Shaun the Sheep Read online

  CHAPTER ONE

  TA-DA!

  CHAPTER TWO

  BEAT IT!

  CHAPTER THREE

  ONE TRUE VOICE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CELEBRITY SHEEP

  CHAPTER FIVE

  STARS IN HER EYES

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE GREATEST SHOW ON MOSSY BOTTOM FARM

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HIT IT!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  VILLAGE HALL VICTORY

  Shaun sniffed the stench wafting from the pigsty and leaned against the wall. It was a lovely day on Mossy Bottom Farm, and for once no one was getting into trouble. Well, not serious trouble, he thought as he spotted Mower Mouth the goat munching through one corner of the barn. Exasperated, Shaun nudged Bitzer. The last time the goat had chewed a hole in the barn, pigeons had staged a midnight robbery, stealing wool to line their nests. Poor Nuts had been left almost bald.

  Bitzer, however, was lost in music. Eyes shut, he rocked out to the tunes coming from his headphones.

  In the meadow, Timmy was tangled up in the string of a kite he had made from a pair of old underpants. Hearing his bleats, Timmy’s Mum rushed over and managed to get herself tangled too. Before long they both looked like they’d fallen into a plate of spaghetti.

  Chuckling, Shaun nudged Bitzer again. There was goat-chasing, barn-patching, and sheep-untangling to do.

  Bitzer opened one eye and sighed. A sheepdog’s work was never done.

  At that moment, the Farmer opened the farmhouse door. With a loud “Ahhh,” he took a lungful of fresh air. After unfolding a creaking deck chair, he slurped a mug of tea and then opened a copy of the Mossy Bottom Gazette, grumbling as he scanned the front page. PARAKEETS IN DISGUISE, read the headline. Mr. Sweetly had been charged with fraud after selling parakeets disguised as miniature parrots at the village rummage sale.

  The Farmer tutted. What was the world coming to?

  Suddenly, he sat up straight in his chair. Then, sloshing tea, he jumped to his feet with a loud “Aha!”

  Bitzer’s and Shaun’s heads popped up over the wall. The Farmer’s spectacles twinkled with excitement as he peered at the Mossy Bottom Gazette. “AHA!” he said again, jabbing the page with a finger. After dropping the newspaper, he hurried into the house.

  Shaun’s eyes lit up with curiosity. What had the Farmer been reading to make him rush off so quickly? He nudged Bitzer again and pointed.

  Bitzer fetched the paper. Shaun pulled it out of his mouth and flicked through a few pages. PIGEONS STEAL MR. GRAVELLY’S WIG. He turned the page. HAVE YOU SEEN THESE PIGEONS? Underneath were pictures of six identical pigeons. Frowning, Shaun turned another page. “Baaaa” he muttered. This must be it. The newspaper rustled as he and Bitzer leaned closer.

  Shaun hid the newspaper as the Farmer returned with two glittering sequined jackets: one gold, one silver. “Hmm,” the Farmer muttered, holding up first one, then the other.

  After tossing the silver jacket away, he pulled the gold one on over his old sweater. “Ta-da!” he shouted.

  Shaun and Bitzer grinned at each other. The Farmer was going to enter the contest! Both of them sniggered. Whenever he took a bath, the Farmer sang like a cow with an upset stomach. And he danced like a pig on roller skates!

  The Farmer’s antics were attracting attention. One by one, the Flock peeked over the top of the wall. They were joined by curious chickens.

  The pigs peered over their wall and pointed as the Farmer fumbled through the pockets of his golden jacket. “Ta-diddly-a-tum-bah-DAH!” he announced, holding up a packet of balloons. He pulled out a pink one and stretched it, giving the rabbits a smile. “Ba-ba-ba-buuuum,” he mumbled, pushing one end into his ear.

  The rabbits’ jaws fell open. Half-eaten carrots dropped to the ground.

  The long pink balloon was growing bigger. Red-faced and panting, the Farmer was blowing it up with his ear!

  The grin dropped from Shaun’s face. He and Bitzer blinked at each other and then stared at the Farmer. He had a talent after all! An amazing talent.

  “TA-DAAAA!” the Farmer cried, holding up a balloon model of a small dog. It had a wonky head and only three legs, one of which was twice as long as the others. Or maybe it isn’t such an amazing talent after all, Shaun thought.

  The rabbits stared, completely bewildered.

  The pigs started snickering.

  When the Farmer noticed that his model looked like an accident in a sausage factory, he harrumphed, threw it over his shoulder, and stomped back inside.

  The Flock gazed at one another. What on earth was the Farmer up to?

  Shaun opened the Mossy Bottom Gazette and tapped the page.

  The Flock clustered around him. A talent show! Fame! Bright lights, a new barn, some fresh hay, and all the pizza that money could buy! Timmy’s Mum was already dreaming of walking down a red carpet. Patting her curlers, she imagined the flashbulbs of a hundred cameras twinkling at her while the crowd called her name. She would have her own perfume, she decided. It would be called BEAUTY SHEEP: EWE DE TOILETTE BY TIMMY’S MUM.

  Bitzer fell to his knees playing an invisible electric guitar. In his mind, his band, Bitzer and the Bones, rocked out before an audience of thousands of screaming fans.

  One of the Twins closed his eyes, picturing himself looking thoughtful and moody on the cover of Celebrity Sheep magazine. A hat would be a good idea, he decided. Yes, a hat — with fruit on it.

  Every sheep was lost in its dreams of fame, until the peace was shattered by cackling chicken laughter. The chickens were staring at Shirley, who was dancing across the meadow. Or was she? Shaun rubbed his eyes. Usually only cake could get Shirley moving, and yet now she was throwing herself around like a leaping tractor. Maybe she has wasps in her wool, Shaun thought. Then Shirley curtsied. It was a dance!

  The chickens fell on their backs, feet in the air and tears streaming down their beaks.

  The smile fell from Shirley’s face. With a sob, she hurried away to the barn.

  Chickens! Shaun thought. Why do they have to be so cruel? Crossing his front legs, he tapped a hoof at them. If they were so talented, why didn’t they put on a show?

  The chickens went into a huddle, still sniggering. For a while, only a low clucking could be heard, along with the occasional “bu-kiiiirk” of chicken giggling. Then a rooster, chest puffed up, emerged from the group as a hen lifted up a boom box. With a flick of her wing, she hit the play button.

  A heavy beat filled the meadow. “Boc-boc-boc-urrrk,” rapped the hens, swaying from one foot to the other. The rooster somersaulted. Legs whirling, he landed on a wing tip, then flipped to his feet, bobbing in time with the music. After diving forward, he spun on his beak, then fell into a pose, head resting on one wing tip, legs crossed.

  The message was clear: Beat that!

  Shaun gulped. Uh-oh. He blinked and looked around. Every sheep in the Flock was gaping at the chickens. Bitzer, Shaun noticed, had missed the whole thing. His face screwed up with effort, he was still on his knees performing a guitar solo. The crowd in his head was going wild.

  Shaun looked back at the rooster and slowly nodded. He wasn’t going to be beaten by a bunch of chickens.

  The chickens folded their wings. The rooster crowed scornfully. His meaning was clear: Sheep couldn’t perform. When was the last time a sheep had a hit single or sold out a stadium concert? All sheep were good at was looking stupid and eating grass.

  Shaun scowled and nodded again decisively. The farm would have its own talent show. Sheep versus chickens. The competition was on.

  Shaun was utterly fed up. Rehearsals were a disaster. The Flock might become famous, but only for being the worst performers since the Magnificent Morris and His Armpit Or
chestra. Shaun put his head in his hooves.

  Nuts was practicing his farmyard impressions. This turned out to be mostly impressions of sheep. They were good, Shaun had to admit. However, Nuts’s other impression was less impressive. Sitting in a bucket of water and saying “Baa” did not make a convincing duck.

  Hazel’s synchronized frog swimmers were even worse. After flicking out its tongue, one frog caught a fly and swallowed it. It was the first time any of them had moved all day.

  Shaun lifted his head and spotted the Sheep-Shape dance troupe going through their moves. Timmy’s Mum — dressed in leg warmers and a headband — cartwheeled across the barn and out the door. Bleating at her to stop, the other Sheep-Shape dancers chased her around the meadow.

  Shaun frowned as he caught sight of Shirley sitting in a corner of the barn. She was huddled sadly next to a ragged old poster for BARRY STILES’S SPARKLE CLEAN SHEEP DIP, watching the acts and blowing her nose. Her dreams of stardom had been crushed. Shaun’s frown turned to a scowl as he remembered the laughing chickens. The Flock had to beat them.

  The talent show was tomorrow night. Could Shaun create a winning act in time? He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Would it be cheating to spy on the chickens? Perhaps the rooster’s crazy-leg break dancing had been a fluke. Perhaps their other acts would be even worse than the Flock’s. There was only one way to find out. Quickly, he made a pair of binoculars.

  The chickens’ rehearsals were in full swing. Hunched in a bush, Shaun focused his binoculars. His heart sank. From what he could see, the chickens would be presenting an evening of magical entertainment, featuring illusion, comedy, and an ultra-cool rooster boy band. Every act was slick and professional. Who would have guessed that a lifetime of pecking in the dirt could produce such naturally gifted performers? Glumly, Shaun lowered the binoculars and traipsed back across the meadow. The Flock needed a miracle. Desperately, he tried to think up a new act. Something with real showbiz glamour and pizzazz. . . .

  Shaun stopped in his tracks.

  The most incredible singing he had ever heard was floating through cracks in the barn. A thrilling, powerful voice that made Shaun’s fleece stand on end. A voice that was as deep and irresistible as cheese bubbling on a four-cheese pizza. A voice that would absolutely, definitely win any talent show.

  Shaun’s heart leaped. He waved a hoof at the rest of the Flock. Everyone had to hear this. The amazing voice even snapped Bitzer out of his rock-star trance. As the sheep crowded around, Bitzer pulled the door to the barn open. He and Shaun peered in. Who could be making such wonderful music?

  The barn was empty apart from poor, talentless Shirley, who was writing “Barry + Shirley 4 ever” on the Barry Stiles’s Sheep Dip poster. After tiptoeing in, Shaun looked behind a bale of hay. Nothing. Bitzer lifted a bucket. Nothing. He scratched his head. Both of them stared around, bewildered. Surely it couldn’t be . . .

  Shaun swallowed and pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Lost in music and unaware that the Flock was watching her, Shirley gazed up at Barry Stiles, eyes glowing with love, singing her broken heart out.

  As the song came to an end, Timmy’s Mum was the first to clap her hooves.

  Shirley almost jumped out of her fleece. When she saw that the whole Flock was applauding and bleating for an encore, she looked embarrassed and glanced around for somewhere to hide.

  Shaun ran to the chalkboard on which he had written the Flock’s acts. Grinning, he rubbed out HAZEL’S FROG SYNCHRONIZED SWIMMING TEAM and scribbled SHIRLEY: ONE TRUE VOICE. IN CONCERT!

  He was going to make Shirley a star.

  Evening arrived on Mossy Bottom Farm with a glorious sunset, the rubbery screeching sound of balloons being twisted, and the occasional POP followed by grumbled cursing. The Farmer was practicing a new balloon model to wow the talent-show judges. “Gah,” he cursed. His balloon donkey was a one-eared beast that looked like it was chewing a wasp. It was clearly a very unhappy donkey. And it only had three legs.

  Inside the barn, Shaun bleated at Shirley. She had to go onstage.

  For the fifty-third time, she shook her head no. She would rather give up her dream of stardom than be laughed at again.

  Shaun was close to despair. Gentle persuasion hadn’t worked. Neither had cake, cheese, pineapple on sticks, or a wheelbarrow ride around the meadow. The thought of facing an audience made Shirley tremble like a massive, sheep-shaped jelly. The chickens had ruined her confidence.

  Shaun narrowed his eyes, determined. It was up to Shirley’s friends to bring her confidence back, and Shaun hadn’t given up hope yet. If she felt like a star, surely she would act like one. If only she knew how much she would be adored. Think of all the things she would get at the talent show. . . .

  Shaun smiled hopefully.

  Shirley clasped her hooves together. She hesitated, nibbling on the cabbages, then shook her head again.

  Shaun signaled to Bitzer, who had one last thing to try.

  Bitzer passed the latest copy of Celebrity Sheep magazine to Shaun. Shaun glanced at Bitzer’s work and gave the sheepdog a questioning look. Shuffling his feet, Bitzer grinned and shrugged. He may have gotten carried away with the crayons. Shaun raised an eyebrow at Bitzer and passed the magazine to Shirley.

  Shirley’s bouquet dropped to the floor as she grabbed the magazine with both hooves, goggling at it. Closing her eyes, she hugged it tightly.

  Shaun watched her expectantly.

  After opening her eyes, Shirley stared at him, then nodded.

  The rooster crowed as the sun came up on the morning of both talent shows. Shaun peered over the wall toward the farmhouse. He chuckled. No matter how many times he watched the Farmer making balloon animals, it never got less funny. This morning, he was purple-faced and blowing up balloons with both ears. In one hand he held a book called Balloon Animals for Dunces. In the other was a sad-looking balloon swan with a bent neck, no beak, eight wings, and three legs. With a bad-tempered “Bah! Fahhferrerherrpah,” he threw it to the ground and jumped up and down on it. He slammed the door of the farmhouse on his way back inside.

  The Farmer was not having a good morning.

  Shaun gave the all-clear signal. In the distance, he heard the Peep, peep, peeeeeep of Bitzer’s whistle. Sheep began rolling rusty oil drums from the dump into position and dropping wooden planks across them to make a stage. Hazel started setting up a stall selling SHIRLEY: LIVE AT MOSSY BOTTOM FARM T-shirts, mugs, and key rings.

  Bitzer, the stage manager, looked down at the list on his clipboard. There was just one word there: Stage. Carefully, he checked it off.

  News of the Flock’s new act had spread. The hens thought a singing sheep was the most hilarious thing since Bitzer trying (and failing) to walk a tightrope over the manure pile. As Shaun trotted back toward the barn, the rooster laughed until he fell backward off the wall. Shaun carefully shut the barn door behind him. The chickens were in for the biggest shock since they’d found out the ghastly truth about stuffing.

  At the far end of the barn, the Twins guarded the VERY IMPORTANT SHEEP section, ready to stop any riffraff from bothering the star. Inside the VIS area, Shirley was being a diva and Shaun was worried about time. The competition was in a few hours and Shirley still had to get ready. . . .

  Sheep-Shape perfected their new dance routine and practiced backing vocals while Hazel tried, once again, to train the frogs. They still didn’t look very interested, not even when she showed them their tiny sparkly costumes and swimming caps.

  Nuts let out a “Baa” and pulled bales of straw across the barn. His act had taken an exciting new direction since he had added an impression of a tractor.

  Meanwhile, behind the sheep’s barn, Bitzer’s whistle peeped constantly as finishing touches were added to the stage. Moldy shower curtains hung across the front, and a rickety old table had been carried out to make a desk for the judges. It is almost a stage fit for a star, Bitzer thought, admiring his work.

  Slowly, the sky da
rkened. Silhouetted in his bedroom window, the Farmer tweaked his bow tie nervously before stuffing balloons into his pockets. The stars twinkled on his golden jacket as he climbed into the tractor and rattled away toward the Village Hall.

  In the barn, the team of sheep around Shirley fell back. She blinked through long false eyelashes made from twigs. Her fleece shone in an enormous cloud, and her head was decorated with leaves and flowers and feathers and parsnips. Her lips and hooves gleamed red. Mossy Bottom Farm’s new star twirled as if she could already hear the thunder of applause in her head.

  The Flock gasped.

  Shirley looked sensational.

  And she hardly smelled of cowpats at all.

  Shaun grinned: Showtime.

  The audience took their seats. Tractor headlights blinked on, flooding the stage in light. Bitzer lit an old firework. It fizzed for a second, then fell over. One or two animals clapped slowly until Bitzer held up a paw for silence. It was time to meet . . . THE JUDGES.

  A whisper of excitement swept through the crowd. Which glamorous, world-famous celebrities had been flown in especially to judge the Mossy Bottom acts?

  Silence fell. The audience held its breath. The curtain pulled back to reveal . . . the moles.

  A groan of disappointment went around the audience. None of the moles had even made an effort with glamorous outfits. The three of them peered shortsightedly into the audience through thick spectacles, then shuffled forward and fell off the edge of the stage.

  The audience clapped. This was more like it!

  Backstage, Shirley bleated nervously while Timmy’s Mum made last-minute adjustments to her wool and makeup. Peering around the curtains, Shaun watched Bitzer lean a blackboard against the front of the stage. Tractor headlights picked out the words EGGY BERYL’S MAGIC. The first act was about to start.