Lost! The Hundred-Mile-An-Hour Dog Page 2

  ‘I say, you chaps, haven’t you noticed that there’s a four-metre-high chain-link fence between us, which YOU CAN’T GET THROUGH? What’s all the fuss about, you BONE-HEADED CLOD-PODS? Look at you, all big and muscly and foaming at the mouth, and you can’t do anything because YOU’RE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE, TWIT-POODLES!’

  Then I began to copy their barking and went: ‘OH, WOOF WOOFY WOOF. I’M A BIG BAD DOG WITH NO BRAINS. WOOF WOOF.’

  They got so mad they tried to climb up the fence! They did! Completely crazy, the pair of them. And then this big, fat, two-legs guard came out of his hut to see what all the fuss was about. He tried to shoo me away by shouting and saying stupid things to me like ‘Go home, you daft dog!’ And I shouted back at him that I most certainly would go home if only I knew where it was, but of course he couldn’t understand me because he was a two-legs, with small ears.

  Mr Security was shining his torch in my face and banging the fence with his night-stick and yelling, and his two stupid monster mutts kept on barking. They were all so annoying and guess what I did? I was really cool! I went up to the fence, right in front of them, and piddled through the wire on to Mr Security’s boots. Ha ha ha!

  That was when he opened the gates and let his dogs out. Oops!

  4 Whoo-hoo!

  Fortunately I am the fastest dog on the planet and I switched on my turbo super-dooper-pooper-charger and went ZOOOOM! It was the last I saw of them and soon I’d left the buildings far behind.

  That was a bit of an adventure, but I still didn’t have anywhere to sleep and now I was really in the middle of nowhere. I wandered around for a while and eventually I found an old cardboard box lying beside a hedge so I crawled beneath it.

  It was ages before I got to sleep. I kept thinking about home and my gorgeous pups with their floppy sloppy tongues, and Trevor. He hasn’t got a floppy sloppy tongue of course but he’s good fun and I can play with him and take him for walks. We make a good team, Trevor and me. I even help with his homework sometimes. He had a problem with triangles the other night and he had to ask me because it was a difficult problem.

  ‘Listen, Streaker, the question says: What do you call a triangle with two equal sides?’

  Well! That’s a stupid question, isn’t it? I mean, you can’t call a triangle anything except a triangle, can you? You can’t call it biscuit or walkies or donuts can you? It’s a triangle — so that’s what you call it.

  Trevor read the question over and he got more and more angry and eventually he shouted at his homework.

  ‘You call it a triangle! Because that’s what it is, stupid!’

  See? That’s what I’d said too! I love helping Trevor, and we think triangles are stupid. And they are too.

  Anyway, if I’d been at home I would probably be lying on the end of Trevor’s bed with my pups and he’d be snoring, because he does, even if he is only eleven. Sometimes he sounds like a road drill.

  I don’t mind him snoring because that means he’s deeply asleep. Then I can creep up the bed and lie right next to him because I don’t see why he should have all the cushy pillows while I only get the bottom bit next to his smelly feet. Besides, if his snoring gets too loud, I climb on top of his head and he stops. That’s because he can’t breathe. Then all of a sudden he gives a big jerk, mutters Gerroff, turns over and goes back to sleep.

  But I wasn’t at home and I didn’t have Trevor to cuddle up to, and I didn’t have my puppies. I was under an old, damp cardboard box that stank of cranky-manky soap, a long way from home — wherever that was. All on my own.

  When I did get to sleep at last I was immediately woken up by that stupid owl. It landed on top of the box and scrabbled about going scritch-scratch until my brain went banana-bonkers.

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ I muttered. ‘Stop tap dancing.’

  Then it started making silly owl noises. ‘Whooo. Whoo-hoooooo.’

  ‘Whoo-hoo to you too,’ I wuffed back.

  Silence. A minute passed.

  ‘Did you speak?’ whispered the owl.

  ‘Yes, I told you to stop tap dancing’.

  ‘Whooooooooo!’ went the owl. ‘A talking box!’

  ‘Oh, please,’ I groaned. ‘I’m a dog!’

  ‘Whooooooo! A talking box that thinks it’s a dog!’

  ‘Will you please stop whoo-hoo-ing and go away and find a bit of brain to put in your head?’

  ‘WHOOOOOOOOOOO!’ went the owl, so I decided to get up.

  Of course I was still under the box so I ended up wandering round wearing a box over my head and back, with a large owl riding on top and whoooo-ing with alarm. I barked at it until it flew off. Hooray. That’s owls for you. They are the stupidest birds ever. Blackbirds sing. Thrushes sing. Robins sing. What do owls do? They go ‘whoooooo’, and sound like someone stuck in a wardrobe with a family of giant bats.

  I settled back down, fell asleep and had the weirdest dream. I was running, running, running and panting madly. My eyes were bulging. Something was chasing me. A big, black shadow. Why was it so scary? It was a shadow galloping behind me, like I was being chased by a piece of night. There was a strange, hot smell in my nostrils, like somewhere far away and dangerous.

  I was running as fast as I could but it felt like my feet were stuck in donut jam, and my puppies were calling out to me, ‘Mum! Mum! Save us!’ My heart was thundering and I woke by leaping to my feet, my eyes wide. I couldn’t see! I’d gone blind! Terror seized me.

  Then I realized I still had the cardboard box tipped over my head. I shook myself free and stared out at the coming dawn, panting, heart racing. There was nothing to be seen except a cold streak of light low down in the east. A new day.

  I was glad to be awake. I don’t want to have another dream like that. Not ever.

  5 In the Company of a Killer

  I woke up so hungry I could have eaten a hippopotamus, but there wasn’t one. Just as well really. They’re a lot bigger than I am. I was desperate for food. A dog like me needs regular meals. If I’d been at home Trevor Two-Legs would have put a big bowl of something scrummy-yummy in front of me. And if I’d been in a town it would have been easy. There’s always lots of nosh lying about because those two-legs, they drop stuff, and also there are litter bins. And also also also there is daylight robbery. (Which I am quite good at.)

  You hang around a food shop and when nobody is looking you snaffle a roast chicken or something. Do you know what the best target is? I will tell you — a two-legs coming out of a burger bar. There they are stepping through the doorway with a big, fat burger and they’re trying to cram it into their big, fat mouth. Easy nosh!

  You have to plan this and time everything just right. This is how it’s done:

  1. Check distance to door. Allow at least five metres.

  2. Check area for any two-legs. Make sure you have a clear run to the door and a clear getaway. Don’t let any two-legs get in the way.

  3. Check timing.

  Timing is really important. The two-legs with the burger has to be lifting the bun to his mouth at the right speed and the right time. If they are then that’s your moment. Your paws scrabble madly on the pavement, whizz-whizz-whizz, and you hurl yourself forward like an Outer-Space-Galaxy-Fighter-Rocket-Plane on a bombing run to blow up the Death-Star-Thingy-Whatsit — FWWOWWWWW!

  Three bounds and you have reached top speed and now you launch yourself through the air, flying in a graceful arc and you dive right between two-legs’s face and the paw with the burger. With a tiny neat twist of your head you snatch the Death-Star-Thingy-burger from his paw just before it disappears into his mouth and you’re away! You land on the far side and you’re off at top speed, whoosh-whizz, chomping the burger as you go. Job done. Yum yum yum!

  I love doing that!

  Just don’t make the same mistake I did once. I waited in ambush outside a burger place. The door opened and out came a two-legs right in the act of raising the bun to his face. I ran, I jumped, I flew, I grabbed, I landed an
d made off chewing happily. Chomp chomp chomp! But guess what? It wasn’t a burger bun at all. It was a mobile phone, and instead of a scrummy burger I had a strange voice in my mouth going ‘Urrh? Is that you, Harry? Harry? Are you growling? What’s that chomping noi—’

  Then the phone went dead. That was because I’d just killed it and spat it out. Splrrrrgh! Mobiles are not good to eat, I promise you. They’re even worse than plastic pies.

  But you can’t find burger bars in the middle of nowhere. I was going to have to hunt. Maybe I’d find a rabbit that didn’t mind being my breakfast. I mooched around here and I mooched around there and do you know what? I think I must have picked the only rabbit-less zone in the entire country. There wasn’t a single one. I was so fed up and miserable and my tummy was saying: Feed me! Please feed me! There’s space for an elephant in here! And that was when the cat fell on me.

  I was passing beneath a tree when there was a startled yowl from above and as I looked up a large ginger ball of fur came zonking out of the tree, bounced off my head, landed on the ground, got up and looked at me with raised eyebrows.

  ‘Hi…’ it began. Then it saw my teeth and my hungry smile and decided to run for its life. I decided to run for its life too. I mean, you have to if you’re a dog. Cats and dogs are ancient enemies. We chase and they run. So that’s what we did.

  Whoosh! I’ve never seen a cat run so fast! And zig and zag! Away across the field we went, with my ears streaming out behind me — I love that! — until all of a sudden the cat stopped dead, spun round, hissed, spat and lashed out with one paw and almost took my head off as I skidded to a halt.

  ‘Whoa!’ I yelled, leaping back. ‘What was that for?’

  ‘I’m fed up with running,’ snarled the cat, with every single hair on its body standing up and its tail all fluffed up until it looked like a monkey puzzle tree. Bristling — that’s what it was doing.

  I sat down and stared at it. The cat glared back, lifted one paw, casually flicked open its claws and began to clean between them with its teeth. ‘So,’ drawled the cat. ‘What are you going to do now, clever-clogs?’

  Good point. What was I going to do? I opened my mouth to speak, didn’t know what to say, so I shut it again. The cat grinned.

  ‘Lost for words? That’s the trouble with you dogs. You’re all hurry-scurry, huff, puff and woof.’ The cat’s fur slowly smoothed itself and he sat back on his haunches, never taking his golden eyes off me. Unnerving, it was, I can tell you. I decided to play it casual and act as if I knew what I was doing.

  ‘Actually, I was looking for a burger bar,’ I announced. The cat fell over laughing. He wasn’t meant to do that. Where was the respect? Down the drain, that’s where it was.

  The cat glanced round. ‘A burger bar, in a field? Of course you were. Tell me, was I born an idiot, or were you born an idiot? Don’t bother to answer.’

  ‘Are you always as rude as this?’ I asked tetchily.

  ‘Only if you’re as stupid as this.’

  I ask you! That’s no way to speak to Dazzy Donut Dog. ‘Listen, chum, I could crunch up your head in one gulp.’

  ‘You could,’ agreed the cat, lying down and rolling on to its back as if it didn’t much care what I did but I could rub its tummy if I liked. ‘But before that happened I would probably have taken out both your eyes, shredded your nose and stuffed carrots into your ears.’

  I choked. ‘Why would you stuff carrots into my ears?’

  ‘I always do,’ said the cat casually.

  ‘It’s my signature. Murderers always leave a signature on the dead body. Don’t you know anything? The Deadly Daffodil used to leave a daffodil next to his victim. Wanda the Weasel always left a lipstick kiss-print on her prey’s cheek. I stuff carrots in their ears.’

  I swallowed hard. I was in the company of a killer cat. I began to back away. The cat smiled again.

  ‘You believe me, don’t you?’ it purred. ‘I said you were stupid. Where on earth do you think I’m going to find carrots around here?’

  ‘I knew you were joking,’ I shouted.

  ‘Of course you did. So then, tell me, Mr Mutt, what are you doing round here?’

  ‘I’m lost. And I’m not Mr Mutt. I’m a Miss and my name’s Streaker.’

  The cat stretched itself slowly. ‘Well, Streaker, you may call me Great Lord and Master of All Things Visible and Invisible; Emperor of the Woods, the Wilds, the Winds and Wobbly Things; Pendragon of all Hilly Bits; Sultan of Sausages; Celestial Prince of Kippers, Goldfish and Chunky Rabbit—’

  ‘How about Moggy?’ I interrupted.

  ‘I don’t think so, unless you want to see those carrots,’ snapped the cat.

  ‘I’ll call you Cat.’

  He eyed me for a second. ‘It’s a deal,’ he agreed. ‘I hate those names two-legs give you. I used to be called Sweety-pie.’

  ‘Bit out of character,’ I observed.

  ‘Exactly. Have you had breakfast? No? I’ve got half a mouse somewhere. I’m a bit of a wanderer myself. My two-legs threw me out.’

  I thought: I’m not surprised. I’ve never met such a… such a catty cat. I didn’t say it of course. Didn’t want my ears filled with carrots. I tried to sound sympathetic.

  ‘Life must be hard,’ I offered.

  ‘I survive,’ Cat said with a shrug as we wandered towards the hedge. ‘But a warm home would be nice. Ah, there it is.’

  He showed me the half mouse. It was the bottom half. I looked at the tail and the two back legs and I didn’t feel nearly so hungry as I thought.

  ‘It’s kind of you to offer, but I’m not that fond of mice.’

  Cat shrugged and gulped it down in one. ‘We could head for town,’ he suggested, as he cleaned his whiskers.

  ‘Now that is a good idea. I can snaffle some food and maybe we can find out where we are and then work out how to get back home.’

  ‘Excellent,’ agreed Cat, trotting ahead of me, his tail held high. I fell in behind. I was thinking: This is weird. I’m following a cat. It’s like we’re friends. I hope nobody sees. I’d be so ashamed. This isn’t supposed to happen. And then I thought: I’m hungry.

  6 Flying Lessons

  We heard the noise first — a steadily increasing hum. I thought: It’s a giant bee as big as an elephant. It will suddenly appear from nowhere and land on top of us and we’ll be squashed. Splat!

  I’ve had a bit of a problem with bees ever since one stung my tongue. All I did was eat a cheese sandwich. How was I to know there was a bee inside trying to eat the cheesy bit? The bee didn’t like being eaten so it stung me. OW! OUCH! HOT! My tongue was on fire! I went racing round and round with my tongue hanging out as far as possible, like I was trying to make it fall right out of my mouth. I had to dash dash dash all the way upstairs and stick my head in the toilet bowl so I could plunge my tongue into the water to cool it down. FLOBBA-DOBBA-JOBBA! That was better.

  I don’t like bees, and the humming noise was making me nervous. What would Dazzy Donut Dog do? Aha! I soon had a cunning plan. I trotted four steps and then suddenly leaped up, spun round to face back and landed. Then I walked backwards four steps, leaped up and spun round, so I was facing forward once more. And each time I spun round and landed I growled and went Raargh! Raargh! Gotcha! just in case.

  Cat stopped and watched me for several moments. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked casually.

  ‘There’s an elephant-bee,’ I explained. ‘So watch out.’

  ‘There is no such thing as an elephant-bee except in your head,’ said Cat. ‘And if you carry on walking and spinning and not looking where you’re going you will —’

  CRUNCH! OW!

  ‘Crash into the tree you’ve just crashed into,’ Cat continued evenly.

  I sat under the tree, nursing my bruised nose and chin. Life can be really horrible sometimes. There I was, trying to avoid an elephant-bee, and I get attacked by a tree instead. I glared at the trunk. Raargh! There. That showed it.

  ‘Come and loo
k at this,’ called Cat. ‘I think we’ve reached somewhere.’

  We had come to the edge of a huge pit. The ground just fell away from our feet. Cat and I stood right on the edge, staring down at the bustling scene below. A steady hum rose from the pit — the elephant-bee!

  Crowds of pea-sized two-legs hurried about. They popped in and out of cars which swooshed and swished, pooping and parping at each other like hundreds of cross babies crawling round a giant playpen. In the middle of all this was a glittering glass city with a hundred doors that opened and shut, opened and shut, letting out crowds and sucking in eager throngs.

  ‘What is it?’ I whispered to Cat.

  ‘Have you never seen a shopping centre before?’

  I shook my head, and at the same time a vague memory came back to me. Trevor and his parents used to talk about going to the shopping centre, though they never took me. Maybe it was the same one.

  MAYBE IT WAS THE SAME ONE!

  And if it WAS the same one then maybe I wasn’t far from HOME and MAYBE if we went down to the shopping centre we wouldn’t just find FOOD we might see TREVOR! What’s more, if we saw Trevor he would take me home and I’D BE WITH MY PUPPIES AGAIN! And I’d pull their ears and bite their tails and they are so yummy I could almost eat them because I love them so much.

  ‘Let’s go!’ I woofed and set off down the side of the hill as fast as possible. Funnily enough, ‘as fast as possible’ turned out to be very fast indeed, because it wasn’t actually the side of a hill at all, it was a cliff face!

  ‘Stop, you idiot!’

  I heard Cat yell after me, but by that time I was already tumble-rumble-rolling down and down. And the tumble-rumble became a bouncy-bounce and all of a sudden I WAS FLYING!