Somebody's Doodle

by Nikki Attree

  She’s right, in a way. Better enjoy life while it smells good. Little does she know that her life is about to be turned on it’s head.

  * * *

  Jack has been staking out the Hampstead house for several weeks now, working on his cunning plan and fine tuning the details. For him it’s the details that matter the most. Only meticulous planning will ensure their success. As he’s said to Harry many times: “fail to prepare means prepare to fail.”

  Harry doesn’t see it like this of course. He thinks that Jack is bonkers to skulk around in some rich bird’s garden when he could be down the boozer working on getting into the barmaid’s knickers.

  Eventually Jack is ready. His meticulous surveillance has revealed that the optimal time for the heist would be a Friday night. The rich woman normally gets home after dark, well after the gardener has left, and she usually lets the dog roam around the garden while she disappears into the bathroom for ages. The poor pooch is often left alone outside, shivering and scratching at the back door for an hour or more. Meanwhile the snotty teenage daughter is nowhere to be seen, although Jack is aware that her bedroom window overlooks the garden. He reminds himself to tell Harry that the dognapping will have to be slick and silent.

  He returns home to brief his partner-in-crime. Eventually Harry comes back from the ‘Bucket of Blood’ after another fruitless night wasting his money buying drinks for Rosie, the exuberantly endowed barmaid, only for her to chuck him out at closing time.

  “Why do I bover?” he moans, scratching his arse ruefully. “She won’t even give me the fekin time ‘ov day. What am I doin wrong Jack lad? I mean, I even ‘ave a shower and put on some different pants when I go down the boozer now. Just for ‘er, just in case. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?”

  “Spot on mate.” Jack consoles him, glad that Harry’s hygiene is on the up but secretly relieved that his partner’s love life won’t be getting in the way of work. “Look, never mind about her. We’ll be in the money again soon enough. I think I’ve got it sussed at this house next to the Heath.”

  He outlines the details of his cunning plan, and tells Harry that next Friday is the night.

  * * *

  Elizabeth’s preproduction spreadsheet is filling up, and the project is taking shape. The crew have been hired, the director booked, and most of the actors cast. She’s getting stuck into the logistics and budget. There’s just a week left till production starts now, and as the shoot gets closer her days get longer, and her fuse gets shorter. Her phones never stop ringing, but she’s well used to stress. It’s the name of her game. Adrenaline kicks in like a heady cocktail and it’s an intoxicating time for her.

  As Gizmo’s arrival approaches she realises that she’s not going to have any time to look after either dog. Preproduction is about to become Production next week. She’s brutally busy now and has very little time for Miranda, never mind Doodle or Gizmo, but it won’t be a problem. Her daughter continues to care for her dog in the manner that befits a celebrity pooch, and as she told Nikki, she has booked them both into a fancy dog hotel: ‘Wags’ (the ‘Hilton for Hounds’), near the studio.

  A limo has been hired to chauffeur the dogs to and from the studio; photo shoots have been arranged; a press release has gone out to the media; and Dogs Today has promised to devote most of one issue to ‘Nobody’s Poodle’ and it’s canine stars.

  Gizmo arrives from Tenerife and is met at Heathrow by her PA and a posse of photographers. He’s driven in a limo to Wags hotel, and settles in to enjoy the life of a pampered pooch. Elizabeth phones Nikki to reassure her that he’s arrived safely and there’s no need to worry - the hotel has web cams everywhere, so Nikki can follow him on-line as he flits from Jacuzzi to masseur to dining room.

  Miranda isn’t exactly thrilled to hear that her dog is about to be taken away from her (a few weeks ago she wouldn’t have batted one heavily mascara’d eyelid), but once it’s explained that Doodle is going to stay in an exclusive hotel with lots of other celebrity dogs then she’s not so bothered. Especially as there will be photos in magazines soon, and that means that she can finally tell all her friends about Doodle’s new status as a celeb.

  Filming is scheduled to start next Monday, and Elizabeth plans to drive Doodle to Wags herself after work this Friday evening. That will give the two dogs plenty of time to get to know each other before the first screen tests. She’s told Miranda to be ready to leave at eight, and to have all Doodle’s stuff packed.

  It’s been a long week and Elizabeth is exhausted. Everything is going according to her spreadsheet and schedule, but the stress is starting to take it’s toll. By the time she leaves the office on Friday evening she wants nothing more than to sink into her luxury home spar, with a glass of chilled Chablis. Unfortunately that won’t be possible. Not until she’s driven Doodle to the dog hotel anyway.

  * * *

  As Elizabeth is snaking through the Friday evening rush-hour traffic, the dognappers are creeping along the perimeter of the heath, making their way towards her garden. They arrive at the gap in the hedge that Jack has so carefully prepared. Jack pushes through, but it’s a different story for Harry. There seems to be little chance of him squeezing through without some fairly extensive damage.

  “Leave it out mate” he snorts. “Ain’t no way I’m scratching my bollox off through there. What’s wrong with the bleedin gate for fuck’s sake?”

  Before the Lad can stop him, Harry has shouldered the gate open and is creeping through the garden with all the stealth of an angry rhino.

  “For God’s sake ‘Arry mate, keep the noise down!” Jack hisses. “I told you, the girl’s in her room and her window looks out on the garden.”

  They manage to hide themselves behind a Rhododendron bush without being discovered, and settle down to wait for their prey.

  * * *

  Elizabeth parks the Merc in the drive, enters the house, and shouts upstairs to her daughter: “hi, I’m home. Miranda, is Doodle ready to go?”

  “Um, yep, wadever ... give me a minute. I’m just telling Lizzie (Miranda’s best friend on Facebook) how Doodle’s going to be a celeb.”

  Elizabeth sighs. “I told you to keep it to yourself until the official launch OK, yah? I don’t want your friends’ gossip spoiling my carefully orchestrated marketing strategy.”

  “Don’t worry mum. It’s cool. I’ve told Lizzie not to tell anyone else, and I haven’t mentioned the film yet.”

  “All right, but we’re leaving in five minutes OK? I’m not waiting around for you to spend the next hour on Facebook.”

  Nothing from Miranda. Just “click, clack ...” the sound of furious typing on a laptop keyboard.

  “Miranda, are you listening? If you’re not ready in five minutes, I’m going without you, and I’m taking Doodle with me. Oh, and you better take her in the garden for a wee before we leave.”

  “Yo. OK, hang on. I’m coming.”

  Elizabeth starts hunting around for Doodle’s kit. Needless to say, Miranda hasn’t packed it. There’s a whole heap of stuff that she absolutely must have in the hotel, and for the photo shoots of course:

  • ‘Chien Paris’ luxury dog bed

  • ‘Ollie the Owl’ tug toy

  • Two ‘Ralph Lauren’ coats and one sweater

  •Spare jewel encrusted ‘Gucci Poochie’ collar and lead (so that Doodle and Gizmo can be decked out in matching ‘his and hers’).

  Eventually she finds everything. She slips on Doodle’s designer collar and lead, and with an exasperated sigh opens the back door. She’s going to have to do everything herself, she can see that.

  “OK Doodle, let’s have a walkies. Be a good girl and do a little tinkle for mummy.”

  “Call this a walkies?” thinks Doodle. “You must be joking!” She gives her collar an experimental tug. “Ah yes, I see that I’m going to be stuck on this damn lead, and not even be left alone to have a sniff around.”

  “Sorry Doodle. You’ll have to stay on your lead
,” Elizabeth apologises to the dog. “We’re going on a lovely adventure in a minute, and we can’t be late. You’ll be in the car for quite a while. It’s Friday evening, so the traffic will be horrendous. Hurry up, be a good girl and do one for mummy ... please ...”

  There’s a noise from the darkness. Almost like whispering or muttering.

  “For fuck’s sake, she’s got the mutt on a lead” Harry ‘whispers’ loudly.

  Jack puts his hand over Harry’s mouth. That’s never a good idea, but it works. There’s a moment’s silence, broken only by the creaking of the garden gate swinging in the wind - the gate that Harry forgot to shut when he couldn’t use the gap in the hedge that Jack had so carefully prepared for this evening’s operation. Once again Jack curses his partner’s sloppy attitude to the job.

  Doodle’s ears prick up, and she pauses mid wee. Elizabeth hears it as well and for a moment she wonders if there might be an intruder in the garden. Panicking a little, she slips the lead from Doodle’s collar, hoping that the dog will defend her.

  Doodle dashes towards the bushes where the noise came from, and stands stock still, her whole body quivering. She can smell humans in her territory. Interestingly smelly humans. She crouches into her hunting posture, inches forward, and prepares to attack.

  “This is it mate” Jack hisses. “The dog’s off the lead. We can still do this! You got the bag? Prepare to grab her ...”

  Elizabeth is scared now. Something has definitely spooked Doodle. She reaches into her pocket for her phone, holding her breath. The dog tenses and prepares to leap into the shrubbery ...

  CRASH! BANG! The garden gate swings in the wind and slams shut. Elizabeth and Doodle both jump several inches in the air.

  There’s a tense pause, and then Elizabeth breathes again. “Phew. Thank God. That damn gardener. He’s going to get an earful from me. I’ve told him so many times that he has to keep that gate locked. God knows what kind of scumbag could stroll in from the Heath.”

  She slips the lead back on Doodle, and heads back indoors. Eventually, after further extensive cajoling, there’s the sound of reluctant footsteps on the stairs, and Miranda appears in the hall. They bundle Doodle into the car, along with her designer luggage, and set off for Wags.

  * * *

  The would-be dognappers emerge from behind the rhododendron bush. Jack is not amused. “For God’s sake ‘Arry, you left the fekin gate open! I’ve spent weeks planning this, and you go and ruin it. What the hell are we going to do now?”

  But Harry isn’t listening. He’s already running around the side of the house towards the road. Jack shrugs and sets off after him. They arrive at the parked van breathless, and jump in. Harry slams it into gear and they screech off down Elizabeth’s road in hot pursuit of the Merc. “This is more like it” thinks Harry. “Fuck all the skulking around in gardens. Let’s be avin yer!” he yells, visions of a San Francisco style car chase coursing through his veins.

  Elizabeth has a head start, but the dognappers are in luck. When they get to the main road, there’s total gridlock and the Merc is just a few cars ahead. With much wailing and gnashing of commuters’ teeth (OK, a few loud blasts of their horns) Harry forces his way onto Hampstead High Street, and the high speed chase becomes a painfully slow crawl through North London.

  Two hours later they are still following Elizabeth’s Merc, now heading out of town through the suburbs. Finally she pulls into the drive of what looks like a large country house. The sign on the gate reads: ‘Wags Hotel - The Hilton for Hounds. Five Star Luxury for your Dog.’

  Elizabeth, Miranda, and Doodle get out of the Merc and enter the building. The dognappers park the van and can just glimpse them through the impressive smoked glass doors, as they approach the reception desk and are greeted like royalty by the uniformed staff.

  Jack is impressed. “Wow, this is some place, eh Harry? If I had the dosh this is where I’d have my dog stay.”

  Harry snorts derisively. “I always said you was soft Jack lad. Now I know you’re a bit of a snob as well.”

  Jack is not listening though. The cogs are whirring, and he’s already thinking ahead. “OK, so the plan’s been modified, but we can still do this. Think big and the sky’s the limit. What have we got here? A hotel, not a top security installation. Yes, we missed out on nabbing the dog from the house. But what have we learnt ...? That she can afford a place like this. So, OK, we can’t just grab the dog and take it back for a reward, but what if we go for a ransom?”

  Harry is trying to take this in, but his cogs turn considerably slower than Jack’s, if at all (most of them seized up a long time ago, from lack of use). He gets there, eventually: “oh, I get it. We’re gonna bust in ‘ere, guns blazin, and grab the mutt. Then we’re gonna threaten to blow it’s brains out unless they pay up.”

  Now he’s really warming to this alternative, rather more tasty scenario.“Yeah, and if they don’t cough up straight away, we can cut bits off the mutt and send ‘em to the rich bird. Or even threaten to snatch ‘er daughter. It might just work. You’re not just a pretty face, are you lad?”

  Jack sighs. Not for the first time he wonders what he’s doing working with this Neanderthal. “Um, yes, that’s it mate. Sort of.” Ignoring his partner’s lurid action movie scenario, he outlines his more realistic version: “OK, this is what we’re going to do. We’ll stake out this Wags place for a while and suss out their security. At first glance it doesn’t look too hot to me. Then when we’ve got the setup dialed, we’ll do a surgical strike and nab the dog.”

  Jack is in full flow now, as he continues his analysis of the new risk-to-reward ratio. “I think we can up the stakes a bit here. We already know the woman is worth a packet. She’s some kind of minor celebrity. You’ve got to ask yourself: why is she leaving the pooch here? She must be going away for a while, and as we all know: ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ and all that. If she’s not around it should make things easier. When we come to hit her with a ransom demand we should aim high. I’m thinking twenty grand-ish.”

  Harry is trying his best to keep up with Jack’s lightening train of thought. His jaw drops open at the twenty grand bit. The Lad is already finalising the modified plan of action, pondering the details: “OK, we’ll have to sort out the logistics of the ransom delivery and the hostage exchange, but first things first ... we need to stake out this fancy dog hotel, suss out the dog’s routine, and work out a way to grab it.”

  6 WAGS, THE HILTON FOR HOUNDS

  Elizabeth marches up to Wags’ reception and announces their arrival. Uniformed flunkies scurry around, some with dogs in tow, and one of them sees to Doodle’s luggage while they sign her in. Elizabeth is exhausted after the long drive, and ideally she’d like to get back in the car and go home, but the staff insist on showing her around the hotel. In any case she needs to introduce Doodle to Gizmo, and there’s no way that Miranda is leaving without snapping some selfies with the two dogs.

  They set off on the guided tour, Elizabeth leading Doodle on her jewel encrusted lead and Miranda excitedly flitting around, straining to find a celebrity pooch to snap for her Facebook page.

  Of course each of the canine guests at Wags has their own room, complete with a four poster bed. Room service includes a choice of twenty different types of dog food, and chilled mineral water (which is changed every hour). The spar and indoor swimming pool would put many a human hotel to shame, but Doodle seems particularly interested in the fur styling salon. There are glossy images of gorgeous glamorous dogs everywhere, and Miranda is well impressed when the receptionist tells her that their groomer, Charlotte, is a famous stylist with an ‘A list’ of V.I.D. (‘Very Important Dogs’) clients.

  “In fact, I shouldn’t really be telling you this” she whispers, “but Uggie was in this very room just this afternoon. He’s staying here for a few days while he does some personal appearances for his book.”

  Miranda can’t believe it. “Wow, Doodle could be styled by the same person that
does Uggie. How cool is that?” she chirps excitedly, snapping a quick pic on her phone. “So who else have you got staying here?” she demands, anticipating a list of star pets to make her friends green with envy.

  “Well, there are always a few V.I.D’s. Let’s see now ...Tony Blair’s Labrador is here while he’s in the Middle East.” Miranda is not impressed.

  “Umm, then there’s a terrier called ‘Shaggy’ who’s had a lot of hits on YouTube. He’s over here to do some TV.”

  Miranda types the name into her smart-phone. “OK, yep, I’ve Googled him and he’s trending right now.”

  “Oh yes, and I think Robbie from ‘Boys On Fire’ has his poodle, Angelique, staying with us while they’re touring.”

  Miranda swoons. “Oh my God. He’s well cute. Lizzie is not going to believe this. She’s got pictures of him and Angelique all over her bedroom!”

  The receptionist remembers that she should never divulge confidential information and she begs them not to mention any of this. Miranda agrees, reluctantly, to keep stum and they continue their tour of the hotel.

  Whatever the guests’ interests, they shouldn’t be bored at Wags. There’s a long list of activities available to keep tails wagging. Elizabeth already knows about the method acting classes and the improvisation sessions (it was one of the reasons that they choose the hotel), but she’s pleased to see that they also feature a fully equipped gym, Yoga, Pilates, self expression sessions (mainly barking at fake cats and postmen) and so on.

  If the clients prefer to take things easy, there are ‘chill-out zones’ equipped with luxury loungers, and they find Gizmo reclining languidly on one, sipping a ‘Hair of the Dog’ cocktail, and picking from a plate of munchies. Of course, he’s been at Wags for a few days already, and he looks very much at home.