At this point, Eric – could he have done so – would probably have drummed with his fingers on the arm of the chair. The truth is, he was becoming bored. It appeared there was not a lot you could actually do as a dog on your own, and locked up. ‘That’s why they like going for walks,’ he thought. And then he noticed the television.
Eric left the chair and trotted over to it. Luckily, it was switched on at the wall. He put his nose against the on/off button (it had a smell too!) and pressed. The screen glowed and a voice informed him that what he really needed was a BMX bike. He tried changing the channel, but was unable to operate the control, which was a dial. He went back to his chair, turned round in a complete circle, and settled down with his chin on his paws to watch the programme, whatever it was.
As Eric watched the usual Saturday morning mixture of pop songs and cartoons, his thoughts wandered. During a Yogi Bear cartoon, he found himself remembering the Australian talking dog. He sat up in his chair and tried saying ‘sausage and egg’ once or twice, but without success. He also kept an eye on the time (there was a clock in the room). He meant to be back upstairs and under his bed (or in his wardrobe, even) long before his dad came home.
At about twenty to twelve, in the middle of a soft drink ad., Eric began to feel thirsty. He went into the kitchen, leapt on a chair and from there made it to the draining-board. He inspected the water in which the breakfast washing-up was standing, and decided to catch drips from the tap instead. He put out his tongue.
At that moment something else happened. The back door opened, Eric’s dad came in, and – seconds later – Eric himself went out. Eric got the impression his dad was in a hurry. He was snatched so fast from the draining-board, for instance, he still had his tongue out. And hustled down the garden path and dumped on the pavement before he could even bark. His dad, moreover, spoke only three words the whole time: ‘You again!’ and ‘Out!’ Later, however, Eric did hear a fourth, which was ‘Eric’. This came in a variety of intonations and volumes: ‘Eric? ERIC? ERIC!’, from different parts of the house and garden. His dad was looking for him, it seemed. Eric sat on the pavement in some confusion and dismay. He considered his ‘crimes’ as his dad would see them: the unattended house, the unlocked door, the interloping dog, and the TV (‘Oh, no -I left it on!’). He considered his dad’s crime, too: coming home early!
Across the road, and unobserved by Eric, a small cat sat hidden in a hedge observing him. It was the one he’d chased two weeks before. Two weeks older, two weeks wiser, the cat bristled a little, but remained hidden. Eric, meanwhile, had reached a decision. He couldn’t stay where he was and he couldn’t get back in. There was only one place he could go. He set off purposefully up the road.
When Eric reached Roy’s house, he hung around for a while hoping to see Roy or be seen by him. But no face appeared at any of the windows and no one came out. He trotted up the drive and sat on the front lawn. There was a faint smell of petrol in the air, and cut grass. He waited: still no one came, no one saw him. At last – though feeling distinctly silly about it – Eric did what he had to. He braced his legs, threw back his head, and howled.
When Roy heard Eric (he never doubted it was Eric), he was in his room. He was sorting a few toys for his little cousins to play with downstairs. They were there on a visit with his Uncle Colin and Auntie Val.
Roy rushed to the window and, sure enough, there was Eric (looking worried) on the lawn. He opened the window and stuck his head out. ‘Eric?’
‘Woof!‘said Eric.
‘Wait there – I’ll be down!’
Rapidly Roy gathered up whatever toys and games he could lay his hands on. He raced downstairs, almost threw them into the sitting-room, said: ‘Back in a minute!’ (luckily his mum was in the kitchen), and shot outside. Eric was glad to see him. He’d come to the conclusion that it was lonely being a dog. And Roy, though his motives were different, was glad to see Eric, especially this Eric. The two friends smiled, and one of them wagged his tail.
Roy’s head was full of questions, which he knew would have to wait. Apart from anything else, he had to get back before he was missed.
‘Listen, Eric – I can’t come yet – we’ve got visitors!’ He moved backwards towards the door. Eric followed him. ‘No – not you - Mum’d have a fit!’
Eric looked mournful and felt the urge to whine.
Roy said, ‘Here, wait in the garage.’ He led the way.
A voice – Roy’s mum – called from the house: ‘Roy?’
‘Lie low!’ Roy said. ‘I’ll be back!’ And he left.
Eric, feeling shut out and unwanted, snuffled around in the garage for a while. He found a pile of newspapers in a corner behind a mower. He lay low.
Eric lay low, as it turned out, till almost one o’clock. Roy did his best to get away, but it wasn’t easy. He had to entertain his cousins, show some interest in his uncle and aunt, and eat a light lunch. During lunch Roy suddenly ‘remembered’ he’d volunteered to help with the chairs for Sports Day. His mum had her doubts about this, and his dad said it was no excuse for eating like a python, but they let him go. A minute later he was in the street with his sports kit in his bag, money to spend, a couple of apples, and Eric.
Eric was confused. He was following Roy because he didn’t want to be on his own. But he didn’t want to be in the street either. On the other hand (or paw), what else could he do? Roy, meanwhile, had begun eating an apple. He bit off a piece and held it out. Eric, despite his troubles, ate it up.
Roy said, ‘I’ll have to go to the sports, y’know. I’m in the relay.’ He swopped his bag to his other shoulder. ‘We’ve had it for the three – legged, though, haven’t we?’
‘Woof!’ agreed Eric. He hadn’t thought of that.
‘We’d win the five-legged, though,’ Roy said. ‘We’d walk it!’
At the corner of Clay Street and Apollo Road, Roy looked at his watch. It was ten past one. The sports were due to start at two o’clock. He said, ‘Let’s go to the park for a bit.’
‘That’s what I was thinking,’ thought Eric.
‘And after that we’ll go to the sports. They’ve got a pavilion there, they’ve got a groundsman’s hut.’ (He was thinking of places where Eric might hide, if he had to.) ‘After that we’ll… think of something.’
At the park gates, going in, Roy and Eric met Kenny Biggs coming out. He was kicking a ball and eating a stick of rock. Behind him – some way behind – came little Malky on a tricycle. He was eating a stick of rock, too.
Kenny said, ‘Hello, Roy – hey, you’ve got that dog again!’
‘Where’d you get y’rock?’ said Roy.
‘Russell’s. Whose dog is he really?’
‘Give us a bite and I’ll tell you.’ As he spoke, Roy lunged for the ball, and dribbled off with it onto the grass.
Meanwhile, Eric had his eye on a stick of rock. He was sitting up close to Malky’s now stationary tricycle and staring hopefully at its rider. But Malky, no matter how little he was, knew what was going on. He laughed and bounced on his saddle and clutched his rock more tightly. ‘Mine!’ he shouted. Then, impulsively – or perhaps he just wanted to see what would happen – he held it out. Eric, to his credit, hesitated. He felt suddenly guilty. Taking sweets from a small child when you were a dog was wrong, and for that matter unhygienic. At the same time it was a particularly large stick of rock, far too big for Malky…
At that moment Alison Jukes came riding up on her bicycle, followed closely by Joan Spooner on hers. They were friends again, it seemed.
‘Hello, Malky!’ said Alison.
‘It’s that dog again!’ said Joan.
‘And he wants y’rock,’ Alison said.
Whereupon Malky immediately snatched it away and took a bite himself. Eric, with mixed feelings, trotted over to join Kenny and Roy. Having failed to agree a swop, they were kicking the ball back and forth between them.
Joan said, ‘Whose dog is he really?’
‘He’s
not telling,’ said Kenny. ‘I don’t think he knows.’
‘I know,’ said Roy. ‘I know more than you think.’ He turned his attention to Malky. ‘I’ll give you half this apple for a bite of rock.’
Malky studied the apple.
‘Don’t you, Malky,’ said Alison. ‘You keep it.’
‘Ask him whose dog it is,’ said Kenny.
Then Roy had an idea. ‘Listen, Malky – if you give me a bite, this dog’ll shake hands with you.’ He crouched and whispered to Eric, ‘Go on, Eric, be a sport!’
Eric considered the matter. He could see that Roy was getting carried away; also, by rights, if any rock was going, he should get it. Then again… He looked across at Malky’s little beaming face, and he thought, ‘Why not?’
Eric approached Malky, who by this time had left his tricycle and joined the others on the grass.
‘On the command “shake hands”,’ said Roy, ‘this dog will … shake hands.’ Then he said, ‘Shake … hands!’
Eric at once held out his paw. For a moment Malky was overcome with shyness, but of course he was delighted, too. Soon he was holding Eric’s paw in his own sticky hand and shaking it proudly.
‘There!’ said Roy. ‘Now, on the command “bite rock”, this boy will …’ Roy got his rock, though the amount was carefully monitored by Kenny. After that there was a general rush to see what else Eric could do.
‘Get him to say “How do you do?”,’ said Joan.
‘Like that Australian dog,’ Kenny said.
‘Get him to count!’ said Alison.
Roy – flushed with success – got Eric to count. ‘What’s two plus two?’ he said.
‘Woof, woof, woof, woof!’ barked Eric. (He was getting carried away.)
‘Six take away four?’ said Roy.
‘Woof, woof!’
‘The square root of nine?’ (Roy was good at maths.)
‘Woof, woof, woof!’ (So was Eric.)
It was about now that Kenny and Alison exchanged puzzled looks. They realized something was going on (so did Joan), but couldn’t quite tell what it was.
‘It’s a trick,’ said Alison.
‘No it’s not; he’s just a brainy dog,’ said Roy.
Then Joan said, ‘All right then – what’s four hundred and ninety-six plus two hundred and eighty-three?’
Eric hardly hesitated. ‘Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof–’
‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Roy. ‘We’ll be here for ever.’
‘What’s the capital of Peru?’ said Kenny.
‘What’s the time?’ said Joan.
Eric made no reply but continued to look expectantly at his audience. It was as though he was waiting for a question he could answer, which, in truth, he was. He hadn’t had this much attention since his tenth birthday.
Roy said, ‘Wait a minute; let me have a go.’ And he said, ‘Here’s a good ‘un: Which of these girls do y’like the best – her or her?’
Eric cocked his head on one side, then the other. He looked Joan and Alison up and down. The first thought in his mind was, ‘Neither!’ However, secretly (so secretly he hadn’t even told Roy, though Roy knew anyway) Alison was his favourite. (And, of course, she knew as well.)
While Eric was seeming to make his mind up, Kenny said, ‘How’s he going to choose?’
‘He can point,’ said Joan.
‘That’s it,’ Roy said; ‘point!’
And so, eventually, Eric put out his paw and pointed at Alison. She laughed. ‘He is a brainy dog!’ she said. And then, ‘Have a crisp!’
After this the gathering began to break up. Kenny had to take Malky home and get ready for the sports. Joan and Alison needed to collect their kit.
As she rode off, Alison tossed a final crisp to Eric. He, despite its wayward flight through the air, caught it and crunched it up.
As she rode off, Joan called out, ‘Whose dog is he really? What’s his name?’
Roy paused for a second and said, ‘Eric’
‘What?’
‘Eric’
‘I can’t hear you!’
‘It’s just as well,’ said Roy. He watched Joan disappear through the gates. ‘You’d never believe it.’
17
Bo-Peep
When Eric and Roy arrived at Hobbes’s recreation ground, they found the entrance decorated with coloured flags. A large banner announcing the sports flapped gently in the breeze. There was an icecream van parked in the street, with a queue of customers already formed. A baby in a pram nearby was bawling.
Rolfe Street Primary School Sports Day was, in fact, rather more than a Sports Day. For one thing the parent – teacher association took the opportunity to raise money for the school fund. There were various stalls: bottle, cake, white elephant, nearly new. There were games such as skittles and penalty prize. There was a Punch and Judy show, a fancy-dress parade and a Boys’ Brigade band.
The other thing which made Sports Day special was the attitude of Mr Blocker. Most heads have something in their school which they take a particular interest in. It could be the school play or the school choir; the school dinners, even. In Mr Blocker’s case it was Sports Day. The story was that he had once run for the county, but no details were available.
Eric and Roy passed beneath the flapping banner and joined the growing crowd. It was two o’clock.Already the stalls had begun selling, and the games and competitions were in progress. The athletic events wouldn’t begin until two-thirty. Councillor Mrs Beanland would be there to start the first race and, later, present the cup to the winning house.
As he wandered between the stalls, Roy had a go on the hoop-la and inadvertently won a bottle of tomato ketchup. He tried guessing the number of Smarties in ajar, and bought a bundle of old comics from the book stall. Eric concentrated on keeping close to Roy, while watching out for his mum and Emily. They were likely to be around somewhere, although the fancy-dress wasn’t due until four o’clock. From time to time Mr Blocker’s voice boomed out over the public address. He welcomed everybody to the sports, and reminded them there was a refreshment area near the pavilion. He urged them to buy raffle tickets and mentioned Councillor Beanland. He told ‘certain boys’ to cease their interference with the groundsman’s sprinkler.
At twenty past two Eric and Roy went up onto the grass bank. Eric was grateful to be out of the crowd and welcomed the chance to rest his little legs. Furthermore, at the back of the bank there was an area of much longer grass which would make a useful hiding place, if the need arose. Eric lay with his head on his paws and shut his eyes against the glare of the sun. He thought about the scene in the park. Sooner or later Joan and Alison were going to guess, if Roy didn’t actually tell them, that is. He would have to talk to Roy. He thought about his mum and dad, and the trouble he’d be in when he got home.
Roy, meanwhile, was propped up on his elbows having a quick look at his comics. He was also eating a sherbet dip, and – apparently – thinking about Eric. ‘Don’t get distemper, Eric,’ he said. ‘They give you a needle in y’bum!’
At that moment a voice said, ‘Excuse me!’ Eric and Roy looked up. A large woman in a red dress was standing beside them. She was out of breath from climbing the bank. She said, ‘Excuse me, but is this your dog?’
‘Er… yes,’ said Roy.
‘Don’t mind me asking, but … what d’you call him?’
‘Er… Rex,’ said Roy. He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘Eric’.
‘Oh!’ The woman looked disappointed; embarrassed, too. ‘Is he a smart dog, is he?’
‘Very,’ said Roy. ‘He understands every word I say.’
‘I can believe it,’ said the woman.
Then another, smaller, woman in a green dress at the bottom of the bank joined in. ‘Come on, Frances – I want a cup of tea!’
‘Coming!’ said the first woman. And then, ‘Don’t mind me asking, but has he ever … done any sort of funny business with his paw?’ She lowered her voice, ‘… Sort of writing
like?’
Then Eric guessed who she was, and so did Roy.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Oh!’ said the woman.
‘Frances!’ said the other woman.
‘Coming!’ said Frances. She turned and began to descend the bank. ‘ “Rex”, you said.’
Roy nodded.
She reached the bottom, linked arms with her friend and went away.
As soon as she’d gone, Roy said, ‘That was the woman who saw you writing, wasn’t it?’
‘Woof!’ said Eric.
‘I think I put her off, though.’
‘Woof!’ Eric said.
Then Roy said, ‘Hey – it’s starting!’
Eric scrambled to his feet. Down on the track, Mr Blocker in his best suit was escorting Councillor Beanland to the starting line. ‘Come on Frobisher!’ shouted Roy. (The woman in the red dress had vanished from his thoughts.) ‘Frobisher’ was one of the house teams, the others being Raleigh, Nelson and Drake. Councillor Beanland raised her pistol, the race began, the crowd cheered – Frobisher came nowhere.
After that Roy returned to his comics, while keeping a close watch on his friend, just in case. It crossed his mind that Eric could do with a collar and lead, though he doubted if he’d agree. Eric, for a time, remained on his feet and continued to look around. On the track he could see Mrs Jessop herding half a dozen infant girls in sacks behind the starting line. Another teacher, Mrs Tucker, was putting the scores up on a blackboard near the judges’ table. Mr Moody, in his best suit, was preparing to start the second race. Farther off, a boy – it might have been Hopper – was climbing onto the pavilion roof. In the distance, traffic was passing in the Bowles Road. The woman in the red dress was nowhere to be seen. Eric moved closer to Roy and began reading over his shoulder.
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