Читать книгу Bouncer - Jean Ure, Stephen Lee, Jean Ure - Страница 4

We are the dogs of Munchy Flats. We live here, with our people.

And Whiskers and Panda, but they, of course, are cats. Cats are not the same as dogs! Cats stalk and slink and sit on top of cupboards. They go “Miaaaaaow!” and do a lot of sleeping.

Dogs bounce and bark. We jump! And play. And we go out for walks with our people. We tell the cats about it when we get back.

“We’ve been up to the park!”

But the cats just yawn and stretch and go on snoozing. They are not interested in hearing about our adventures. Cats are not like dogs! But we all get on together.

Sometimes we even share a basket, or a corner of the sofa. And then our people look at us and go, “Ah! How sweet!”

We like to make our people happy. We love them very much. If it wasn’t for them, none of us would be here.

I was the first to come. After me there was Bella. And after Bella there was Bouncer. This is his story.

***

We first met Bouncer when he was just a pup. It was a Sunday morning; I remember it well. Bella and I had been for a long walk across the Common. I was stretched out on the hearth rug. Bella was in the armchair by the window. She was fast asleep and snoring.

Bella snores a LOT. She tries to pretend that she doesn’t She says that she is a pedigree, and a lady, and that ladies do not snore. Well, have I got news for her! Woffle-grunt-sno-o-ort, woffle-grunt-sno-o-ort. She sounds like a donkey with its head in a hay bag.

But that morning I was tired, so I didn’t let it bother me. Very soon I was in the land of nod, dreaming of bones and biscuits and Big Boy Treats. Yum yum! They are my favourites!

I was rudely woken by the sound of Bella, barking. Bella has an amazingly LOUD bark for such a tiny little (ladylike) dog. She sounds more like a herd of elephants than a dog.

“What?” I cried. “What?”

I sprang to my feet, ready to do battle. Had a burglar broken in??? I would see him off! I would protect my People!

Bella was hurtling up and down by the French windows. I barrelled across to join her. All the hackles on my back were up. Bella said afterwards that I looked like a lavatory brush. What cheek!

But even worse cheek… out in the garden was a small white dog. A small white dog – in my garden!

I say white, but it also had splashes of brown. Brown ears, brown saddle, brown tail. Plus a rather long and pointy nose.

“Ugh!” said Bella. “It looks like a door knocker!”

Bella herself has a somewhat short, delicate nose. She is very proud of her nose. She is also rather proud of the fact that she is a pedigree. Rather too proud, in my opinion.

“Ugly all-sorts!” screamed Bella, through the window.

“Never mind what it is,” I said. It was what it was doing that annoyed me. It was digging – in my garden!

I opened my mouth and gave a great roar. I wasn’t having a cheeky young whipper-snapper digging up my garden! Even I wasn’t allowed to dig up the garden – and I am the boss dog.

I barked at it. “Stop that, this instant!”

The whipper-snapper lifted his head, and saw me. A big grin spread across his face. He turned, and stuck up his bottom – stuck up his bottom! At me! – and went back to his digging.

It was just as well that our people arrived, or I really think I would have bounded straight out through the French windows, even though they were closed. If I had reached him, I would have given him a good barking!

As it was, my people told me and Bella to stay where we were.

“We don’t want you to frighten him,” they said.

If you ask me, he deserved to be frightened. You could tell that he was a cocky little thing. He came bouncing indoors with the people, tail in the air, eyes all a-gleam. He had trouble written all over him!

“That dog,” I thought, “needs to be taken down a peg or two.”

He needed to be squashed. But my people wouldn’t let me!

“Buster, put your back down,” they said. “Bella, stop pulling faces!”

“Stupid all-sorts,” sniffed Bella.

But he wasn’t an all-sorts, he was a pedigree, just like her. A fox terrier, according to our people.

“A very handsome little chap!”

Well! That upset Bella, I can tell you. She went off into a corner to sulk, while I stood guard. The least sign of trouble and I was ready to spring! But just for the moment, he was on his best behaviour.

My people wondered where he could have come from.

“Where do you live, little fellow?”

I think he was probably too young to know. Fortunately he had a tag on his collar, with a telephone number which my people immediately rang. Alas, there was no reply!

“We’ll keep on trying,” they said. “We’ll get you back home!”

“And the sooner the better,” muttered Bella. She didn’t like the idea of having another pedigree in the house. She was still a bit spoilt in those days.

It was tea-time before the people finally managed to contact the whipper-snapper’s owner. His owner was really grateful! She said that she would drive over straight away.

But it was supper time before she arrived. We had had to put up with him for six whole hours!

In those six hours that puppy had:

 chased the cats

 bitten Bella on the ear

 tried to bite me on the ear (I soon gave him what for!)

 ripped a cushion to pieces

 dug up a flower bed

 knocked over a table

 broken a glass.

We were all heartily glad when his owner turned up. She was a very nice lady, but not really young enough, in my view, to cope with a fox terrier puppy.

She explained how she had been staying with a friend and had taken Bouncer (that was the puppy’s name) for a walk across the Common. That wicked boy had run away from her! And she was such a nice lady.

“Some dogs,” I said to Bella, “just don’t know when they are well off.”

The lady put Bouncer into her car and they drove off together, down the lane. As they turned the corner, Bouncer jumped up at the back window and grinned at us.

“Mark my words,” I said to Bella, “that dog is TROUBLE.”

How right I was!