Lunchbox felt odd. He wondered how he had known how to open the place where all the yummy stuff was kept. He wondered why he seemed to know so much about these strange animals he was with. He wondered how he knew he was wondering.
Lunchbox is your average basset hound: round, floppy, and not too bright . . . until he's abducted by aliens. Then he suddenly becomes a lean, mean, garbage-machine-making, uh, machine. Frazz and Grunfloz, the hapless aliens who abducted Lunchbox, have set him the task of converting Earth's trash into froonga, a food adored by aliens and dogs alike. Will Lunchbox and his boy, Nate, solve the world's garbage crisis and form the first interplanetary alliance? Or will the fate of the whole solar system come to rest on whether Lunchbox can ever learn to catch a Frisbee?
Lunchbox felt odd. He wondered how he had known how to open the place where all the yummy stuff was kept. He wondered why he seemed to know so much about these strange animals he was with. He wondered how he knew he was wondering.
Lunchbox is your average basset hound: round, floppy, and not too bright . . . until he's abducted by aliens. Then he suddenly becomes a lean, mean, garbage-machine-making, uh, machine. Frazz and Grunfloz, the hapless aliens who abducted Lunchbox, have set him the task of converting Earth's trash into froonga, a food adored by aliens and dogs alike. Will Lunchbox and his boy, Nate, solve the world's garbage crisis and form the first interplanetary alliance? Or will the fate of the whole solar system come to rest on whether Lunchbox can ever learn to catch a Frisbee?
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Overview
Lunchbox felt odd. He wondered how he had known how to open the place where all the yummy stuff was kept. He wondered why he seemed to know so much about these strange animals he was with. He wondered how he knew he was wondering.
Lunchbox is your average basset hound: round, floppy, and not too bright . . . until he's abducted by aliens. Then he suddenly becomes a lean, mean, garbage-machine-making, uh, machine. Frazz and Grunfloz, the hapless aliens who abducted Lunchbox, have set him the task of converting Earth's trash into froonga, a food adored by aliens and dogs alike. Will Lunchbox and his boy, Nate, solve the world's garbage crisis and form the first interplanetary alliance? Or will the fate of the whole solar system come to rest on whether Lunchbox can ever learn to catch a Frisbee?
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781250103567 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Square Fish |
| Publication date: | 11/17/2015 |
| Series: | Froonga , #1 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 192 |
| File size: | 3 MB |
| Age Range: | 9 - 12 Years |
About the Author
Bryan W. Fields grew up with basset hounds and saw a UFO when he was ten. He lives in Denton, Texas with his extremely patient wife and five genius children. The adventures of Lunchbox the dog continue in his next book,Froonga Planet, available in Fall 2008 from Henry Holt.
Kevan Atteberry has been illustrating since he was knee-high to a crayon. He lives in the Pacific Northwest.
Bryan W. Fields grew up with basset hounds and saw a UFO when he was ten. He is the author of Froonga Planet and Lunchbox and the Aliens. He lives in Denton, Texas, with his extremely patient wife and five genius children.
Kevan Atteberry has been illustrating since he was knee-high to a crayon. He is the illustrator of Froonga Planet and Lunchbox and the Aliens, both by Bryan W. Fields. He lives in the Pacific Northwest.
Read an Excerpt
Lunchbox and the Aliens
By Bryan Fields, Kevan Atteberry
Macmillan
Copyright © 2006 Bryan W. FieldsAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-10356-7
CHAPTER 1
Lunchbox rolled happily in the grass, squirming from side to side like a sausage heating unevenly. He paused occasionally, allowing the June sun to warm one side or the other, and letting his long ears flop over his face or spread out flat on the ground. Then he resumed, grunting and snorting in pure canine contentment, oblivious to the mailman, oblivious to fleas, oblivious to the alien eyes that observed him from two hundred miles up.
* * *
Aboard the Scwozzwort exploration vessel Urplung Greebly, Frazz attempted to give an order. "Increase magnification," he squeaked, sounding nothing like a ship's commander. He knew the order would be ignored anyway.
"Uhhhhhhhp," belched Grunfloz. "It's up all the way, sir." Grunfloz always managed to make "sir" sound like an insult. After fifteen years alone with Frazz, he meant it with all of his hearts.
"Well, I couldn't tell, you've gotten so much slime all over the screen," whined Frazz. He shuddered at the hideous creature displayed on the console.
"I like it," said Grunfloz. He tapped the view screen with a tentacle, smearing a small winged specimen from Gangus Five that had been attracted by the light.
Frazz gagged as he watched Grunfloz lick his tentacle. Of all the disgusting life-forms they had encountered across the galaxy, Grunfloz was still the grossest of them all. He was huge, nearly twice as big as Frazz, and seldom used the body sanitizer.
"I think I'm going to pick this one up," said Grunfloz.
"Oh no you're not!" shouted Frazz. "We have more than enough specimens loose as it is! The whole ship is filthy with them! We've got slime molds from the moons of Karkoran! Spit-bugs from Orknalia! Walking carnivorous plants from the Woofoo sector! They're breeding in the froonga rations, they're fighting in the ductwork, and ... and" — Frazz felt his head tendrils starting to warm up, turning from dull green to a sort of burnt orange that became brighter at the tips — "that little oozy thing from Furporis Twelve —"
"— is building a nest in your quarters, yes, I know, sir." Grunfloz smiled, a sarcastic grin that spread all the way across his belly, exposing grungy yellow teeth. "You know, I think it likes you. Now, if you'll excuse me, sir, I'll just go and prepare the capture bay."
"No you will not!" shouted Frazz. Much to his delight, Grunfloz noticed that Frazz's head tendrils were now bright orange from base to tip. He woggled his eyestalks at Frazz and sneered.
"And who's going to stop me?"
"Grunfloz! I order you not to pick that thing up!"
Grunfloz paused for a moment, scrunching his mouth into a thinking position. One of his eyestalks bobbed toward a lever on the control panel. A slight smirk started from the corner of his mouth.
Frazz backed away, waving his now orange-tinted tentacles. "No! No! Not the gravity generator! It'll make me rurfroo —"
Grunfloz gleefully looped a tentacle around the lever and flipped it to the off position. Both of them immediately began floating, along with all of the other junk and stray specimens that Grunfloz had collected.
"Eeeeeeep! Grunfloz! You are hereby confined to your quarters!"
"Fine, then, sir, I'll just go now." Grunfloz used his huge round feet to push himself off from the control panel toward the exit, being sure to give Frazz a good spin on the way out.
Frazz tumbled end over end, tentacles and head tendrils flailing. "No! Wait! Turn it back on! Grunflozzzz! Come back here, you gargafron!"
CHAPTER 2"Oh no, my baby!"
Lunchbox the Wonder Dog had seen the little girl toddle into the street even before her mother screamed. He heard the aging garbage truck's failing brakes squeal as the driver frantically tried to stop in time. In an instant Lunchbox dashed into the street, seized the child by her romper, and pulled her out of the way as the truck screeched past. After flipping the giggling baby onto his back, he trotted back to the sidewalk, where her grateful mother retrieved her.
"Oh, thank you, Lunchbox!" she said tearfully.
"All in a day's work," said the Wonder Dog's young owner, Nate Parker. "Come on, Lunchbox, let's go." They continued their walk down Mill Ferron's main street. Suddenly Lunchbox's ears perked up. He sprinted a half-block to the source of the commotion and stretched his long low body across the doorway of the jewelry store. Just then a masked man carrying a gun and a canvas bag dashed out, tripped over the dog, and hit the sidewalk face-first. Jewels and money spilled onto the sidewalk. Nate caught up in time to retrieve the bag's contents and hand them to the store owner while a policeman handcuffed the unconscious robber.
"He did it again!" said the officer. "Son, that dog is amazing!"
"Just doing his duty," said Nate calmly. He blushed slightly when the jewelry store owner rewarded him with a hundred-dollar bill, and again when the news photographer snapped their picture. Lunchbox fell into step at Nate's side as they resumed their walk, while the crowd chanted Go, Lunchbox. Go, Lunchbox ...
* * *
"... and this is Lunchbox saving a baby's life, and this one here is him catching a robber, and this is him flying a spaceship."
Nate waved the crayon drawings uncomfortably close to his dad's face. Mr. Parker gently pushed them away and tried to focus on the newspaper in his lap.
"That's nice, Nate, but Lunchbox is just a basset hound. Nothing but bone between the ears." He glanced through the window at Lunchbox snoozing in the yard amid the scattered contents of Mrs. Giggelberger's garbage can. "He's not Rin-Tin-Tin."
"Who?"
"Never mind. It was before your time."
"You mean like when there was only one channel?"
"There were three." Mr. Parker sighed. "Please, Nate, no more questions right now. I've got a headache."
"But do you like my drawings?" pleaded Nate.
"Yes, they're ... um ..." Nate's father took the pictures and quickly pretended to look through them. "They're fine. Nice colors. Now please go back to what you were doing, Son." He handed the sheaf of construction paper back to Nate and rose from his chair.
"Connie, what time did Durwood say he was coming over?"
"He's on his way now," said Mrs. Parker.
Mr. Parker tossed the newspaper onto the recliner and rubbed the back of his neck. He started pacing around the living room.
"Working me to death at the office all day isn't enough for him. He has to come to my house, too. He must think I'm a chump."
"You're not a chump, honey."
"Dad, what's a chump?" Nate looked up from his crayons and paper.
"It's a ... never mind, Nate. No more questions, just ... just draw your pictures and don't interrupt, please."
"It's someone who doesn't think for himself, sweetie," said Nate's mother. "Your father is not a chump. Mayor Thornhill could never run his business without him." She kissed her husband on the cheek and placed a plate of fruit on the table.
Mr. Parker shook his head. "Only a chump would do so much for so little."
"Then demand a raise," she said. "Tell him you've got a better offer somewhere else."
"But I don't have a better offer. At the moment I'm one of the few people in Mill Ferron lucky enough to even have a job."
The warmth left Mrs. Parker's face. "Then create one! You have loads of talent. Market your inventions! We can get by on my teaching salary. I'll teach summer school if necessary."
"But you wanted to be home with Nate this summer." Mr. Parker headed for the den. Mrs. Parker's eyes flashed angrily. She started to speak to her husband's back when the doorbell rang. She took a deep breath, briefly fiddled with her bangs, and opened the door, forcing a cheery smile.
"Hi, Durwood, come on in!"
Mayor Thornhill filled the doorway with his huge frame. He stuck out his hammy hand and smiled broadly. Nate had never seen such enormous teeth on anything with two legs.
"Always a pleasure, Connie, always a pleasure. I know Gerald is a great employee because he has the support of a great wife."
Muffled coughing sounds came from the den.
"Gerry? Durwood's here." Mrs. Parker started toward the den.
"Oh, don't bother, Connie, I can find it on my own. I have some good news for him." Thornhill stepped past her and lumbered toward the den. He smiled at Nate as he passed.
"Looks like you're a real artist there, Nat."
"Nate," corrected Mrs. Parker.
"That's right, I'm sorry. Nate." Mayor Thornhill continued toward the den and barged through the door.
"He never gets my name right," mumbled Nate. "Dad's right, he's a jerk."
"Nate, you know that's not nice," said his mother, though it was clear from her expression that she agreed with him. "It's time to clean your things off the table so we can eat."
* * *
Nate had almost finished cramming the last of his crayons back into the box — they never seemed to go back in as easily as they came out — when the den's door opened. As the two men came out, Mayor Thornhill said something about "really sticking it to Carson." Mr. Parker smiled weakly and nodded his head. Mrs. Parker came from the kitchen again.
"The casserole is done," she said, with forced politeness. "Stay for dinner?" Mr. Parker shot her an exasperated look. Mayor Thornhill paused for a moment, then looked at his watch.
"You know I'd love to, but ... places to go, people to see. No rest for the weary!" He opened the front door, and then smiled at Mr. Parker.
"You'll have that proposal ready tomorrow, right?"
"Uh ... yeah, sure thing, boss."
"I always know I can count on you, Gerald. Must be the influence of your darling bride here." He waved at Nate. "See you later, Nat!"
As soon as the door closed, Mrs. Parker folded her arms and raised her eyebrows, grateful that the mayor was gone, but annoyed at having needlessly prepared a big dinner.
"So what's the good news? Did you get a raise?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what?"
"He wants me to be his campaign manager."
"And ... ?"
He looked at her sheepishly and sighed, his palms spread out in a helpless gesture. Mrs. Parker leaned forward, hoping that Nate wouldn't hear.
"Chump," she whispered.
Out in the front yard, no one noticed as a shaft of bright light surrounded Lunchbox and pulled him two hundred miles up into the sky.
CHAPTER 3Frazz moaned softly, wincing as he lifted himself off his couch. The relaxation modulator shut itself off with a long groan, as if exhausted from the effort. He rubbed his eyestalks with aching tentacles. Since he was ignoring the oozy thing from Furporis Twelve nesting above his couch, he didn't see it wave to him as he left his quarters and stepped onto the bridge, which, as usual, was a mess. He hoped Grunfloz wasn't going to pick up that nasty thing they had been watching on the planet.
He was too late.
"Eeeeeeeee! You disobeyed my orders — again!" He gasped for breath, fighting the urge to rurfroo at the horrid sight before him.
It looked like nothing they had ever seen, and sprawled out on the deck of the capture bay, it was even uglier than it had appeared on their view screen.
"I hope it's still alive," said Grunfloz, cautiously poking it with his tentacle.
"Grunfloz! Ewwww! Don't touch it! Think of the biohazard!" Frazz realized how silly that sounded — Grunfloz was worse than any biohazard he could imagine.
"Relax; I've scanned it, sir. Nothing that wouldn't take less than three weeks to incubate. You're fine for now."
"Eeeeeep!" squealed Frazz, who ran to use his body sanitizer.
"That was easy," said Grunfloz to himself. He pulled a froonga stick from his stash and chewed thoughtfully, unaware of the crumbs falling to the deck in front of him. His eyestalks bobbed as he inspected the creature. Long body, short legs. At the sides of what Grunfloz assumed was its head, two large, loose flaps of skin flopped uselessly. Maybe some sort of wings? Could this species have once had the ability to fly? He grinned at the thought of Frazz in a ship full of these things flying around.
* * *
Lunchbox stirred slightly. His stomach told him it was time to get some dinner before his next nap. He opened one eye carefully, then suddenly jerked his head up and looked around in confusion. This was not home. Everything smelled different. Instinctively he put his nose down to get his bearings. The ground was cold and hard, with a completely unfamiliar smell.
He sniffed his way around in the dim light, whimpering softly. As his confusion began to mount, he became more agitated, panting as he whined. Something near him moved. Lunchbox tried to focus his eyes on the movement, while his nose zeroed in on a particularly strong odor, definitely something rotten. Garbage, maybe? He wagged his tail in anticipation, his mouth watering. He sniffed the cold surface again, bumped against something small and crumbly, and licked his nose. Yummy! Sort of like ... moldy cheese ... with a hint of old sneakers. He moved forward ... another morsel ... and another. He decided that whatever this place was, it was fine with him!
* * *
Grunfloz watched in fascination as the creature gobbled up the froonga crumbs on the deck. Moving slowly, staying in the shadows, he carefully broke off a large piece of the froonga stick and tossed it past the creature. As soon as the food hit the surface, the creature was on it, snarfing it down so quickly and noisily that Grunfloz smiled, momentarily reminded of his relatives back home. He slowly extended the whole stick toward the animal. It growled, but stopped when it recognized the food. It began to drool. Grunfloz smiled again. I like this thing, he thought.
CHAPTER 4Nate grabbed Lunchbox's dish from the kitchen floor and filled it with dry dog food. It smelled like meat-flavored breakfast cereal. With a little warm water added, it smelled like meat-flavored breakfast cereal that was going to get soggy really fast, just the way Lunchbox liked it.
"Mom, have you seen Lunchbox?"
"He's probably just out sniffing around the neighborhood. Leave his food on the front porch and he'll be home in a flash. You can set your watch by his stomach." Mrs. Parker turned her attention back to the broccoli she was pulling from the steamer.
Broccoli, yuck, thought Nate. I'd rather have dog food.
* * *
"It's got to be around here somewhere," Frazz muttered to himself. "I know I packed it when we left on this stupid mission." His once-pristine quarters were a wreck. Scattered across the deck, spilling out of their storage compartments, were dozens of learning modules. Frazz picked them up one at a time, frantically read their titles, and tossed them on the deck again, growing more frustrated with each one.
The hatch to his quarters slid open, startling him. Grunfloz sauntered in, grinning as he bobbed his eyestalks around the room.
"I love what you've done with the place. Looks real homey, sir."
"You're supposed to request permission," barked Frazz. "You know that!"
Grunfloz feigned an apologetic look. He made a big show of snapping to attention, smoothing his head tendrils, and straightening his eyestalks.
"Lowly Enlisted Scwozzwort Third Class Grunfloz requests permission to enter the captain's quarters, SIR!" he barked.
"Request denied. Go away!"
Grunfloz smirked and reached up above the bulkhead to pat the oozy thing from Furporis Twelve, then wiped his tentacle on the wall. Frazz slumped on the deck, eyeing the pile in front of him.
"What do you want, Grunfloz? I'm busy."
"Oh, nothing." Grunfloz picked up a learning module and looked at the title. "Hmm ... How to Be a Malfurbum Gwealfee."
"It doesn't say that!" snapped Frazz.
"Does too."
"Give me that!" Frazz snatched the module from Grunfloz's grip. "It says Principles of Command for Effective Superior Officers." It was the one he had been looking for.
Snickering, Grunfloz planted himself on Frazz's couch and leaned back. "Still trying to use those learning modules, huh? Face it, they just don't work on you."
"GO AWAY!" Frazz slammed the module into the mental enhancer and grabbed the helmet from its holder. "NOW!"
"You're supposed to say 'dismissed.' Enjoy your learning session, sir." Grunfloz saluted the little oozy thing on his way out. It chortled affectionately. Frazz tried to ignore it and put the helmet on, a little too hard, pinching his swollen head tendrils.
He flopped onto his couch, and then realized in horror that Grunfloz had just been sitting there. Dropping the helmet on the floor, he ran to his body sanitizer and quickly climbed in, slamming the hatch shut.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Lunchbox and the Aliens by Bryan Fields, Kevan Atteberry. Copyright © 2006 Bryan W. Fields. Excerpted by permission of Macmillan.
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