Have you ever had butterflies in your tummy? Not real butterflies, of course. Those tickly, fluttery feelings that show up when you're about to do something new. Well, Pigúiça woke up with a tummy full of them.
It was her very first day at puppy school, which was held inside the tallest library on Dogavios. It had shelves that went all the way up to the ceiling and a round window made of little pieces of colored glass.
Fofuxo walked Pigúiça to the door. She stuck to his leg like glue. “What if nobody plays with me?” she asked. “What if I don't know anything?”
“Nobody has to know everything at school,” said Fofuxo. “That's the whole reason we go: to learn. And I'll come back to pick you up when the sun turns orange.”
Inside, in a corner, there was a dachshund puppy, long, very long, trying to hide behind a cushion that was much too small. Half of him stuck out one side, and the other half stuck out the other. His name was Tico.
“Do you have butterflies in your tummy too?” Pigúiça asked. Tico nodded. “About twenty,” he said. “I've got about thirty,” she said. And they both laughed, and a few of the butterflies flew away.
Then in came the teacher, Mr. Whiskers, a schnauzer with round glasses and a neatly combed white mustache. He stepped up to his podium, lifted a thin little wand, and said, “Good morning, class. Today, the books will choose you.”
He waved the wand. And the books opened their covers like wings and flew off the shelves, flap, flap, flap, circling around the room. Pigúiça and Tico stared with their mouths hanging open.
A green book floated gently down in front of Pigúiça. It was all about flowers that talk back when you speak to them. A yellow book landed in front of Tico. It was all about rocks that sing.
“Want to trade later?” asked Tico. “Deal,” said Pigúiça. And she didn't even notice that her tummy had gone quiet.
When the sun turned orange, Fofuxo was waiting at the door, just like he'd promised. Pigúiça ran to him and told him everything at once: the flying books, the teacher's mustache, and Tico, who was too long for his cushion.
That night, in bed, she was still telling him all about it. Only slower and slower. “And tomorrow... Tico is bringing... the book about rocks...”
Fofuxo turned out the light. The butterflies in Pigúiça's tummy had all gone to sleep. And so did she, dreaming of books flying very softly, flap... flap... flap.
