Werepuppy and the Werepuppy on Holiday

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘It would be a good idea,’ said Mum. ‘Just a little dog. A very friendly one. Maybe a puppy. We’ll have to see what they’ve got.’

  ‘No,’ said Micky.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mum.

  ‘No, no, no!’ said Micky, but Mum just drove on.

  She drew up outside a white house with a notice saying Webb’s Dog Shelter. Micky hunched up in his seat, imagining hundreds of dogs sheltering behind those white walls. He pictured them grinding their teeth and sharpening their claws. Then Mum opened the car door and he heard a high-pitched howl…

  4…

  ‘Please, Mum,’ Micky begged. ‘I can’t go in there!’

  Mum wouldn’t listen. She made Micky get out of the car.

  She knocked on the front door of the dogs’ home. The howling increased, and then there was a lot of barking too. Micky clung to Mum’s arm, and even Marigold took a step backwards. The door opened and a young freckled woman in jeans stood there smiling, surrounded by two barking Labradors, the colour of clotted cream, and a small black Scottie who kept diving through the Labradors’ legs.

  ‘Quiet, you silly dogs,’ the woman shouted. She saw Micky shrinking away and said quickly, ‘It’s OK, they’re all very friendly. They won’t bite. There’s no need to be frightened of them.’

  ‘I’m not frightened,’ said Marigold, squatting down to pet the Scottie, while the two Labradors sniffed and nuzzled. ‘Aren’t they lovely? What are their names? Shall we have the little Scottie dog, Mum? Although I like the big creamy dogs too. Oh look, this one’s smiling at me.’

  ‘That’s Tumble. And that’s her brother Rough.’

  ‘Oh great. We’re a sister and brother and we can have a sister dog and brother dog.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid Rough and Tumble are my dogs. And wee Jeannie here. But there are plenty of other lovely dogs to choose from out the back. I’ve got lots of strays at the moment. Come through to the kennels.’

  ‘I’ll wait outside,’ Micky hissed, trying to dodge Rough and Tumble’s big wet licks.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Micky,’ said Mum. ‘This is going to be your dog. You’ve got to choose.’

  ‘I’ll choose for him,’ said Marigold, still playing with Jeannie. She rolled over and let Marigold tickle her tummy. ‘There, look! She loves being tickled, doesn’t she? It’s my magic trick of taming all dogs. Maybe I’ll be a dog trainer in a circus as well as a bare-back rider.’

  ‘I think it’s a trick that only works with little friendly dogs like Jeannie,’ said Miss Webb. ‘You shouldn’t even touch some of the big dogs I’ve got out the back, just in case.’

  ‘I’m not scared of any dogs, even really big ones,’ Marigold boasted. ‘Not like my brother.

  He’s older than me too, and yet he’s ever so scared.’

  ‘No I’m not,’ Micky said hoarsely, but at that moment Jeannie nudged against his leg and he gave a little yelp of terror.

  ‘See that!’ said Marigold triumphantly. ‘He’s even scared of a little Scottie. He’s hopeless, isn’t he? I don’t know why Mum wants to get him a dog, it’s just daft, isn’t it? She ought to get me a dog, seeing as I’m the one that likes them. And dogs don’t need a special stable, do they? Just a little kennel.’

  ‘Or even an old cardboard box,’ said Miss Webb. ‘I’ve got special big kennels at the back of my house because I always have so many stray dogs on my hands.’ She turned back to Micky. ‘But it’s OK, they’re all in separate pens and they can’t get out’

  ‘He’ll still be scared,’ said Marigold. ‘He’s even scared of me.’ She suddenly darted at Micky, going woof-woof-woof and poor Micky was so strung up and startled by this time that he jumped and very nearly burst into tears.

  ‘Marigold!’ said Mum, but she gave Micky a shake too, obviously embarrassed.

  Marigold just laughed and Miss Webb was trying hard to keep a straight face. Micky blinked desperately, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. His face was scarlet, his whole body burning.

  ‘We’ve got some puppies out the back,’ said Miss Webb. ‘They’re really sweet and cuddly. I’d have a puppy if I were you.’

  Micky’s throat ached so much he could barely speak.

  ‘I don’t really want any dog. Not even a puppy, thank you,’ he croaked.

  ‘Just take a look, Micky,’ said Mum, giving him a little push.

  So Micky had to go with them to the kennels at the back of the house. The howling got louder. It had a strange eerie edge to it. Marigold put her hands over her ears.

  ‘Which one’s making that horrid noise?’ she complained.

  ‘Yes, sorry. That’s a stray we picked up last night. He’s been making that row ever since, though we’ve done our best to comfort him. He’s only a puppy, but he’s a vicious little thing all the same. I certainly wouldn’t recommend him for a family pet, especially as the little boy’s so nervous.’

  ‘I bet I could tame him,’ Marigold boasted. She approached the pen in the corner, where a big grey puppy stood tensely, head back, howling horribly.

  ‘Nice doggie,’ said Marigold, and the puppy quivered and then stopped in mid-howl.

  ‘See that!’ said Marigold excitedly. ‘There, I’ve stopped him. He’s coming over to see me. Here, boy. You like me, don’t you? Do you want to be my doggie, eh? You can’t be Micky’s dog because he’s such a silly little wet wimp.’

  Micky couldn’ t stand the word wimp. It sounded so horrible and feeble and ugly and pimply.

  ‘Don’t call Micky silly names,’ said Mum.

  ‘Well, it’s true. He really is a wimp. Even Dad says so,’ said Marigold, reaching through the bars to pat the strange grey puppy. ‘Dad says I should have been his boy because I’ve got all the spark, while Micky’s just a wimp.’

  Micky burned all over. He shut his eyes, his whole skin prickling, itching unbearably. He could still hear the howling but now it seemed to be right inside his own head. He ground his teeth…. and then suddenly Marigold screamed.

  Micky opened his eyes. He stared at his shrieking sister. The grey puppy had a fierce grip of her finger and was biting hard with his litde razor teeth.

  ‘Get it off me! Help, help! Oh, Mum, help, it hurts!’ Marigold yelled.

  A very naughty little grin bared Micky’s teeth almost as if he was biting too. Then he shook his head and Marigold managed to snatch her finger away from the savage little pup.

  ‘Bad boy,’ said Miss Webb to the excited puppy. ‘I’m so sorry he went for you, dear. Mind you, I did try to warn you. You mustn’t ever take silly risks with stray dogs. Let’s have a look at that finger and see what damage has been done.’

  ‘It’s bleeding!’ Marigold screamed.

  ‘Come on now, lovie, it’s only a little scratch,’ said Mum, giving her a cuddle.

  ‘Still, it’s better not to take any risks. We’ll give it a dab of disinfectant and find you a bandage,’ said Miss Webb.

  She led the wailing Marigold back into the house. Mum followed, looking a little agitated.

  Micky didn’t follow. He stayed where he was, out by the dog pens. He took no notice of all the ordinary dogs obedient in their pens. He didn’t even give the cute Labrador puppies snuggled in their basket a second glance. He only had eyes for the strange grey puppy that had bitten Marigold.

  It ran towards Micky. Micky didn’t back away. He didn’t feel so scared. And the puppy seemed to have perked up too. He didn’t howl any more. He made little friendly snuffling sounds.

  ‘You just bit my sister,’ Micky whispered.

  The puppy coughed several times. It sounded almost as if he was chuckling. Micky started giggling too.

  ‘That was bad,’ Micky spluttered, his hand over his mouth so they wouldn’t hear back in the house. ‘But we don’t care, do we?’

  The puppy shook his head. He came right up against the bars of his pen, sticking out his soft pointed snout. His amber eyes were wide and trusting now.

  ‘Are you trying to make friend
s?’ Micky asked.

  The puppy snuffled.

  ‘Hello, puppy,’ Micky said, and he reached through the bars to pat the puppy’s head, though Marigold had just demonstrated that this was a very dangerous thing to do.

  ‘But you’re not going to bite me, are you?’ said Micky.

  The puppy twitched his nose and blinked his eyes. Micky very gently touched the coarse grey fiir. His hand was trembling. The puppy quivered too, but stayed still. Micky held his breath and started stroking very softly. The puppy pressed up even closer, in spite of the hard bars. His pink tongue came out and he licked Micky’s bare knee.

  ‘We’re pals, right?’ Micky whispered.

  The puppy licked several times.

  ‘Hey, I’m not a lollipop,’ Micky giggled, wiping at his slobbery knee.

  The puppy licked harder, sharing the joke. He managed to get one paw through the bars. He held it out to Micky. Micky shook the hard little pad solemnly.

  ‘How do you do,’ said Micky. ‘I’m Micky. And that silly girl you bit was my sister Marigold.’

  The puppy grinned wolfishly.

  ‘You didn’t half go for her, didn’t you,’ said Micky, and they had another giggle together, the puppy giving little barks of glee.

  ‘Micky! Get away from that dog!’ Mum suddenly cried, rushing out of the back of the house. ‘How can you be so stupid? Look what he just did to Marigold.’

  ‘He won’t bite me,’ said Micky calmly.

  ‘Do as your mum says,’ said Miss Webb, returning with Marigold. Marigold was still blotched with tears and she held her bandaged finger high in the air to show it off. ‘That puppy is much too unpredictable. I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.’

  ‘I’ll take him as my pet,’ said Micky, and the puppy stiffened and then licked him rapturously.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Micky,’ said Mum, trying to pull him away.

  ‘I’m not being silly, Mum. I want this dog,’ said Micky.

  ‘No!’ Marigold protested. ‘We’re not having that horrible mangy nasty thing. It bites. My finger hurts and hurts. I shall maybe have to go to die hospital to get it all stitched up.’

  ‘Marigold, I told you, it’s only a scratch,’ said Mum. ‘Now, Micky, leave that bad puppy alone and come and look at some of the other dogs.’

  ‘No, Mum. I want this one. Please. I must have this puppy.’

  ‘What about these other puppies over here? They’re half Labradors and they’re very gentle and docile. Look at the little black one widi the big eyes. He’d make a much better pet. See, he’s much prettier than that puppy there,’ said Miss Webb.

  ‘I don’t mind him not being pretty. Hike the way he looks,’ said Micky, and he had both arms through the bars now, holding the puppy tight.

  ‘Micky, will you leave go of him?’ said Mum. ‘You’re really the weirdest little boy. One minute you’re scared stiff of all dogs and then the next you make friends with the most vicious little creature. What is it, anyway? Alsatian?’

  ‘It’s certainly mostly German Shepherd but it’s got something else mixed up with it. Something very odd,’ said Miss Webb.

  ‘I know,’ said Micky, nodding solemnly. ‘And I want him so. Oh, Mum, please, please, please.’

  ‘No, he’s not to have him, Mum! He’ll bite me again,’ Marigold protested furiously.

  Mum dithered between the two of them, looking helpless. Micky looked up at her, his big brown eyes glinting amber in the sunlight.

  ‘You said it was going to be my pet. I had to choose him. And I’ve chosen,’ said Micky.

  Mum sighed. ‘All right, then. You can have that one if you really must. Only I still think it’s a very silly choice.’

  Micky knew it was the only possible choice. He had the most magical special pet in the whole world. His very own werewolf. Well, not quite a werewolf yet. A werepuppy.

  5…

  ‘What are you going to call your puppy?’ said Mum, starting up the car.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Micky, pondering. The werewolf in Savage Snarl hadn’t really had a name. Maybe Mandy would hire it from the video shop again when Mum and Dad weren’t around. The werepuppy would like to watch one of its relations. Micky was sure he wouldn’t be scared this time, not if he had his own werepuppy on his lap. He didn’t need to be scared of werewolves any more (and that included any ordinary dopey old dogs). He’d been specially chosen by the werepuppy. It looked up to him. Micky was the Leader of the Were-Pack.

  ‘I think he should call it the Raving Slavering Savage Monster,’ said Marigold, nursing her sore finger. ‘You’re mad letting him have that horrid ugly beast, Mum.’

  The werepuppy stiffened on Micky’s lap. He started fidgeting.

  ‘Sh, boy. It’s OK. I’m here,’ said Micky, stroking him. He glared at Marigold. ‘Don’t you dare call my puppy names. He’s not a bit ugly. He’s beautiful.’

  ‘He’s hideous. Just like you,’ said Marigold, pulling a face at both of them. ‘My brother’s dog belongs down the bog.’ She cackled with laughter. ‘Hey, did you hear that? My brother’s dog…’

  ‘That’s enough, Marigold,’ said Mum wearily.

  The werepuppy fidgeted some more, so that Micky had difficulty hanging on to him.

  ‘What’s the matter, boy?’ Micky said softly.

  The werepuppy started to howl.

  ‘Oh no! Hark at it,’ said Marigold, covering her ears.

  ‘I don’t think he likes the car,’ said Micky.

  The werepuppy howled harder.

  ‘Yes, it makes him feel sick,’ said Micky.

  ‘You make me feel sick,’ said Marigold. ‘My brother Mickymakes me sicky. My brother Micky…’

  ‘Marigold!’ said Mum.

  ‘… makes me sicky,’ Marigold whispered.

  The werepuppy gave one last howl, wrenched himself free from Micky’s embrace, bounded onto Marigold, and was very sick indeed all down her front and into her lap.

  Mum had to stop the car and attempt a grand mopping up operation. Marigold screamed nonstop while this was going on. Micky took the werepuppy for a little walk in the fresh air. He seemed much better now. He grinned wolfishly up at Micky. Micky grinned back.

  ‘Naughty old Wolfie,’ he said, giving him a pat.

  The werepuppy gave his little cough that sounded exactly like a chuckle.

  ‘Yep, that’s what I’m going to call you. Wolfie,’ said Micky.

  He introduced Wolfie to Meryl, Mandy and Mona at home while Mum and Marigold were upstairs in the bathroom.

  ‘Yuck! Whatever made you choose that ugly old thing?’ said Mona.

  Wolfie bared his teeth indignantly and snarled.

  ‘Help! He’s savage too,’ said Mona, backing nervously.

  ‘Yes. He’s already bitten Marigold. So you’d better watch out,’ said Micky.

  ‘You’re going to have to train him properly,’ said Meryl bossily. ‘I’ll help you, if you like. He’s got to learn about meal times and going to the loo and—‘

  Wolfie did a little puddle there and then, right in the middle of the living-room carpet.

  ‘Urn, look!’ said Mona.

  ‘Stop him, Micky,’ said Meryl, going pink.

  ‘It’s your fault,’ said Micky. ‘You told him to go to the loo so he did.’

  ‘Take him out to the garden,’ said Mandy. ‘And then you’d better get that puddle mopped up before Mum sees.’

  Mum came running down the stairs that moment and saw all right.

  ‘One mess after another,’ she said crossly, fetching a bucket and mop. ‘Marigold’s right, you know. I must be mad.’

  ‘You’re not a bit mad, Mum. You’re the loveliest mother in all the world for getting me Wolfie,’ said Micky.

  He caught hold of Mum and hugged her, and Wolfiejoined in enthusiastically too, licking Mum’s legs.

  ‘You get that naughty puppy away from me,’ said Mum. ‘Find him a little patch in the garden where he can go when he needs to.�
�

  ‘Come on then, Wolfie,’ said Micky, and they trotted off together.

  Wolfie liked the garden a lot. He raced up and down the grass. He also raced up and down the flower-beds.

  ‘Hey, Wolfie! Not on that bit! Oh, Dad’sflowers. Here, boy. Bad boy! No!’

  Wolfie laughed and lolloped along, clearly saying yes.

  ‘What’s Dad going to say?’ said Micky, looking at the flattened flowers.

  Wolfie grinned, showing all his teeth. Werepuppies obviously didn’t worry about Dads. Micky couldn’t feel too worried himself because he was having so much fun.

  Wolfie suddenly sniffed and stiffened.

  ‘What is it? Are you feeling sick again, Wolfie?’ Micky asked.

  Wolfie was feeling anything but sick. His yellow eyes were narrowed on the little hutch at the end of the garden. Wolfie smacked his chops, slavering a little.

  ‘What is it, Wolfie? That’s just Rachel and Roberta, Meryl’s pet rabbits.’

  Wolfie didn’t seem to think they were pets. He was looking at them as if they were a very tasty lunch. He stalked slowly towards the hutch, dribbling.

  ‘No, Wolfie. Bad boy,’ said Micky, checking on the little catch at the side of the hutch.

  Rachel and Roberta quivered inside, their pink noses twitching in distress.

  ‘It’s all right, girls. I’ll protect you. I won’t let him get you,’ said Micky in a lordly way.

  Wolfie was pawing at the rabbit hutch, his little claws right on the catch. It wouldn’t take him long to find out how to undo it.

  ‘No!’ said Micky, but Wolfie didn’t seem to be taking much notice.

  Micky needed to get the rabbits right out of harm’s way, somewhere high up where Wolfie couldn’t reach them. Micky looked round the garden. He looked at the garden shed. He looked at the flat top of the garden shed. Then he scooped the struggling Wolfie under his arm and somehow or other got him into the garden shed.

  ‘I’m going to have to tie you up in here, just for a minute or two, Wolfie, that’s all,’ said Micky.

  Wolfie refused to understand. He got very upset indeed when Micky tried to tether him by one leg.