ever wanted. And it felt good.
We’re brave, we’re brave, we’re on a wave,
We’re wet the whole way through.
We’re great, we’re great, when we do skate
On rivers deep and blue.
Our floor, our floor, is fatty’s door,
No time to eat bamboo.
The rocks, the rocks scare off our socks,
I really need a poo!
Ping sang the last line on his own. The frogs stopped the moment they heard the words and looked at Ping with their wide mouths wide open.
“That is the rudest thing I have ever heard,” croaked a matronly frog called Lu Chu. “What possessed you to sing it?”
“I need a poo,” said Ping matter-of-factly. “It’s no big deal. We pandas poo forty-seven times a day. We talk about it all the time.”
“Well, we DON’T!” harrumphed Lu Chu. “Our best friends are the high-born emperor ducks, and if they were ever to hear us croaking such crudities they would terminate our friendship immediately!” And with that she belly-flopped into the water and disappeared in a ripple of red rage.
When he wasn’t singing with frogs, Ping was making all kinds of other friends. He gave extreme-waterskiing lessons to baby crocodiles by letting them hang on to his tail with their teeth. “There’s only one rule,” he informed them at the start of each lesson. “No biting!”
He rescued a squirrel from a floating log, skimmed over the backs of water buffalo as they waded across the river in front of him and, with a cry of, “Bullseye!” he jumped through the body loops of a surprised python while it dangled from a tree.
But by far his favourite friends were the fish, which swam alongside his board and jumped out of the water like hungry dogs leaping for a juicy steak on a hook in a butcher’s shop.
“What sort of fish are you?” Ping asked one of them, a cod-faced fellow with whiskers.
“A catfish,” the fish replied.
“Does that mean you’re half cat and half fish?” enquired Ping. “Does the cat half of you look at the fish half of you and think, ‘Gosh! I look delicious. I could happily eat myself with a saucer of milk’?”
“Funnily enough, no,” said the fish gloomily. “I’m a fish through and through. Are you a pandafish?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Ping. “I’m a panda through and through. I know it looks like I’m swimming, but actually I’m standing on a surfboard.”
“Well, there you are,” said the catfish, diving back into the water. “Don’t ask such stupid questions!”
“Ignore him,” shouted the other fish. “He’s been grumpy ever since the day he was spawned. Play with us instead.”
For the next hour Ping happily surfed with the fishes, until suddenly, not looking where he was going, he ran over a submerged rock. It acted like a ramp and before he knew what was happening his surfboard had taken off. Ping found himself flying through the air in the middle of a flock of chattering parrots.
“It’s a flying panda!” they screeched. “Ooh, look at you with your great big arms and your funny flat feet.”
“That’s not my feet, it’s a surfboard,” explained Ping. “And I’m not really flying.”
But nobody was listening. Parrots love the sound of their own voices, which is why they never stop talking. Regardless of what Ping said they simply carried on squawking.
“Panda bird! Panda bird! We’ve never seen a bird that’s furred!”
Then suddenly a cold shadow fell across the flock, and with a shriek of terror they were gone. For a fleeting moment, Ping’s imagination took over. Why would parrots flee in fear from a shadow? What was it in the sky above him… plunging down towards the top of his head… probably with claws? Surely not a snow leopard? No. Even as he entertained this thought Ping realised it was ridiculous. Snow leopards couldn’t fly. Then again, neither could pandas. With a big splash that brought him back to his senses, Ping’s surfboard reconnected with the water and, steadying himself, he dared to look up. Above him, with a wingspan twice as wide as the stretch of his own arms, was an eagle – a majestic beast complete with hooked beak, razor-sharp talons and a gimlet eye.
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