Diggers Don't Do Baths
10 pages · 6 min · ages 4+
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Splat! A big blob of mud landed on Dig's roof. Dig had put it there himself. He scooped another bucket and poured it over his head like a shower. Blink, blink, went the little red light on his roof. It always did that when Dig was happy. “Tomorrow is Parade Day,” said Mama Dump Truck. “Tonight, every machine goes to the car wash.” Dig backed away. “Diggers don't do baths!”
“I can wash you,” said Cement Mixer, spinning his drum. “I can mix anything. Cement. Sand. Pudding.” “Diggers don't do baths,” said Dig. He rolled behind the sheds. He found a big grey sheet and pulled it over himself. He sat very still. Nobody could see a digger. Blink, blink.
Cement Mixer rolled round the corner. He looked at the big grey sheet. The big grey sheet was blinking. “Hello, Dig,” said Cement Mixer. “Car wash time,” said Mama Dump Truck. The sheet slid off. “Diggers don't do baths!” said Dig, and off he zoomed.
Dig rolled into the deepest, gooiest mud on the whole building site. He rolled this way. He rolled that way. Squelch, squelch. Now Dig was not yellow at all. He was brown and round and lumpy, just like the mud pile next to him. “Mud piles don't do baths,” whispered Dig.
Grandpa Crane swung his long arm over the mud piles. He lowered his big silver hook, very slowly, and gave the first pile a pat. Pat. Nothing. He gave the second pile a pat. Pat. Blink, blink. Grandpa Crane opened his sleepy eye. “Hello, Dig.” “Diggers don't do baths!” said the mud pile.
Dig had his biggest idea yet. He would dig a tunnel, far, far away from the car wash. Dig, dig, dig. Down went Dig. Along went Dig. Dig, dig, dig, dig, dig. It was dark and cosy in the tunnel. “Nobody will find me down here,” said Dig. Then he dug up, up, up.
Pop! Dig came up right in the middle of the car wash. Whirrrr! Two giant blue brushes began to spin. Swish! Swoosh! Soap flew everywhere. Dig shut his eyes tight. He backed out as fast as his treads could go. “The brushes are too big,” Dig whispered. “I don't like the big brushes.” Grandpa Crane leaned down. “What do you like, Dig?”
Dig liked holes. Dig liked making holes more than anything. Dig looked at his bucket. His red light went blink, blink. “Cement Mixer,” said Dig, “can you mix bubbles?” “I can mix anything!” said Cement Mixer. So Dig dug a big, round hole. Cement Mixer filled it with water from his hose. Then he spun his drum. Guggle, guggle, guggle!
The hole filled up with bubbles, higher and higher. Dig rolled in. Sploosh! He scooped a bucket of bubbles and poured it over his head like a shower. The mud slid off. Out came a shiny yellow digger. “Diggers don't do baths,” said Dig. “Diggers do bubble holes!” Blink, blink, went his red light. It was very clean.
On Parade Day, Dig was the shiniest machine on the whole building site. Everybody clapped. “Look at you,” said Mama Dump Truck. “Not one speck of mud.” Dig looked at his shiny yellow bucket. Then he looked at the big brown puddle next to the parade. Blink, blink. Splat! Dig rolled right into it, on purpose. He came out brown from his bucket to his little red light. “Diggers don't do baths,” said Dig. “Diggers do bubble holes. Can I go now?”