Harold and the Day the Heat Went Completely Mad

Harold and the Day the Heat Went Completely Mad

There are hot days.

There are very hot days.

And then there are Queensland hot days...

...the sort where the flies give up.

By nine o'clock that morning, every bird in the valley had tucked its beak beneath a wing and was pretending Australia didn't exist.

Even the cicadas sounded tired.

Harold stood beneath the only gum tree that still offered shade, slowly flapping his enormous ears.

Flap...

Dust lifted.

Flap...

A kookaburra lost its footing.

Flap...

Every single hair on Harold's enormous grey body stood upright with enough static electricity to power a small country.

He sighed.

"This," Harold muttered, "is getting ridiculous."

Nearby, Percy the Possum was lying spread-eagled across a fence paling.

"I've licked every ice cube in the esky."

Harold blinked.

"Why?"

"So no one else could have them."

Harold nodded.

"The heat has taken your mind."

"It took that yesterday."

Across the creek, Kevin the Kangaroo had discovered that standing inside the cattle trough was "nature's air conditioning."

Unfortunately...

...the cattle had discovered it first.

Kevin emerged wearing twenty-seven kilograms of green algae and exactly none of his dignity.

"I meant to do that," he announced.

Nobody believed him.

Then came the sound.

THWACK!

Every head turned.

Barry the Wombat had attempted to crack open a watermelon using physics.

The watermelon won.

Barry was unconscious beneath it.

"Is he alright?" whispered Percy.

"He'll be fine," Harold replied.

"How do you know?"

"He's snoring."

Sure enough...

Barry's little feet twitched happily beneath the world's most victorious watermelon.

By lunchtime, the temperature had become personal.

The wind had packed its bags and gone somewhere cooler.

The creek had shrunk to the size of an enthusiastic puddle.

Even the ants had erected tiny signs reading:

Closed due to excessive weather.

Harold looked at the sky.

The sky looked back.

Neither blinked.

Then...

Miss Doris the Emu announced the worst idea anyone had ever heard.

"We should all wear jumpers."

Silence.

Percy slowly turned his head.

"Explain."

"If we stop the sun reaching our skin..."

Harold closed his eyes.

"No."

"...we'll stay cool."

Kevin frowned.

"I don't think that's how jumpers work."

Miss Doris puffed herself up.

"What would you know?"

"I've got feathers."

"So have I."

"Exactly."

Twenty minutes later...

...every animal in the valley was wearing wool.

There are moments in history that deserve to be forgotten.

This was one of them.

Barry regained consciousness just long enough to ask,

"Why is the koala knitting?"

before fainting again.

By two o'clock...

...the wool had become a regrettable lifestyle choice.

The rabbits had developed expressions normally reserved for tax audits.

Percy had become stuck inside his own cardigan.

Kevin was attempting to fan himself using another kangaroo.

"It isn't helping."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"We've committed now."

Harold removed one enormous knitted sock from his front foot.

"I refuse to die dressed as a teapot."

The cardigan committee finally admitted defeat.

Everyone removed everything.

Except Barry.

Barry had accidentally fallen asleep inside his jumper.

Nobody could find his head.

At precisely three-thirty...

the first cloud appeared.

The valley gasped.

Could it be?

Rain?

A breeze?

Mercy?

No.

It was one lonely cloud.

It drifted overhead...

paused...

looked directly at every overheated animal...

and continued towards New Zealand.

Percy threw a gum nut at it.

He missed.

Harold, however, had reached his limit.

He marched to the middle of the paddock.

Lifted his trunk.

Raised both magnificent ears...

and flapped.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The static charge exploded through the valley.

Every feather puffed.

Every whisker stood straight.

Barry's jumper unravelled itself.

Kevin's tail crackled.

Percy's eyebrows caught enough electricity to point permanently north.

Then...

without warning...

the sky growled.

One enormous clap of thunder rolled across the valley.

Rain.

Sweet...

beautiful...

glorious...

rain.

Animals danced.

The frogs sang.

Barry finally escaped the jumper.

Percy apologised to the cloud.

Miss Doris quietly hid every knitting needle.

Harold simply stood in the downpour.

Smiling.

Because sometimes...

the best way to survive an Australian summer...

is to flap your ears until the universe finally gets the hint.