Jamie Rix - Panda Panic - Running Wild

“Wrong,” said his sister, smugly. “It means that I am the clever one and you are not, because I do understand it. It means that panda cubs are safer at home, because the rainy season’s just finished and the snow leopards are coming down from the mountains looking for food!”

“I’m not scared of snow leopards!” Ping scoffed. “Is that why you won’t go exploring with me?”

“Yes,” said An. “When I’m at home I know where to hide. And that is why, in case you were wondering, I’m so much better at hide-and-seek than you.”

“No, you’re not!” said Ping. Then, realising he could turn this to his advantage, he added, “Prove it!”

An yawned.

“You don’t catch me out that easily,” she said. “Besides, I’m too young and pretty to be a snow leopard snack just yet, but you go ahead if you want to.”

Their mother chuckled.

“Nobody’s going to be eaten by a snow leopard,” she said.

“At least it would be a bit of excitement,” Ping replied, without thinking.

“That is a ridiculous thing to say,” his mother sighed. “The wise panda searches not for what he does not have, but is content with what is his.”

Ping was baffled again and scratched his head.

“Master the art of boredom,” she explained further, “and you will conquer the world.”

“How can you master boredom?” he asked. “Boredom’s just boring.”

“If you’re bored,” she said quietly, “it’s up to you to go off and find something to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like fishing,” she suggested.

“Fishing’s boring,” said Ping.

“Fishing’s safe,” his mother said.

“So long as you don’t fall into the water,” sniggered An. “Which Ping probably would, because he’s as clumsy as a fat fairy in concrete boots.”

“And it is the end of the rainy season, so the river’s running rather fast at the moment,” said his mother anxiously. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind, Ping. Maybe fishing’s not a good idea. Why don’t you ask your best friend, Hui, to play with you?”

Hui was a bright-blue grandala bird who entertained Ping for hours with his exciting stories about flying around the world.

“Because he’s busy catching insects for his winter nest,” said Ping. “He said I could help him, but I hate bugs. They nest in my fur and tickle me.” Ping scratched his nose and tipped back his head to look at the sky. “You know, sometimes I wish I wasn’t a panda. Sometimes I wish I was a bird, like Hui, because birds can go wherever they like.”

“You can’t be a bird,” said An, “because birds have got a head for heights. You’ve got a head for basketball.”

“I’m not staying here to be insulted,” Ping said, standing up in a huff. “And anyway, if my head is the shape of a basketball, yours must be too. So there!”

“Will you two please stop arguing,” said their mother. “You can go off and have a silly adventure, Ping, but don’t do anything dangerous, make sure you’re back for supper, and watch out for snow leopards!”

“Maybe I will and maybe I won’t,” he grumbled, kicking his way through a bamboo hedge and stomping out of the clearing.

The moment he was out of sight Ping felt guilty. He shouldn’t be speaking to his mother like that. After all, she was only trying to keep him safe. And she had actually met a snow leopard once, so she knew how dangerous they could be. He’d better say sorry… Yes, that would be the kind thing to do… Maybe not now, though. After he’d had his adventure. He’d do it tonight, when he came home for supper.

“Ping.”

Ping spun round, surprised to find his sister standing close behind him.

“Promise me,” she said seriously, “that whatever it is you end up doing today it won’t be anything stupid!”

Ping laughed at the very idea.

“As if I would,” he said. “As if I would!”

Then he disappeared into the bushes to find himself a surfboard.

ing had decided to give surfing another try. He was well aware that his last effort had ended rather soggily, with water being squeezed out of his tail and shaken out of his ears at the vet’s, but that was a long time ago. He was two weeks older now and much, much wiser. Besides, he’d done a lot of thinking about what went wrong on that occasion and had decided that it was all the fault of his surfboard… not its rider. He needed a single piece of wood instead of a tray made from bamboo poles lashed together – a big, flexible board that could withstand the pressures that a champion surfer would demand from it.

As luck would have it, five minutes later, as he wandered past the fat ranger’s office, he stumbled upon the perfect piece of wood lying across his path. Someone had even smartened it up for him by painting it bright green. He went to knock on the back door of the office to ask if he might take it, but to his surprise there was no door, just a hole in the wall where a door had once been. He waited outside the office for a couple of minutes, but nobody came, so he helped himself and, clamping his new surfboard underneath his arm, he set off for the River Trickle.

When he arrived he was surprised at how different the river looked. He had never seen it after the rainy season. It was at least six times wider than normal and as deep as the tallest tree in the forest. It rushed past faster than a galloping horse and roared like a cloud full of thunder. Luckily there was a shallow pool to one side where Ping could do his warm-up. It was the vet who had taught him how important it was to stretch before physical activity and he started his warm-up by lunging forward on his left leg while touching the ground with the knee of the right. After ten seconds of grunting he swapped legs, lunging forward on his right leg while touching the ground with the knee of the left. It was frightfully complicated, and Ping started to get in a bit of a muddle. When it came to stretching his arms, he couldn’t remember if they should be pointing up or down, or whether he should be bending forward or standing up, or whether his feet should be pointing in or out, or whether he should shut his eyes or keep them open.

After five minutes of warming up he was in trouble. Bending at the waist, he had threaded both of his arms between his legs from behind, grabbed on to his ankles and then tried to stand up. But when he came to pull his arms back again they were knotted round his knees. He slowly toppled forward until his forehead was resting on the ground. With his black and white bottom sticking up in the air and his head curled under his tummy he looked like a rolled-up woodlouse. Now what was he going to do? Unfortunately this decision was taken out of his hands, because just then, with whoops and mocking cheers, the golden monkeys arrived to poke fun at poor Ping. They sat in the branches above him and poured scorn down at him.

“Oh, look,” screamed Choo, their oh-so-witty leader. “A weird new animal’s come to live in the forest… It’s a giant black and white snail.” The other monkeys laughed, while a cocky young monkey called Foo approached Ping and sniffed him.

“It smells like a panda,” he said. “But it can’t be a panda, because pandas only ever do three things – eat bamboo, poo forty-seven times a day and pose for tourists’ cameras – and this one,” he said, running his finger down Ping’s curved back, “is trying to be a ski slope!”