Читать книгу Mr Dog and a Hedge Called Hog - Ben Fogle, Ben Fogle - Страница 7
ОглавлениеIt was a bright but chilly April afternoon. A hard sea wind huffed at the ferryboat as it braved the waves off the craggy coast of Scotland.
The people on board had no idea that a stowaway had crept on. A furry, four-legged, rather scruffy stowaway, who was now hiding below deck in the cargo hold! Aside from his white beard and front paws, his fur was dark and shaggy. A ragged red-and-white hanky was tied about his neck. His ears were floppy, his nose was large and his brown eyes sparkled even in the gloom.
He wasn’t just a dog. He was Mr Dog.
Mr Dog was a big fan of adventures, so he’d been roaming all over, from the south of England way up to the highlands of Scotland. It was there that he’d spied a group of people in a pretty little town catching the ferryboat to some islands off the coast, so he had crept into the cargo hold to go with them – and now, here he was!
To his surprise, he had found the hold mostly full of animal crates and carriers – at least forty of them. From the smell, he could tell that they had been used very recently. Some of them still had a few crushed dog biscuits inside (although with a hungry Mr Dog around, not for long). The funny thing, though, was that the crates didn’t smell of dogs or cats or even of rabbits or rats, but of another animal – one that Mr Dog couldn’t quite recognise. Someone had left a little fresh water in some of the bowls, so Mr Dog was glad of that.
Finally, the ferryboat slowed as it neared its destination, and Mr Dog felt the usual thrill of excitement at being about to explore somewhere new. ‘Now, how to get off without being seen?’ he mused.
Just then, the door to the hold was thrown open. Mr Dog ducked inside a pet carrier with solid plastic sides as a lady with frizzy blonde hair, wearing a bright red coat, bustled inside.
‘I can see Jed’s pick-up truck waiting,’ the lady called to one of the crew. ‘He’ll help me unload the empty crates.’
‘Right you are, Lizzie,’ a woman called back.
How kind of this Jed to help Lizzie – and to help me too! thought Mr Dog. I may as well stay in here and be carried off in style …
Sure enough, once the boat had moored up, Jed came aboard and helped frizzy-haired Lizzie shift the crates and cages out of the hold. It took several trips. Mr Dog held his breath as his own carrier was lifted up.
‘This one weighs a ton!’ Jed declared.
How dare you! thought Mr Dog with a secret chuckle.
As soon as his carrier was put down, Mr Dog cautiously nosed open the door and peered out. He was in the back of Jed’s pick-up truck, which was as red as Lizzie’s coat and parked on a pier beside a small rocky harbour. Suddenly, he heard angry voices from beside a dark green van parked close by. Lizzie was arguing with another woman, whose sharp features reminded Mr Dog of a hunting bird, and he raised his ears to listen in.
‘If I’d known you were only going over to the mainland to bring back more spotlights, Mrs Maitland, I’d have thrown them overboard!’ said Lizzie hotly. ‘What you’ve been doing to those hedgies is plain cruel!’
Mr Dog was puzzled. ‘Cruelty to hedgies?’ he murmured. ‘Whatever does she mean?’
Mrs Maitland remained calm and haughty. ‘They don’t belong on the Isle of Evan, Lizzie. We’ll get rid of them a lot faster by hunting them down than by taking them over to the mainland in crates …’
‘Rubbish!’ Lizzie insisted. ‘Your hunts are dangerous and unnecessary and they’re going to stop – mark my words.’
‘Are they indeed!’ Mrs Maitland sneered.
‘Is a hedgie like a hedge?’ Mr Dog wondered aloud (although to humans, of course, it came out as Grrr, wuff-wuff RUFF!). He jumped down from Jed’s pick-up truck and trotted past the other side of Mrs Maitland’s green van, shaking his head. ‘I should think it is unnecessary to hunt down a hedge – it just stands there and lets you find it!’
‘They’re not talking about hedges.’ A large, sturdy tan basset hound in a thick leather collar leaned through the van window. ‘They’re talking about hedgehogs.’
‘Hedgehogs!’ Mr Dog grinned. ‘Of course, that was the smell in those cages. Wait a moment. Why are hedgehogs being taken to the mainland? Why don’t they belong on this island?’
‘Who cares?’ said the basset hound. ‘If Mrs Maitland says they don’t, then they don’t. She’s my mistress, after all.’
‘So Mrs Maitland is hunting these hedgies?’
‘No, dogs like me are hunting them.’ The basset hound looked confused. ‘Aren’t you hunting them too?’
‘Goodness, no! The only things I’m hunting are happy memories.’ He raised a paw. ‘I’m Mr Dog, by the way.’
‘My name’s Dandy.’ The basset hound looked suspiciously at Mr Dog. ‘I’ve never seen you before on the island. Did you come over from the mainland with Lizzie? Or “Lizzie Toddy, busybody”, as my mistress calls her.’
Mr Dog was not impressed by name-calling. ‘I did come over from the mainland,’ he said, ‘but not with Lizzie. I just cadged a lift in the boat.’
‘Well, perhaps you’d like to join us on the hunt tonight?’ said Dandy. ‘It’s a good chase with all the other sniffer dogs, plus it’s even more fun in the dark.’
‘So that’s why you need the spotlights! Hedgehogs only come out at night.’ Mr Dog sighed. He always felt sorry for an underdog – or an underhog in this case. ‘Well, thanks for the invite to the hunt, but no thanks. I hope it all goes wonderfully well …’ As he turned, he added quietly, ‘for the hedgehogs!’
‘I heard that!’ Dandy’s hackles rose. ‘Well, just make sure you stay out of the way of my hunting pals and me … and don’t make friends with any hedgies if you know what’s good for you.’
‘Perhaps I should change my name to Mr Doog?’ Mr Dog grinned. ‘Then I’d know what’s good for me backwards!’
By now, Mrs Maitland had loaded her spotlights into her van and was clambering into the driver’s seat beside Dandy. ‘Stop grumbling, boy!’ she snapped at his low growls. ‘I’m the one who should grumble, having to deal with Lizzie Toddy, busybody …’
Dandy barked an ‘I told you so’ at Mr Dog. Then the van’s engine started and Mr Dog scampered away. Mrs Maitland and Dandy drove off, then Lizzie and Jed drove away in the opposite direction.
Mr Dog trotted up the nearest grassy hillside to take a good look around at his surroundings and plan his next steps. But, really, he already knew what he was going to do.
‘It sounds like the Isle of Evan’s hedgies could use a good friend,’ he declared. ‘Luckily, good friends don’t come any shaggier or waggier than Mr Dog!’
