The Great Dodo Comeback Read online

  Dodos have been extinct for over 300 years. But what if they could be given another chance at life? Just imagine that!

  Leni loves birds. So when two scientists arrive on her island home to try to de-extinct the dodo, she jumps at the chance to help.

  But Benny Shoober, the Sugar King, hates birds and loves growing sugar. He’s determined that the dodo will be a no-show...

  CONTENTS

  About this Book

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE: Popcorn

  CHAPTER TWO: The Handkerchief

  CHAPTER THREE: Larking About

  CHAPTER FOUR: Dead as a Dodo?

  CHAPTER FIVE: A Rival’s Arrival

  CHAPTER SIX: The Early Bird

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Dodo Heartland

  CHAPTER EIGHT: La Grotte de Vulcan

  CHAPTER NINE: A Bone to Pick

  CHAPTER TEN: A Sweet Tooth

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: De-Eggs-Stink-Shun

  CHAPTER TWELVE: An Outing

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Shipments of Equipment

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Homes to Roost

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Marion and Mimi

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Neck and Neck

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Talking Turkey

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Shirley and Pauline

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: A Poached Egg

  CHAPTER TWENTY: Chez Shoober

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Caught

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: A Rotten Egg

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: The Granulator

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Happy Birthday

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Dodo Mumbo Jumbo

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Dodo-a-go-go

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Masses of Molasses

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: First Name Terms

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Squabbling

  CHAPTER THIRTY: Freedom

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Birds of a Feather

  Birds

  THE DODO LOWDOWN

  HOW’S YOUR DODO KNOW-HOW?

  DODO JOKES TO CRACK YOU UP

  About the author

  About the illustrator

  Copyright Page

  Leni loved birds of every kind. Big and small, chirpy and squawky, wide-winged and web-footed. They were all special.

  In her notebook, Leni liked to draw pictures of different birds she’d spotted, note down any distinctive calls, and copy the tracks she noticed in the sand.

  Leni was a happy mix of down-to-earth and up-in-the-clouds. She had owl-brown eyes and raven-black hair, which usually had leaves stuck in it, because she spent so much time in her tree house.

  It was from here that Leni gazed out towards the horizon, where the ocean blended into the sky like a big blue slushie. This afternoon she was looking for seabirds, diving down to the water to catch fish. But suddenly a flapping of wings interrupted her view and, in a flurry of green feathers, a bird landed on the windowsill.

  “Oh, Popcorn, it’s you!” cried Leni.

  Popcorn was an echo parakeet, a rare type of parrot found only in Mauritius, an island country in the Indian Ocean.

  Mauritius was Leni’s home and she was fond of all the birds here, but especially Popcorn. A wild parakeet, he lived in a nearby tree, but he liked to follow her around, listening to what was being said and joining in from time to time.

  Leni held Popcorn in her hand and stroked him. She touched her nose to his red beak.

  “Hey, Popcorn, are you hungry?”

  “Hungry!” the bird squawked. He loved to copy human speech. Leni smiled, cut open a pomegranate and offered him half in her open palm. The parakeet sat on her hand, and started pecking at the seeds as delicately as if he were picking flowers.

  Leni lived with her mum and dad on Mauritius’s main island, in a place called Baie de la Vie, which means “Bay of Life” in French. This beautiful, palm-fringed bay looked out over a clear blue lagoon and coral reef. Leni’s mum, Manishi, and dad, Roshan, owned some thatched holiday huts dotted along the shore and rented them out to visitors.

  Near the beachside huts stood the large and majestic “dodo tree” and in its branches nestled the tree house, which Leni’s father had built for her when she was six years old.

  Popcorn was just finishing his pomegranate when Leni heard voices outside. “Wonder who that is?” she said to the bird. The huts were quiet at the moment. In fact, there were no guests staying in any of them and the neon “vacancy” sign glowed every night outside the front gates.

  Leni peered down and spotted her father walking towards one of the holiday huts. He was carrying an old, battered travel trunk by one of its leather handles. Behind him, holding the other handle, was a new guest.

  It looked like somebody had checked in.

  The new arrival was an old man. He was slim, with spindly arms and legs and had rolled up the sleeves of a shirt that was brownish, but probably used to be white. In contrast, his hair was white, but probably used to be brown. From her tree house lookout, Leni could see he hadn’t put on any sunscreen, and his bald spot was pinker than a flamingo’s tongue.

  The old man had a white moustache, was wearing a pair of well-worn sandals and had a hanky hanging out of his back pocket. “The trunk is a bit of a beast!” he remarked as they hauled it onto the front deck of hut 187.

  Just why it was numbered 187 had never been clear to Leni, as there were only five huts for holidaymakers. But anyway…

  “Here you are, sir, number 187,” said her father cheerfully. He took out a key and unlocked the door of the hut. Together they hauled the trunk inside and then reappeared at the front door.

  “Thank you so much,” the man said to Leni’s dad in an English accent.

  “Don’t mention it,” replied her dad. He handed the old man the key. “Your hut will be cleaned every day by our wonderful cleaners, Marion and Mimi. They’ll also take care of any laundry you’d like done. Anything else you need, just use the phone in your hut and we’ll be right over to help.”

  “Thank you, that is most kind,” said the old man.

  “Enjoy your stay, sir,” her dad said. Then he smiled and waved goodbye.

  The white-haired man waved and returned to his hut. As he did so, his handkerchief fell out of his back pocket. But he didn’t notice and closed the door behind him.

  Leni climbed down from the tree house, padded across the sand and picked up the hanky. It was cotton and crumpled. She unfolded it carefully and held it by the corners.

  “Look at that,” she said under her breath. On one corner of the hanky, there was a little embroidered blue owl and the initials IBBB.

  “Look at that,” repeated Popcorn.

  “IBBB? I wonder what that means,” she whispered to her companion.

  Leni hesitated, wondering whether she should knock on the old man’s door. “He’s only just arrived. Is it a good idea to disturb him?” she asked the bird. Then she sighed and said, “Oh well, I’ll knock anyway. Even if it’s not.”

  Popcorn just looked at the hanky.

  “Snot!” he squawked.

  Leni could feel Popcorn’s little claws digging into her shoulder as she knocked on the door of hut 187.

  Somewhere inside a toilet flushed. This was followed by the sound of footsteps approaching. Then the door opened.

  “Good day, miss,” said the old man politely.

  Closer up, Leni could see his eyebrows were scant and wispy, and as white as the clouds above.

  “Hello, sir,” replied Leni. “You dropped this outside.” She held out the hanky.

  “Oh, thank you, young lady. That is very kind of you, very kind indeed,” said the man, taking it and wiping his damp hands.

  “Kind indeed,” repeated Popcorn, in a clipped English accent.

&nb
sp; “Ha ha ha ha!” the man laughed. “A perfect imitation!” Then, he reached into the chest pocket of his shirt and pulled out a pair of spectacles. He wiped them with the hanky, put them on and studied Popcorn more closely. “Your bird there,” he said, “is it a Mauritian parakeet?”

  “Yes, it is,” replied Leni. “His name is Popcorn.”

  “He’s a most fine creature,” continued the man in admiration. “Splendid beak, wings and tail feathers… Mauritian parakeets are rare, you know. They’re the only type of parrot in these parts that’s not become extinct.”

  Leni nodded. “And he copies whatever you say.”

  “Hmm, whether you want him to or not, I assume?” said the old man.

  “I assume!” pronounced the bird with an impeccable English accent.

  “What a treat!” cried the man. Then, looking at Leni he said, as if to explain, “Oh, do excuse me, I’m a bit of a bird nerd.”

  “I did notice the owl on your hanky,” she admitted.

  “Oh yes, that,” said the man. He flapped the hanky and then stuffed it back into his pocket. “Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Professor Jethro Flowers and I work at the Institute of British Bird Brains.”

  So that was what the initials stood for, thought Leni – Institute of British Bird Brains.

  “And you are?” enquired Professor Flowers.

  “Um, my name’s Leni,” she replied. “My parents are the owners here. You just met my dad.”

  “Roshan? Oh yes, a most welcoming man.”

  “I really love birds too. But I’m not a professor…yet,” Leni said.

  “Aaaah, a fledgling!” smiled Professor Flowers.

  “I suppose so,” said Leni. “Actually, when I grow up I want to be a vet. I want to help sick and injured birds. That’s my dream.”

  “A splendid one too!” remarked the professor. “You’ll spread your wings. All in good time.”

  “I’ve read every book on birds that I can and I love watching the wild birds around here. From my tree house.” She pointed to the dodo tree. Professor Flowers squinted to see the tree house, tucked up in the branches.

  “What a fine lookout,” he said.

  “Go on, test me,” Leni challenged him. “Ask me questions about bird ailments.”

  “Anything?” asked the professor.

  Leni nodded. “Anything.”

  The professor’s eyebrows arched as he thought. “All right then,” he said, stroking his chin, “Doctor Leni, how would you treat an albatross with muscle strain?”

  “I’d give it a pill to deal with the pain,” she replied.

  Professor Flowers laughed.

  “A guinea fowl with a case of the bloat?”

  “Open wide and I’ll look down your throat.”

  “A jungle bush quail who’s got a sore beak?”

  “Take antibiotics – over a week.”

  The professor was having fun and he kept going.

  “A flamingo who’s tripped up and broken a bone?”

  “Splint the leg ’til he can walk on his own.”

  “An emu who’s lost all its zeal and zest?”

  “A medical check-up and full blood test.”

  “Ha ha, fantastic!” laughed the professor. “Not much ruffles your feathers does it, young Leni? And you’re as sharp as an eagle’s talon. I can see a bright future ahead. I think you’ll make a splendid vet.”

  Hearing praise like that from such a well-qualified man made Leni’s heart swell with pride.

  “So, are you here for work?” she said, and then quickly added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Indeed,” replied Professor Flowers. “And my latest project is a most interesting one. It’s quite unlike anything I’ve ever done before.” He took out his hanky again and dabbed his forehead. “My co-workers back at the Institute are terribly excited. If it’s successful, it’s going to make history.”

  Leni was really intrigued now. What could he be here for?

  “But I’ve only just arrived,” he continued. “I don’t really know my way around yet. And I need to sit down…”

  “Why don’t you rest out here on the front deck?” suggested Leni.

  “Good idea,” said Professor Flowers. On the deck there was a wicker table and two chairs. The old man eased himself slowly into one of them.

  “Ah yes, that’s better,” said the professor. “There’s a nice breeze out here. Come and join me and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Leni sat down on the other chair and Popcorn danced up and down in front of them.

  She was all ears.

  Over on the horizon, the glowing orange sun was beginning to sink, like a giant basketball with a puncture.

  Professor Flowers stared out to sea. “I don’t like flying, so I only travel by boat,” he told Leni. “It’s been a long journey getting here.” He dabbed the top of his head again with his owl hanky. “I haven’t got used to the climate yet though.”

  “You will,” Leni assured him, noticing he’d rolled up his trouser legs. It wasn’t even summer, either. This was July, which is wintertime in Mauritius.

  Some herons were wading out in the bay. The ocean view seemed to soothe Professor Flowers. He crossed his legs and began his story.

  “I am here because of this island’s most famous bird,” he announced.

  “You mean…the dodo?” asked Leni.

  “Exactly,” said the professor. “The dodo used to live in Mauritius…before it became extinct.”

  Leni nodded. She had grown up listening to tales of the legendary bird from “Muppa”, as she called her grandmother. Muppa used to sit with Leni under the dodo tree and hold her spellbound for hours with her stories.

  “The dodo was a big bird with tiny wings, a large, curved beak and plump rump with a flourish of tail feathers,” said Professor Flowers.

  He got up and started pacing up and down the deck. “It looked a bit like a giant pigeon, but it couldn’t fly, so it waddled about, feasting on fruit and enjoying the sun. What a lifestyle! White sandy beaches and lush green jungle. Every day must have felt like a holiday for the lucky dodo.”

  “I know,” Leni said. She’d heard the beginning many times. But she was all too aware of how the story ended – and it was not with a happily ever after.

  “Mauritius used to be a desert island, full of plants and animals, but with no people living on it,” the professor went on, as if he was lecturing to a room full of students. “The dodo had spent millions of years just being a dodo, doing what dodos do and minding its own dodo business. Then one day, humans came along.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Leni. “They—”

  “And that certainly put a cat among the pigeons,” said Professor Flowers, ignoring Leni and addressing his imaginary audience. “European sailors visited the island, and then the Dutch settled it in 1638. They discovered new species of animal they’d never seen before, including the dodo.” He paused for a moment. “Imagine seeing a dodo for the first time!” he said. “It must have been quite a sight.”

  “Quite a sight,” mimicked Popcorn. But the professor didn’t seem to hear him either.

  “Anyway, the sailors brought all manner of non-native animals along in their boats, and once pigs, dogs, rats and monkeys were running loose on the island, they soon got an appetite for dodo chicks – and eggs.”

  The professor sighed. “Up until then, the birds had enjoyed a life with no predators. They had their little wings, of course, but they didn’t really need them, so they evolved out of flying. And instead of building nests up in trees, they built them on the ground. So their eggs were easy pickings for the hungry new animals. They were sitting ducks…or sitting dodos… You know what I mean.” The professor waved his hand.

  “The explorers ate dodo meat too,” went on Leni.

  “Oh, so you know all about it?” said Professor Flowers, as if suddenly realizing she was there.

  “Yes,” she replied. “My grandmother told me
the whole story. Not everyone thought it tasted very nice, but in any case, the poor dodos didn’t stand a chance. They say the last one died near the end of the seventeenth century.”

  Professor Flowers sat down again. “Yes,” he said sadly. “They were gone. Extinct. Wiped off the face of the planet for ever.”

  “Conservation wasn’t even a thing then, not like it is now,” said Leni.

  “What?” said the professor. “Oh yes. There was no such thing as an endangered species in those days. If you could catch it, you could eat it. So those poor dodos didn’t live happily ever after. They didn’t even live unhappily ever after. They didn’t live at all.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, as if paying respect to the lost bird. Then Professor Flowers pointed a finger in the air. “But,” he said, staring straight at Leni now. “What if we could change their fate? What if we could give dodos another chance at life? Just imagine that!”

  Leni was baffled. “How?” she asked.

  “I’m on the island because the bird science community is in a bit of a flutter right now,” said the professor.

  The pace of his voice quickened. “There have been lots of rumours recently that there are unexplored caves up in the highlands here. The buzz is that those caves could hold ancient dodo bones.”

  Leni wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “Okay, but how would a bunch of old bones give dodos another chance at life?” she said.

  “Because science has now advanced beyond our wildest dreams!” cried Professor Flowers. “Or perhaps I should say that science has caught up with our dreams. There is now a chance that we could bring long-lost species back to life.”

  He leaned forward and dropped his voice, as if someone else might hear. “I want to bring the dodo back from the dead.”

  “Really?” gasped Leni. “Can you actually make a dodo all over again?”

  “Yes…well…maybe,” said Professor Flowers, leaning back again in his chair. “There’s a name for the science. It’s called ‘de-extinction’.”

  “So, like extinction, but in reverse?” asked Leni.

  “Exactly,” replied the professor. “It means bringing an extinct species back to life and I’ve developed my own special technique for doing it.