The PR Blog

Dusty McFookit and the Great Diversion

As you may remember, Trevor the Wallaby and I were heading off in hot pursuit of Dusty McFookit in his ute which had, onboard, a fully loaded diesel carrying camel destined for McFookit Peak.  Dusty's objective? To get to McFookit Peak with the diesel before the WDP unit ran dry and the invisibility shield would crash. 

My objective? To get to the old marker sign to stop his mission.

Why?

I had no clue. Only that it was really important and my gold tooth was beeping at an alarming rate. 

My trusted steed, Tony the Emu stood ready. I leapt onto his back and Trevor bounded along side, his gold plated titanium knees gleaming in the hot afternoon sun. 

We made splendid time and arrived just as Dusty appeared in a cloud of red dust. 

 I dismounted from Tony and we stood in wait, alongside Feline Force 5 and Trevor.  The welcome committee was assembled, and Dusty McFookit screeched to a halt. 

"What in the name of McFookit is going on? " he exclaimed. 

I stepped forward and said "  We've come to stop you. " 

Dusty took off his hat and threw it on the ground.  " Why, of all the traitorous things... "

 

I replied " Dusty, we are only following instructions.  Mrs McFookit said that you had to stop at the marker and all would become clear. " 

" Well, if Maureen said it... but I am as confused as a chook with a KFC voucher right now. " he grumbled. 

 

Then, suddenly, from atop the marker, a small and dainty little mouse with a ribbon in her hair popped down and looked at Roderick and smiled with a coy little smile. She was dressed in full cammo gear and looked eerily familiar. 

 

Feline Force 5 did not greet her. Five tails went up as if the mouse was a juvenile eastern brown snake ready to strike. Five sets of claws came out. The calico was already measuring the drop from the stone to the ribbon. Trevor’s gold knees clicked into what he insists was not a combat stance.

"Hang on a minute," I said, one paw up, gold tooth beeping like a smoke alarm. "Stand down. I think I know her."The orange one did not stand down. "Knowing her is not a tactical assessment."

"It is if Maureen sent her," I said, which was not true yet, but it bought three seconds.

Lulu did not flinch. She looked at the five cats the way a librarian looks at a queue, then back at me.

"Wise," she said. "They were about to ruin a perfectly good entrance."

The cats sat, offended and unconvinced, which for Feline Force 5 is as close as they get to standing easy. The calico kept one eye on the ribbon. 

" Greetings Roderick. We meet again. "

I cast my mind back and remembered meeting her when I was a young reporter, as reported in an early dispatch when I first joined the Dusty Gulch Gazette. There was something about the bow on her head.... 

I had reported

" Dusty Gulch is a cultural casserole, a place where leprechauns share barstools with shapeshifters, e-ducks run tech startups, and even a lonely rat scribe like yours truly keeps scribbling away, still searching for a sweetheart.

Why, only last night, I was nearly hoodwinked by what seemed a charming young lady named Lulu. Elegant whiskers, bright eyes, and just the right hint of mystery. But as any good journalist knows, trust is a currency best spent sparingly. A quick digital identity scan revealed the truth: Lulu was none other than Prentis Penjani, a shapeshifting opportunist with a taste for trouble.

A rat can’t be expected to tell lipstick from whiskers in low light!

I did what any sensible rodent would do - lodged a polite complaint with Maurice E. Duck, head of the town’s inclusivity committee and self-proclaimed defender of the digitally misunderstood. To my horror, I was accused of hate speech, misgendering, and gross intolerance.

Fortunately, Dusty McFookit, long-time town peacemaker and provider of strong remedies, took pity on me. He ushered me home, poured me a stiff orange juice, and ordered a good lie down with the wisdom of an old shearer: “Rats these days, no backbone. Don’t go confusing shapeshifters with sweethearts, lad.”

I let out a gasp " Lulu?"

She nodded and gently explained. 

By now,  Feline Force 5 had communicated " Mission accomplished " to Mrs McFookit and the Old Cassowary and the Old Emu.

She extracted what looked like an ordinary hairpin from her ribbon and went to the marker and inserted it into a tiny slot on the marker. Suddenly a groan of mechanism was heard. Lo and behold, the anthill on which the Sixth Cat always sits, right behind the marker, slid open.

It was not an anthill at all. No wonder the sixth cat sat on it each night surveying the area. He was, in fact, the sentry.

Lulu, The Little Mouse said " right chaps. No time to lose. "

Out of the anthill emerged the Old Cassowary and he headed to Tony, my trusted emu.

"Here, put this on. .. "

it was a camel suit. Tony was to be a decoy camel. It even had two fake legs attached to mimic the real camel. 

Dusty unloaded the diesel- filled camel, whose name we learned was Leonard, and then loaded Tony the decoy camel into the hilux. 

" Dusty. Listen very carefully, I shall this only once " said Lulu. 

 " You must head off into the bush away from McFookit Peak. We are depending on you. Prentis Penjani and his squad of Mc Squawk Squawks are chasing you for a photo op when they arrest you for carrying diesel in violation of the 'Suck it up and Suffer Act of 2026'.  It was passed to ensure that Gulchians understood that fuel was a privilege, inconvenience was character-building, and unauthorised camels were not to be used as mobile fuel depots." 

Dusty nodded solemnly and headed back to the cab of the ute. As he sped off to draw Prentis Penjani and his media thugs away from the marker,  Trevor and I were beckoned into the passageway.  Leonard, the real camel full of diesel, followed. The Feline Five had headed back to town to have a nap and check out the lunch menu and see if any ribbons were on sale in the Emporium.

The Little Mouse led us on. Deep underground. Into the old lost Dusty Gulch Mine.

As we ventured forth, up on the surface, Dusty McFookit was speeding through the bush with Tony the Emu, disguised as a two humped camel, being chased by a duck in a top hat and wearing a monocle, and a squad of reporters ready to capture the moment that the Mayor of Dusty Gulch was hunted down and captured - again - and Prentis was smiling with glee. He was sure to win a Global Award for Exemplary Diversion Tactics for this. 

Meanwhile, Dusty McFookit was smiling and feeling high on adrenalin, or it could have been the diesel fumes from Leonard.... either way, he felt excited to have diverted attention away from Prentis Penjani's diversion tactics. 

I am filing this report with trepidation. Up, on the surface, Dusty McFookit was on a very important mission. Would he be successful?  We had no idea as we descended into darkness.

Would Dusty save Dusty Gulch ... again?  Would Leonard's diesel be enough to keep the WDP machine functioning? Would Tony ever forgive me? Would Trevor give me a lift back in his pouch?  Does Trevor have a pouch? Will Lulu wear that dress again?  

All that and more lay ahead as I strode forth into the unknown... into the bowels of McFookit Peak. 

This is Roderick ( Whiskers ) McNibble signing out.

Stay Twitchy out there.