The cat settled nearby, "I can't believe you pulled that off… again. Impressive."

Ginger's nose twitched, basking in the perfect smells of cheese and soup and family.

She rested her head on her slightly soggy, slightly cheesy, now-perfect new Wubby.

Tomorrow, maybe she'll chase something new - and next time, she'll bring snacks.