Bouncer

by Jean Ure

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Keep Reading

  Also by the Author

  About the Publisher

  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!

  It is a fact that all dogs, when they are little, need someone to teach them right from wrong. We all need a guiding hand. Some of us need firmer hands than others. And some of us – such as Bouncer – need very firm hands indeed.

  What Bouncer needed was someone to say to him, “You have been a very naughty boy and I am very cross with you!”

  But his old lady was too old, and too sweet, and too gentle.

  “Oh, Bouncer!” she would cry. “What am I to do with you?”

  And then she would do nothing at all except cuddle him and give him treats! Very nice if you can get it, is what I say. Bouncer admits that he was never really told off. By the time he was nine months old he was a right little hooligan. He has told us some of the things he got up to.

  He tore strips off the carpet. This was one of his favourite games!

  He jumped on to tables and overturned milk jugs and pots of tea.

  He dug up the garden, including his lady’s beloved plants. He is sorry for that, now. He wishes he hadn’t done it. But at the time, he says, it seemed like fun.

  He chased the cat, and frightened her. I’m not sure how sorry he is for that. He says that he is; but there is stil
l a wicked glint in his eye as he describes how the poor thing tried to run up the curtain to escape him. She should have spat at him, or bopped him with her paw, but like his lady she was too sweet and gentle, and getting on in years.

  Another thing he used to do was bark at the postman. Postmen do not like to be barked at by dogs, and I wish dogs wouldn’t do it for it gives us all a bad name. It is one thing to pick up the post from the mat and carry it through to your people, but quite another to hurl yourself at the door and rudely snatch the letters as they come through the letter box – which is what Bouncer used to do.

  He tells us how one day the postman tried pushing a rather large envelope through the door. Bouncer immediately seized one end of it and started to tug. The postman started tugging back. That poor postman! He was just trying to rescue the envelope before Bouncer could chew it to pieces. But he lost the battle. The envelope tore in half and Bouncer ran off, triumphant, shaking his head from side to side with the envelope clamped between his teeth. The postman had to ring the bell and explain to the old lady what had happened. He said it was like having a steel trap on the other side of the door!

  Even now, Bouncer finds this funny. So, I am sorry to say, does Bella. She encourages him.

  “Tell us the story about the postman!” she goes.

  The pair of them always end up rolling about the floor, splitting their sides with laughter. I have told them it is not amusing, but their sense of humour is somewhat puppyish.

  Well! It didn’t take long for Bouncer’s owner to discover that, as the saying goes, she had bitten off more than she could chew. She should have had a little pug, or maybe a Yorkie. Not a cocky young whipper-snapper with springs in its legs.

  Taking him for walks became a nightmare. Bouncer tugged and pulled all the way to the park. He wrapped the old lady round lampposts. He pulled her into hedges. His manners were terrible! He couldn’t even behave once he got there. He rolled in dirty and disgusting objects. He refused to come when he was called. And he upset all the other dogs!

  He shouted smart remarks at Dobermans and was cheeky to German Shepherds. He even managed to insult a Rottweiler. A Rottweiler!!! Of all dogs! He admits now that it was rather a silly thing to do.

  “But it looked so stupid! It didn’t have any tail!”

  That, I tell him, was because cruel humans had cut it off.

  “It was very rude to laugh. I hope he gave you a good barking!”

  The Rottweiler not only barked at him, it bowled him over and jumped on top of him. If its owner hadn’t come running, it could well have been the end of Bouncer. That little whipper-snapper was no match for a Rottweiler!

  “Weren’t you scared?” says Bella, all big-eyed. (She is very easily impressed.)

  “Scared? Me? Not likely!” scoffs Bouncer.

  “In that case,” I tell him, “you were very foolish as well as rude.”

  Even I would not care to tangle with a Rottweiler, and I am far bigger and stronger than a fox terrier. But some dogs never learn. Bouncer went on chasing and getting into scraps. Very soon he had two battered ears and a chewed tail. All the other people in the park began to complain. They said he was a menace and that his owner had no control over him.

  So then the old lady tried keeping him on the lead, but Bouncer either dug his heels in and refused to move or else he tugged her all round the park. All round the park, all through the mud. All through the trees. All through the bushes. That poor lady! Nobody had told her that fox terriers could be so bad.

  Not all of them are bad, of course. In our park there is the dearest, sweetest, gentlest little thing you could ever wish to meet. Bella says that is because she is a girl. She says that girls are always better behaved than boys.

  I am not sure that this is true! I have known some girls who are quite rough and tough. But certainly I have never met a girl who is as naughty as Bouncer. He was a real Jack the Lad! It is what I had said all along: that dog was TROUBLE.

  Before very long, disaster struck.

  One day in the park, Bouncer pulled his owner right over. Splat! Into the mud. Bouncer’s lead flew out of her hand, and that bad boy immediately went tearing off, across the grass, to have fun. He didn’t stop to think that the old lady might have hurt herself. Oh, no! That didn’t even cross his mind. He really was an extremely thoughtless young dog.

  He hangs his head, now; he doesn’t like to talk about it. I think it is one episode that he is really ashamed of. For when at last someone managed to grab hold of his lead and haul him back, he discovered that the old lady had twisted her ankle and couldn’t walk.

  “Dear, oh, dear!” she said to Bouncer, when another kind lady had taken them both home in her car. “Now look what you have done! It will be a long time before I can go out again. I’m afraid you will have to make do with the garden.”

  But the garden wasn’t big enough for a dog with springs in his legs. And it wasn’t exciting enough, either! On his first day out there, Bouncer:

  chased the cat

  rolled in the flower beds

  raided the dustbin

  chewed up a clothes peg

  buried a biscuit

  barked at the next door neighbour

  dug up some daffodil bulbs

  tried to eat a worm.

  After that, he couldn’t think of anything else – and he still had bags of energy! So he rushed indoors and tore through the house like a whirlwind. Upstairs, downstairs, over the tables, over the chairs, on to the sofa, into the hall. In out! In out! Helter skelter, as fast as he could go.

  “What did you do that for?” asks Bella, big-eyed.

  “Just felt like it,” says Bouncer.

  In the end, he jumped on to his owner’s bed and chewed a hole in her duvet.

  “It was full of feathers!” Bouncer rocks to and fro as he tells us. “Feathers went Everywhere!”

  “Everywhere!” cries Bella.

  “What a mess!”

  I look at him, sternly. “What did your lady say?”

  “Oh! She just said I was a bad boy.”

  “And gave you a biscuit, I suppose!”

  “No.” Bouncer grins as he says it. He has a wicked sort of grin. Full of mischief. “She gave me a bone… a lovely big BONE!”

  The old lady told Bouncer to take his bone into the garden and to stay out there and behave himself.

  But in those days Bouncer didn’t know the meaning of the words “behave yourself”. He soon grew bored with gnawing on his bone. He buried what was left of it under a rose bush and then sat down to have a scratch and think what else to do.

  That was the day he joined the gang. A fateful day for Bouncer!

  He heard them outside, in the street. His street! Naturally he had to go and investigate. Through a knot in the fence he saw three dogs. Two big ones and one little one. They didn’t seem to have any people with them, but they were obviously on their way somewhere. They were having FUN!

  Fun was what Bouncer wanted more than anything else.

  “Wait for me!” he cried; and with one bound he was over the fence and away.

  From that time on, he became a street dog. An outlaw. Every morning he jumped the fence and went trotting off in search of his new friends. There was Big Billy, who was the leader; Mikey, his second-in-command; and Spike, a tiny mongrel with ragged ears and a bad attitude. Billy and Mikey were just out for a good time, but Spike was a real trouble-maker. A biter and a fighter. There was nothing he liked more than a punch-up!

  “Those were wild times,” says Bouncer.

  “Tell us about them!” begs Bella. Bella has never been naughty in her life, but she can’t hear enough of Bouncer’s days as a street dog. “Tell us what you used to do!”

  These are just a few of the things that Big Billy and his gang got up to. They:

  stole sweets from little children

  helped themselves to food from a lady’s shopping bag

  broke into people’s gardens and dug up their flower beds


  chased cats

  chased cars

  had fights with other gangs

  ran across the golf course and rolled in the bunkers

  piddled on a golfer’s bag while his back was turned.

  Bouncer thinks this is really funny.

  “We all cocked our legs” – he can hardly tell us for laughing – “and piddled on his bag!”

  Bella always looks rather shocked at this.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” she says.

  She is a little bit prim, is Bella. For my part, I have to admit, I find it difficult not to smile.

  “It wasn’t meant to be nice,” gasps Bouncer, wiping his eye with a paw. “It was meant to be funny.”

  “Piddling on someone’s bag?” says Bella.

  “Dogs will be dogs,” I tell her.

  One day, the gang went too far. They rushed into the local shopping centre and started pulling up the plants. Someone called the police, and that was it: they found themselves under arrest. The shame of it! But Bouncer can’t help swaggering, even now. The way he tells it, you’d think it was something to be proud of. He even claimed, once, that the gang made a daring escape.

  “We dug a tunnel and crawled up through the sewers!”

  He later admitted that this was not true. All that happened was that his owner was called to the police station to collect him. Even then she didn’t tell him off!

  “She was just pleased to have me back,” said Bouncer.

  “You mean, she didn’t say anything?” I couldn’t believe it! I would have sent him to bed with bread and water.

  Bouncer put his head on one side and thought about it.

  “She did say something… she said, one of these days you are going to get into real trouble.”

  And he did!

  Bouncer had been with the gang for almost a month when it happened.