The chicken squad chapter 9

Doink
Doink, doink.
Doink, doink, doink, doink.
It sounded like stones bouncing off something metal. I jumped up from my nap and ran outside.
That’s when I saw Barbara’s brand-new, shiny, green barbecue being pelted by rocks. Dozens of them. They were coming from the tomato patch.
Doink doink doinkdoinkdoinkdoink doinkdoinkdoinkdoink doinkdoinkdoinkdoink doinkdoinkdoinkdoink.
I ran as fast as I could toward the patch and took a couple of hits myself. That’s where I found two clumps of grass hurling pebbles at the back deck.
“What are you doing?” I yelled. I grabbed the bag of rocks with my teeth and dragged it away from them. And then I tripped—over an old, green shoe.
“Calm down! What on Earth is wrong with you?” I asked. Poppy and Sweetie looked like they had been spit out by the lawn mower.
Sugar came running across the yard with the hose.
“WE’RE COMING FOR YOU, MOM!! WE WON’T LET THE ALIENS TAKE YOU!”
She aimed the hose directly at the front of the giant, round barbecue. The water came out fast and hard and quickly knocked it over.
“GIVE ME BACK MY MOTHER, YOU CHICKEN-STEALING ALIENS!”
The back door swung open with a giant squeak.
The chicks all lay down flat in the grass. Excellent camouflage, I noticed. I hightailed it out of there. Dumb squirrel was standing right in the middle of it all, frozen. Poor kid stuck out like a . . . dumb squirrel.
Barbara ran out of the house. Her brand-new, green barbecue grill was on the ground, surrounded by hot dogs and smoking charcoal.
“You pesky squirrel!” she hollered. “Get out of here!!”
She picked up the hose, gave Tail a good spray. The water exposed the chicks in the grass, too, but Barbara was too distracted by the small fire that was threatening her potted begonias.