It was the first day of summer vacation and the big yellow school bus was driving down Main Street full of chattering, laughing children who were telling each other about what they were going to do over the holidays.

"My parents have agreed to send me to space camp!" happily announced P. B. Kappa.

"Wow, and I'm just going to plain old summer camp," said Tommy Anderson.

"I'm going to go visit my grandfather in Venice," said Gina Gillotti.

"I'm going to Disneyland!" happily announced Joey MacDonald.

"Man, you're so lucky!" said Jay Weldon. "What about you Dennis, where are you going?"

Dennis Mitchel, a freckle-faced seven-year-old with blonde hair and blue eyes turned toward everyone surrounding him and announced, "I am going camping with my folks."

"Where?" asked Tommy curiously.

"In the mountains in British Columbia," replied Dennis.

Tommy's eyes went wide. "Well, I sure hope you don't run into Bigfoot!"

"What Bigfoot?" asked Dennis. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't know?" said Tommy in surprise. "Bigfoot is a monster that lives up there in the mountains."

"A monster?" Dennis echoed intrigued.

"Pay no attention, Dennis," said Margaret Wade. "There are no such things as monsters or Big-feet."

"But there are!" insisted Tommy. "Many have found the footprints of it which are three times bigger than a human's which is how he gets his name."

"Well, technically footprints have been found and photos also have been taken, but there still is not enough evidence to prove that it exists," said P. B..

"Of course not!" said Margaret. "There all just hoaxes! As I said there are no such things as Big-feet!

"Hmm... I don't know Margaret. You sure look like you have them to me!" said Dennis pointing to Margaret's feet which caused for the whole bus to break into laughter and for Margaret to grimace and clench her fists.

The school bus drove down to Elm Street and stopped in front of the Mitchel house and so Dennis quickly bounded out and was instantly greeted by his dog Ruff and they both rushed into the house.

Dennis slammed the kitchen door behind him as he called out, "I'm home!"

Dennis's mother, Alice Mitchel, dropped the dishes she washing into the sink and turned around abruptly. "Dennis Mitchel, haven't I told you not to slam the door?" she asked scolding.

"Sorry, Mom," replied Dennis. "I'll try not to do it anymore."

Meanwhile at the Wilson's house next door to the Mitchel's, George Wilson was relaxing in his old hammock which was tied between two trees and leisurely sipping on a glass of lemonade as he enjoyed the feel of the beginning of the summertime. He closed his eyes lazily and just listened to the bird's chirping melodiously and the gentle wind whispering through the trees as well as the scent of the flowers in his garden and of the barbecue that was cooking close by.

"Hey, Mr. Wilson!" called Dennis's shrill voice.

Mr. Wilson was woken up so suddenly he sat up with a start and spilled his glass of lemonade all down his front. He grimaced as he watched Dennis Mitchel bounding into his yard completely unannounced, uninvited, and unwelcome.

"Dennis!" he exclaimed irritably. "Why won't you leave me in peace once in a while?"

Dennis apparently wasn't listening. "I just came by to show you my new remote-control toy truck!" he exclaimed cheerily as he pulled a small remote controller out of his back pocket and pressed a few buttons and soon a mechanical whirring noise was heard as a large blue toy truck with red and yellow lightning stripes across the sides drove into the yard.

"Isn't it neat?" exclaimed Dennis as he pressed another button and made the truck rear up on its hind wheels.

"Oh yes, really neat-o!" replied Mr. Wilson with sarcasm.

"Watch how fast I can make it go!" exclaimed Dennis as he pressed another button on the remote controller and suddenly the truck began zooming around the yard super fast and leaving small stems of cut off grass in its wake almost like a lawn mower.

"Dennis! Turn it off before it destroys with flower beds! Quick!" cried Mr. Wilson in great alarm.

"Okay, Mr. Wilson," said Dennis and began pressing numerous buttons on the remote controller but to no avail. "Uh oh! It's stuck!"

"Stuck!?" cried Mr. Wilson in abject horror. "Oh no! My precious pansies! My prize petunias!"

And, sure enough, the truck had scurried over into the flower beds and was skidding on top of the flowers and ripping them to shreds.

"No! Oh no!" Mr. Wilson cried jumping up and down. "I've got to stop it before it gets worse!"

He raced after the truck and made a great leap and fell on top of it. He grabbed hold of it and tried to bring it up with him but it was running to fast on high speed and he ended up zooming around in zigzagging circles around his garden.

"Dennis!" he hollered as flower petals flew into his mouth and he spit them out. "Help!"

"I'm trying, Mr. Wilson! I'm trying!" Dennis exclaimed as he began pressing all of the buttons on his remote controller. This however seemed only to be making things worse as the truck with Mr. Wilson on top of it began zooming all around the yard at a faster and faster rate.

At one point the truck reared up on its hind wheels and Mr. Wilson's lower half was swung up into the air as the truck was headed in a straight line for the smoking barbecue.

"Oh no! Not my barbecue!" Mr. Wilson cried out in horror and the words were barely out of his mouth when the truck had rammed headfirst into the barbecue's standing pole and it was promptly knocked over and half cooked meat and blocks of hot coal flew everywhere.

"Dennis! Look what you've done!" Mr. Wilson hollered out as the truck suddenly flew into reverse and began spinning all around in a great circle. Then suddenly it stopped and Mr. Wilson was thrown off of it and knocked hard against the garden's fencing.

"Great! You finally got it to stop," said Mr. Wilson as he rubbed his head.

"No, I didn't," replied Dennis. "The batteries just ran down."

Mr. Wilson surveyed his ruined garden along with his ruined barbecue. "Oh... Why me? Why always me!" he wailed as he fainted on the spot.

Later, Mr. Wilson lay in his chair with a damp washcloth pressed to his forehead. "Oh why, Martha, why?" he moaned to his wife. "Why is it me Dennis is out to get? Why? Why can't it be the Johnsons across the street?"

"Now there there, George," said his kindly wife. "I think I know just what you need. A vacation! And what better time for it than now at the beginning of summer?" She picked up a travel magazine and opened it flipping through it to the page which she had her finger on. "Right here, in British Columbia. The weather and the scenery is so marvelous this time of year."

Mr. Wilson looked at the magazine which showed pictures of the mountains and lakes and woods. "Well, I guess it couldn't hurt and it would be nice to be so far away from Dennis at this time of year, if even just for a short while."