Kidnapped! Page 4

  Anyhow, I zoomed over to Pascal like a jet going for the world jet-speed record but then, just when I was getting near, I thought I’d better be a bit more elegant and ladylike so I slowed right down to a gallop.

  Of course Pascal wanted to know what had happened and I told him everything, especially about how I had saved everyone and helped them out of the river. OK, so I exaggerated a tiny bit but only because I would have saved them if I hadn’t been busy trying to rescue the packed lunches. One has to prioritize.

  ‘You are so brave,’ he murmured in my ear. ‘Like ze princess fighting ze sea-dragon.’

  That made me blush! (But I don’t think he noticed, thank heavens, because I’m black all over and blushing doesn’t show.)

  I told him about the stolen golf clubs too and he said it was a mystery why people played golf at all and I said, ‘Exactly.’ We are like two peas in a pod. Except we’re not green. Or small. Or round. Or edible. But you know what I mean, don’t you. Then he said he thought Emilie fancied Trevor and he said ‘Love is a wonderful thing,’ and I said ‘Yes it is and the only thing that would make it even better would be if Love was made of sausages.’

  7 I Become an International Criminal!

  Those thieves have struck AGAIN! This time they pinched a smart new trailer that one of the campers was using to store all their holiday gear. They also nicked a very expensive barbecue set from outside Emilie’s parents’ tent AND PASCAL’S DOG BOWL! How dare they!

  Pascal is mortified and very upset. He says he should have heard them and if he had he would have bitten their legs off. WOOF WOOF! RAAARGH!

  ‘Exactly,’ I said comfortingly. ‘That’s what I like doing. I could have helped you. We could have had a leg each. RAAARGH!’

  But he didn’t laugh. In fact he was so depressed I had to hold his paw and lick his ears. (Which he liked.)

  Anyhow, it’s not much fun having robbers running all over the campsite. What next? They might steal our wonderful caravan, the silver shell! They might kidnap Mr Trevor’s dad and mum – and Trevor! Or – mega major disaster! – suppose they steal MY dog bowl!

  I’ll tell you what they could steal and it would make me very happy – Madame and Mini Crêpe. They’re always complaining and telling everyone off, especially me. Just this morning they had a real go at me when all I did was eat their pizza. They shouldn’t have left it on a table outside their house, should they? What a stupid place to put a pizza. The only sensible place to put a pizza is in your mouth, or rather in my mouth. So I did. Then they shouted at me so I shouted back.

  Pascal heard me barking and came to my rescue. HE IS SO BRAVE AND HANDSOME! He galloped right up to my side, with his great big ears going follollop-follollop.

  ‘What is ze matter, my precious princess?’

  I love the way he talks to me! I told him about the two Crêpes and he began barking at them too. That was when Madame dashed into her house and then dashed straight back out again carrying the biggest frying pan I have ever seen. It was large enough to fry a hippopotamus. Mini Crêpe followed her mother and she came whizzing back out with a giant onion in one hand and a bunch of carrots in the other. Maybe they were planning to make us into a stew.

  THEY CAME CHARGING STRAIGHT TOWARDS US!

  That was a bit scary, so Pascal and I took off. Madame and Mini came right after us, yelling their heads off and calling us so many names; I can’t tell you what they were as I don’t speak French. (I’m guessing they weren’t very nice.) We shouted back at them. Then Madame Crêpe started yelling, ‘Barbarossa! Barbarossa! Kill zem!’

  Well, that was a surprise, I can tell you. Of course Barbarossa came crashing after us with Bish and Bosh bouncing and barking behind, WOOF WOOF WOOF. It seemed like everything was shouting at Pascal and me, even the trees and the birds and the sky.

  Soon most of the campers were standing outside their tents and caravans and motorhomes, watching the chase. The pirates were making enough noise to wake the dead. Yeah, yeah, we heard you, stupid pirate dogs.

  Barbarossa was shouting all sorts of things at us. ‘If you’d joined ze gang I could have protected you. Now I’m going to have to eat you wiz my XXL chomping jaws and ze very sharp teeth. I will enjoy so much.’

  He said all that while he was running at full galumph and panting so it came out even longer, like this.

  ‘If (pant) you’d (galumph) joined ze (pant-pant) gang (clump-clump) I could (pant) have (galumph) protected (pant-pant-pant) you,’ and so on. You get the picture.

  The trouble was that there were now three dogs and two large humans after us and there were only two of us. I was fine because I can run like a wind racing another wind and winning but Pascal was not as fast because he’s a bloodhound so he’s slowed down by heavy things like dignity. (Which I don’t have.) Plus, he has super-giant ears that are like air breaks.

  Then, to make matters worse the police-legs arrived. (Later we discovered the police-legs were there because the people who had had their trailer stolen had called them.) I think the police-legs must like chasing people (and dogs) because that’s exactly what they did. They leaped out of their blue vans, blew their whistles and came careering after us. I think they thought we were the robbers but why two dogs would want to steal a trailer I have no idea.

  Anyhow, it was really difficult to get away because they were all over the place. Everywhere we turned someone or something got in our way. We dashed round tents, through tents and over tents. We slid beneath caravans and shot out the other end. In fact we were like the most amazing stunt dogs ever. We were!

  Of course it did mean quite a few tents got squashed, or they fell over, or they simply collapsed altogether. In fact it was a bit like the scene the day before with all the sinking canoes only this time the tents were capsizing.

  The people inside them weren’t very happy either. They had to fight their way out and then they joined in the chase with bits of tent still stuck to them. We were being hunted down by great flapping monsters as the campers tried to free themselves from their own tents but instead just got more and more tangled up in guy ropes and cloth, not to mention arms and legs.

  And then, just when I was racing along like a Ferrari with cheetah legs, there was a great big blazing barbecue RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME AND IT WAS BARBECUING!

  I had to jump like the biggest jumpy thing you can think of and the barbecue was sizzling hot with flames and everything. With one giant leap I flew – see, I told you I could fly – right over the grill and I even managed to nick a sausage on the way past but it was OOH-OW-OOH! hot and I dropped it so I had to stop and grab it again.

  It was quite funny really but then all of a sudden Pascal and I found ourselves surrounded and then we were arrested. So that was that.

  Madame Crêpe was fuming. She shouted at the police-legs, telling them what criminals we were. I kept trying to say it was hardly our fault. She was the one who had started everything by chasing us with frying pans and carrots. I mean, what’s a dog to do? We’re not going to sit there and allow ourselves to be pelted with giant onions, are we?

  Of course the police-legs just thought we were going woof woof woof. They rounded us up and we got taken to the police station along with our owners. Pascal seemed very anxious now because he’d never been to a police station in his whole life. I told him there was nothing to worry about.

  ‘I’ve been arrested before,’ I told him matter-of-factly. ‘It’s nothing, really. Just a lot of fuss.’

  Pascal gave me a rather surprised look. ‘You have been ze arrest before?’ he asked. (I LOVE his accent!)

  ‘Yes. Once or twice. Maybe three times.’

  Pascal studied me even longer. ‘Are you ze international criminal?’ he asked.

  That made me laugh. ‘Of course not! It’s just that sometimes I get into situations and –’ I stopped.

  This bit was going to be difficult to explain. You had to have been there really, to understand. ‘I get into situations and I end up being arrested.’
I gave Pascal an encouraging glance. ‘You know what two-legs are like. They don’t understand anything and get everything mixed up and no matter what they do, it’s always our fault.’

  Now THAT was something Pascal understood very well.

  Madame Crêpe and Mini appeared at the police station too and made a long, long list of complaints. Honestly, I thought they’d never stop yakking. I thought we’d still be there at Christmas if they went on much longer.

  Then Mr Trevor’s dad got questioned and he pointed out that there were far more serious things going on at the campsite than a bit of trouble from a pair of stupid dogs.

  STUPID DOGS?????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  I told him. I gave him an earful. I said, ‘Listen here, mate. We are NOT stupid. We are super-clever, like dog-flaps. For example, I can stick my back foot in my ear. I bet you can’t do that, can you? Go on. You have a go. Calling us stupid? You’ve got a nerve!’

  But like I said before – those two-legs, they just don’t listen.

  Mr Trevor’s dad told the police-legs they should be trying to find his stolen golf clubs, not to mention the missing trailer and Emilie’s parents’ barbecue stuff. Even Pascal joined in and asked what the police had done about his missing dog bowl. Meanwhile Madame Crêpe and Mini glared at everyone and huffed and puffed and folded their arms and unfolded them and folded them again.

  Eventually the police-legs had to let us go with a warning. The warning was in French so I had no idea what they were saying. Pascal told me instead.

  ‘Zey are saying if we go charging about like zat again we shall be put in ze cages without ze key.’

  I nodded and leaned against him. (I wasn’t tired or anything, I just wanted to lean against him. He is such a hunk.) ‘See, I told you all the police-legs do is make a fuss.’

  ‘I zink we are in trouble,’ my hero muttered, shaking his head.

  I shook mine even harder. ‘We haven’t done anything wrong, Pascal. We weren’t the only ones to have problems with tents. Barbarossa was worse than us and even the police-legs were trampling on everything.’

  At that point we got separated because Pascal was put on his lead and taken off by Miss Emilie’s mother. I got scooped up and shoved in our car by Mr Trevor’s dad. I think his mind was on other things because he actually let me sit on the front passenger seat. Whoopee! That was a first. I sat up tall and proud and stared out of the front window, while Mr Trevor’s dad got in on the other side.

  A moment later there was a sharp knock on the window and Mr Trevor’s dad wound it down. A police-legs loomed. He was wearing a tornado-sized frown on his face.

  ‘I am arresting you for allowing your dog to drive ze car!’ he said severely.

  ‘My dog is not driving ze car, I mean, the car,’ said Mr Trevor’s dad.

  ‘My goodness he is, oh yes, ooh la la!’ said Mr Police-Legs, pointing at me.

  Mr Trevor’s dad looked the officer squarely in the eye. ‘My dog is NOT driving the car!’ he repeated. ‘First of all we are not moving. Secondly, my dog cannot drive, and thirdly, this is a British car and the driving seat is on the right-hand side of the vehicle behind the steering wheel, which is where I am sitting, as you would see quite clearly if you used your eyes, you useless imbecile. My dog is sitting in the PASSENGER seat!’

  I don’t think anything would have happened if Mr Trevor’s dad had not used the words ‘useless imbecile’ to describe Mr Police-Legs. Unfortunately he had – and we were arrested again.

  I hope we’ll be let out soon.

  8 We Become Ace Detectives

  Poor Mr Police-Legs! The other police-legs were laughing at him for thinking I had been driving the car. He was so ashamed he let us go and we went straight back to the silver shell. When we got there I saw Barbarossa and his pirate gang waiting round the corner. They came strolling out to meet me and plonked themselves down near the silver shell as if nothing had happened, so I sat down as well. Two can play the waiting game. It’s easy! So Barbarossa watched me and I watched him watching me. Yawn! Yawn!

  ‘You run very fast,’ Barbarossa eventually declared.

  ‘I am not called Miss Zippy-Paws for nothing,’ I answered.

  ‘I haven’t heard anyone call you Miss Zippy-Paws,’ observed Barbarossa.

  ‘That’s because, as I told you, I am not called Miss Zippy-Paws.’ Then I laughed to show him that:

  1. I was making a joke

  and

  2. I was not afraid of him, or anything else, including Death. (Although I am really but don’t tell anyone. I mean, Death is the end, isn’t it. No more pies or sausages!)

  Barbarossa was silent again. He turned and gazed at our gorgeous silver caravan. ‘Ziss is where your two-legs live?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Is caravan?’ he asked and I nodded again.

  ‘It looks more like ze biscuit tin, and zat must mean you’re a biscuit.’

  Bish snorted. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You’re a ’obnob!’

  ‘But I’m ze alien,’ insisted Bosh, who hadn’t quite understood it all yet.

  ‘Nobody asked you,’ Barbarossa spat, and turned back to me. ‘You should have joined ze gang,’ he growled.

  ‘I don’t join gangs. Gangs are for bullies.’

  Barbarossa got to his feet, growling even more. ‘Are you calling me a bully?’ he asked threateningly. I didn’t bother to answer and eventually he sat down again.

  ‘Zat friend of yours,’ he scowled, ‘’e is your boyfriend?’

  Ah! Now I knew what was going on. Barbarossa was jealous! He liked me! Aha!

  ‘Maybe,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got ze bigger teeth zan ’im,’ Barbarossa declared. ‘And I’m stronger.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Bish. ‘You know zose canoes? He bit one of zem in half last week.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Just to show I could. So I did,’ Barbarossa boasted.

  ‘I dared you, didn’t I?’ laughed Bish. ‘I said, “I dare you to chew up zat canoe.” And you did! One bite. CHOMP! Epic!’

  ‘That’s impressive,’ I nodded. ‘I guess those two-legs really need dogs that can bite canoes in half.’

  ‘Are you trying to make me look like ze fool?’ Barbarossa demanded crossly.

  I smiled back at him, all innocence, and shook my head. ‘I don’t need to,’ I said.

  The pirate chief got to his feet and looked at me. ‘You’d better tell your floppy-eared pal to watch out,’ he warned.

  ‘Watch out for what?’ I asked.

  ‘Zings zat bark in ze night,’ Barbarossa muttered darkly. ‘Let’s go, pirates.’

  He padded off, quickly followed by Bish. Bosh looked at me and opened his mouth.

  ‘I know, you’re an alien,’ I said quickly. Bosh gave a tiny joyful bark and skipped away quickly after the others.

  Well, what a thing! Barbarossa wanted to be my boyfriend. At least I knew I was pretty safe now. I was sure that if he liked me, the pirate chief wouldn’t want to hurt me, at least for the time being. On the other hand he could still do some nasty damage to Pascal.

  In any case, there were other things that were more bothersome, like who was stealing all that stuff on the campsite, and what would they take next? It was time to find out and what I really needed was a bloodhound to help me – and guess what? I knew one! Lucky me! Ha ha!

  It was time to turn detective. All Madame Crêpe and Mini had done so far was to huff and puff and the police-legs hadn’t even bothered to come back to the campsite to do some proper searching after (wrongly!) arresting Pascal and me.

  So off I trotted to see my sniffing friend. I wanted to get on with the job absolutely immediately, I was so keen. In fact I was so keen I only stopped twice on the way to Pascal’s tent and that was firstly because someone had left almost a whole burger bun in the middle of the camping field, and secondly because when I hadn’t even finished eating the bun I found the burger bit of it too! Was that scrumptious? It most certainly w
as!

  When I got to Pascal’s tent the first thing he said was, ‘Miss Lightning-on-Legs, you have ze mustard on ze chinny-chin.’

  I was rather embarrassed but not for long because I licked it off at once and it reminded me of the burger and that reminded me of the bun and that put a big smile on my face.

  I told Pascal that he was a bloodhound.

  ‘Of course. I know zat,’ he told me back.

  ‘I know you know, but listen. Bloodhounds are very good at finding things, aren’t they.’

  And Pascal nodded and he said, ‘Yes, we are. Why? Have you lost something, like ze marbles?’ And he started laughing so much that all the loose skin round his face shook and his ears were like big fat leaves in a gale and his laugh was like listening to ketchup gurgling down a drain. He is even handsome when he is being bonkers!

  ‘You are a big tease,’ I told him. ‘I have a plan. We must find all the stolen things and it will be easy because you are a bloodhound and I can run faster than a cheetah being chased by a Ferrari being chased by a rocket being chased by something faster than a rocket.’

  ‘But why all ze running?’ asked Pascal.

  ‘To tell everyone that we have found the thieves of course! They will want to know and when I tell them they will think we are very clever and they will pat us and say “Good doggies!” and give us medals and feed us with giant pizzas. Yum yum!’

  ‘Hmmm. You are right about zem saying good doggies. At ze moment zey zink we are bad doggies. I don’t like zis feeling badness. So, we find ze treazure and everyone is happy.’

  ‘Exactly. Come on.’