Meerkat Madness Flying High. Ian Whybrow

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      Radiant thoroughly enjoyed the snacks they brought back to the Whiffy Old Scrape for her and they all sat together, happily munching in the sunshine.

      “If you haven’t sucked the juice out of a frill-necked lizard, you haven’t lived!” said Skeema with a satisfied sigh as he smacked his lips.

      Uncle would have agreed, only he had just bitten the head off a barking gecko and he thought it would set a bad example if he talked with his mouth full.

      “A feast, for me, for Mimi!” cried his niece. Her sharp claws had swept aside a mound of damp sand to reveal a clutch of wiggling white larvae. She gobbled them up like sweets.

      “Oh, do hurry up, Mimi!” squeaked Little Dream, who was on top of a drie doring bush taking his turn as look-out. “It’s way past time for you to take over from me!” He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his tired eyes, but only for a moment. Unlike most meerkats, he had been born without the dark eye-patches that protect the sky-watcher from the dazzling rays of the desert sun. Many a suntime ago, he had dug a Safari-man action-doll out of the sand near the pointy mounds where the Blah-blahs camped – far away in the kingdom of the Sharpeyes. He simply could not have managed without Safari-man’s cool-looking eye-wear. And Uncle felt the same about Safari-man’s stylish pith helmet and safari scarf: he never went anywhere without them.

      “Skeema!” said Uncle. “You’re pretty good at the scorpion dance these days! Show the babies how it’s done.”

      “Skeema dance, Skeema dance,” chirped the babies, clambering over each other to get a front-row seat.

      Skeema gave a very nice demonstration of sniffing, listening, turning stones, rapidly moving the sand and… turning up… a scorpion!