Читать книгу Ask Oscar - Alan MacDonald - Страница 5

CHAPTER 1

DOG ON THE BUS

The dog was on the number 9 bus. Buses went past Sam’s house every day but normally they didn’t have a dog on the top deck. He was sitting all by himself as if he had a ticket and travelled by bus all the time. As the bus flashed past Sam’s bedroom window, the dog turned his head and looked straight at him. The expression on his face seemed to say, ‘Well look at that – a boy in his bedroom wearing only one sock!’ (Sam was in the middle of dressing at the time as he’d just come out of the bath.)

In seconds the bus was gone and Sam was left wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed the dog’s owner bending down or hiding on the floor? Perhaps it wasn’t a dog at all but a man with a hairy beard and whiskers wearing a fur coat? Were dogs even allowed on buses? Sam didn’t know. Maybe the truth was that he just had dogs on the brain because he’d been asking his parents to let him have one for ages. In fact, asking was an understatement. He’d been begging, nagging and pleading – and when that failed, wishing and praying for a dog.

Over months he’d built up a collection of things a dog might need such as rubber bones, old tennis balls and dog biscuits. He’d tried dropping hints, by mentioning friends who had dogs and hadn’t died or caught fleas as a result. He’d even written ‘DOG’ in capital letters at the top of his birthday list. Yet whatever he said or did made no difference – his parents’ answer was the same. A dog just wasn’t ‘practical ’ right now, they said. Dogs were too costly, too messy, too much work – in fact just too ‘doggy’ altogether.

Downstairs, Sam found the table set for supper and his mum and dad arguing about something. It seemed to be to do with a pile of bills that had been hidden in the tea caddy. Sam’s parents often argued about money, but today he wasn’t really listening because he was thinking about the dog on the bus.

‘Telephone, gas, water . . .’ Mum was saying. ‘Have we paid any of these?’

Dad waved his fork. ‘I was getting round to it,’ he said.

‘Really? When? ’ demanded Mum.

‘When we had a bit more money,’ said Dad. ‘You know, once business picks up.’

Sam looked at his Mum. Dad said this a lot but business never actually picked up. Mr Shilling worked from home as a self-employed inventor, although he didn’t actually earn any money. His latest project, the Grandem – a four-person bike for the whole family – sat out in the shed with all his other unsold inventions. Sam could tell his dad was in trouble but fortunately he was saved by a knock on the door. Actually it wasn’t a knock, it was more like a muffled thump.

‘Oh, who’s that?’ asked Dad.

‘No idea,’ said Mum. ‘But we haven’t finished talking.’

‘Maybe it’s the postman?’ suggested Sam.

‘Not on a Sunday evening,’ said Dad.

The thump came again two or three times, followed by a sound like scrabbling or scratching. If it was the postman he was behaving very oddly.

‘I’ll go!’ said Sam, curious to see who it was.

But when he opened the door there was no one there. He was about to close it when he looked down – and noticed the black and white dog on the doorstep gazing up at him expectantly. It had a thick, wiry coat, dark eyes and an intelligent face. Its tail was wagging like a windscreen wiper. Sam’s heart leapt. It was the kind of dog he’d always dreamed of owning and what’s more he’d seen it before, on the top deck of the bus.

‘Who is it?’ Mum called from the kitchen.

‘Nobody!’ Sam shouted back.

His mind raced. If he said there was a strange dog at the door he knew his parents would come and shoo it away. But he didn’t want the dog to go yet – it had only just arrived and it had come all this way on the bus! He crouched down, stroking the dog’s shaggy coat. It nuzzled up to him readily and gave his face a lick. Sam laughed.

‘Shh!’ he said. ‘Don’t make a noise!’

The dog blinked. It stopped washing his face, then pushed past him into the hall.

It looked around as if deciding whether the house was up to scratch.

‘Sam, what are you doing?’

It was his Mum again and she sounded impatient.

‘Nothing. Just coming!’ Sam called back.

He’d have to move fast. There was nothing for it but to hide the dog, at least until he’d worked out what to do with him. The shed was no good because Dad used it as his workshop. The only safe place was Sam’s bedroom but that meant smuggling the dog through the house and upstairs without his parents seeing him.

Sam noticed the dog had a leather collar with a silver name disc. It said, ‘OSCAR’.

‘Go round to the back door, Oscar,’ Sam whispered, leading him out again. ‘I’ll let you in, but no barking, okay?’

He realised it was asking a lot for the dog to understand – he might as well be speaking Norwegian – but amazingly the dog obeyed. He went out and trotted round the side of the house as if he knew the way. Sam quickly shut the front door and headed back to the kitchen, trying to look as if nothing unusual had happened, like a dog appearing from nowhere.

‘What took you so long?’ demanded his Mum.

‘I was just checking there wasn’t anyone there,’ explained Sam. ‘It must have been the wind.’

‘It didn’t sound like the wind,’ said Dad. ‘I swear I heard scratching.’

‘Maybe it was Mr Trusscot next door?’ suggested Sam. ‘He scratches sometimes.’

‘Not so loudly that you can hear him through the walls,’ said Mum.

Mr Trusscot was their annoying neighbour who was also Leader of the Town Council, as he often reminded them. Sam had been slowly edging out of the kitchen. He needed to get to the back door in case the dog started whining and gave them away.

‘Where are you off to now?’ asked Mum.

‘Um, I’ve got homework,’ said Sam.

‘But you haven’t even finished your supper,’ argued Mum.

‘It’s a lot of homework,’ said Sam, ducking out of the door. He hurried down the hall. Luckily his parents soon went back to their argument about the bills.

Oscar was waiting outside the back door. He immediately padded in, wagging his tail so hard that it practically dented the doorframe. Somehow Sam had to get him through the hall, past the kitchen and up the stairs without making any noise. He decided he’d better communicate with the dog by mime, acting out what he had in mind. Pointing upwards, he pretended to be climbing some stairs on tiptoe. Oscar watched patiently with his head on one side as if this was a new sort of game – like doggy charades.

Sam set off down the hall with the dog padding at his heels. The kitchen door was half open and his parents were still talking. With a bit of luck he might be able to sneak Oscar past without them seeing anything. Sam ducked his head and went first . . .

‘SAM!’

He froze in the doorway, trying to block his parents’ view of the hall.

‘Yes?’ he said, his heart racing. If he looked down he was afraid he’d see Oscar’s whiskery face peering out between his legs.

‘Don’t forget to pack your school bag for the morning,’ said Mum. ‘Are you all right? ’

‘Me? Yes! Fine, I’ll do it later,’ promised Sam.

He backed out quickly and closed the kitchen door. That was close. But looking round, his heart missed a beat. The dog had disappeared! Where had he got to now? If he’d slipped past Sam into the kitchen then the game was up. Sam rushed down the hall. He checked the lounge and the downstairs toilet. No dog. The front door was closed so he couldn’t have got out. Turning round, he caught sight of something. Oscar sat at the top of the stairs, waiting patiently. He cocked his head on one side as if to say, ‘Really, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’

All that evening Sam stayed in his room on the pretence that he was getting on with his homework. Actually he spent the time introducing Oscar to his collection of doggy toys. Later, Sam crept downstairs and managed to sneak a bowl of water from the kitchen. Naturally he knew that they couldn’t go on like this forever. Eventually Oscar would be discovered or Sam would have to tell his parents, but he didn’t want to think about that. For the moment he had a dog of his own and he wanted to make it last as long as possible.

Later, when he heard his mum coming upstairs, he hid Oscar under the bed. Turning off the main light he dived back under the covers just as his mum’s head appeared round the door.

‘Night, night, love, sleep tight!’ she said, softly.

‘Night,’ mumbled Sam, praying that the dog wouldn’t make a sound.

The door clicked shut. Sam crept out from under this duvet and opened his cupboard. He found an old beanbag for Oscar to sleep on – at least that was the idea. Some hours later when the house was dark and his parents were in bed, he heard the soft patter of feet. A second later, Oscar leapt up onto the bed and licked his nose.

‘Hello!’ Sam laughed.

Eventually they settled down to sleep with Oscar making himself comfortable on top of the duvet. Sam rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

‘Good night, Oscar,’ he murmured drowsily.

‘Night.’

Sam’s eyes flew open. He switched on his bedside lamp and sat up, looking around wildly. There was no one else in the room, only the dog dozing peacefully on the duvet.

‘Ridiculous, I must have been dreaming,’ Sam told himself. ‘Dogs definitely cannot talk.’