Puppy Gets Stuck

by Sue Mongredien

  The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals is the UK’s largest animal charity. They rescue, look after and rehome hundreds of thousands of animals each year in England and Wales. They also offer advice on caring for all animals and campaign to change laws that will protect them. Their work relies on your support, and buying this book helps them save animals’ lives.

  www.rspca.org.uk

  Contents

  Cover

  Half Title Page

  RSPCA

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Meet a Real RSPCA Inspector

  What To Do if Your Dog Goes Missing

  Five Tips: Training a Puppy

  Collect the Whole Series

  Join the RSPCA

  You’ll Also Love

  Copyright

  “Hello, Pickle!” It was Friday afternoon, and nine-year-old Emily Wilson had run straight out of school and down the drive to the gates. There was her gorgeous spaniel puppy waiting for her, his feathery white tail beating with delight, his huge brown eyes round and bright as he saw her coming.

  Woof! he went, tugging at the lead as if he just couldn’t wait another second to be with her. Woof, woof!

  Dumping her school bag on the grass, Emily crouched down and threw her arms around her puppy, making an enormous fuss of him. She cuddled him and fluffed up his soft brown and white fur and scratched him behind his long silky ears. Pickle, meanwhile, kept licking her face, his wet black nose cold against her cheek, his tail wagging even faster. He really was the cutest puppy ever, and her best friend in the whole world.

  “Hello to you too, Em,” came Mum’s amused voice, and Emily looked up with a smile to see her there with Jack, Emily’s brother, who was five.

  “Hi, Mum. Hi, Jack,” Emily said, getting up and hugging her mum. “Can I take Pickle’s lead now?”

  “Of course,” Mum said. “I thought we could go to Albany Woods for a walk.”

  “Yay!” cheered Jack, and Pickle immediately started barking and leaping around at the word “walk” as if he agreed.

  Emily grinned. “You know what that word means, don’t you?” She laughed, reaching down to pat his side. “Your favourite word of all!”

  “I think he’s learned some new favourite words today,” Mum said as they set off down the road. “Cheese straws.”

  Pickle woofed immediately.

  “What do you mean?” asked Emily.

  “I baked some cheese straws this afternoon,” Mum explained, “and had just left them cooling on the table when the doorbell rang. . .”

  “Uh-oh.” Emily laughed. She had a pretty good idea of how this story might go.

  “And guess who scrambled up to the table while I went to answer the door… and ate four of them?” Mum finished.

  Pickle gave another woof as if he were proudly saying, Me! I did it! That’s how clever I am! and Emily giggled. “Pickle by name, pickle by nature,” she said affectionately, watching as he stopped to sniff a lamp post.

  Jack looked worried. “Are there any cheese straws left?” he asked.

  Mum ruffled his hair. “There are plenty left,” she said, “and they’re safely in a tin now, well out of reach of greedy pups. Apart from these two, which I brought along just in case there are any hungry children. . .”

  “Me!” cried Jack at once.

  “Thanks, Mum,” said Emily, munching hers. She gave the lead a gentle tug. “Come on, Pickle, enough sniffing.” He was so inquisitive that he liked to stop and smell everything: a nettle, the wall, a piece of litter. . . He’d often swerve right in front of Emily’s legs to get to a particularly exciting gateway or hedge, and had nearly tripped her up several times in his eagerness.

  Emily didn’t mind. Pickle was so funny and lovely, she could forgive him anything. Ever since she’d first seen him, when they’d gone to the rehoming centre on her ninth birthday, she had been totally smitten. Back then, he’d been no more than a handful of brown and white fur with a soft round tummy and a fluffy tail. Emily’s heart had simply melted when he’d gambolled over to her with a little yip of excitement, his big round eyes shining. “This one’s my favourite,” she’d said, reaching down to scoop him up. “Look, Mum!”

  “I think he’s chosen you, too,” Mum had said laughing as Pickle poked out a teeny pink tongue and licked Emily’s cheek.

  They’d had to wait eight weeks – the longest eight weeks of Emily’s life! – before the puppies were old enough to leave their mum, a sweet-natured rescue dog who was going to a new home, too. At last Emily had been able to collect Pickle, and he’d quickly become part of the family. He was nearly six months old now, and his tiny, stumpy legs had grown longer, as had his feathery tail. Emily could hardly remember what life had been like before he’d come to live with them. Having Pickle made everything much more fun, that was for sure.

  “Good boy,” Emily said encouragingly as he trotted along beside her. “That’s it – heel!”

  She and Dad had just started taking Pickle to puppy training classes, and she was trying to teach him different commands. He’d been to two lessons so far, although both had been a bit of a disaster. During the first one, Pickle had just wanted to play with all the other puppies. He was such a friendly little dog, he had kept scampering up to them whenever he’d had the chance, sniffing them and cheerfully waving his tail as if to say hello. He’d also done quite a lot of excited barking. Oh yes, and then he’d weed on the floor right at the end. . .

  Luckily, the training lady had just smiled. “I’ve seen it all before,” she’d said, passing Dad a mop. “And let’s face it… it could have been worse.”

  So far Pickle had learned to sit (with a bit of help – you had to push his bottom down to remind him), and stay (for about five whole seconds) and walk to heel. Recently, Emily had tried to teach him to get into his basket, too, although he tended to jump in and then jump straight out again, his tail wagging proudly as if to say, There – I did it. What game shall we play now?

  Once they reached the woods, Emily unclipped Pickle’s lead. She could always feel him trembling with excitement whenever she let him off it. As soon as he was free this time, he gave a big happy woof and bounded down the track, his floppy ears flying out to the sides like furry brown wings. He sniffed at every tree, put his head down a rabbit hole and nosed eagerly through the long grass like an intrepid explorer on an expedition.

  Emily and Jack ran beside him while Mum walked behind with their school bags. Now that Pickle’s legs were longer, he could go quite fast, especially when he saw a squirrel up ahead on the path. Barking non-stop, he charged breathlessly towards the creature – which promptly shot straight up the nearest tree, its bushy tail twitching.

  Emily laughed. “Oh, Pickle,” she said, as he put his front paws against the tree trunk and yapped a great long message to the squirrel. “Come on,” she called, “leave the poor thing alone.”

  It was a sunny spring day and the dappled light shone between the leafy branches of the trees. Daffodils bobbed their heads in a breeze, and the air felt warm against Emily’s face. Mum suggested that they go further into the woods than usual as it was such a lovely day, and everyone – especially Pickle – thought that this was a very good idea.

  They rounded the corner, and Emily saw that one of the large natural ponds in this part of the wood was covered with bright green duckweed. Pickle not
iced it too, and rushed off to investigate. Unfortunately, he seemed to think the green duckweed was ordinary grass and ran cheerfully on to it… and in the very next moment, the “grass” gave way and he splashed straight into the water!

  Emily gasped. “Pickle!” she cried, rushing over at once. The little puppy gave a yip of surprise as he found himself in the cold pond, and had to paddle his front paws to keep afloat. He was probably wondering how the grass had turned into water.

  “He’s swimming,” Jack shouted, laughing. “Keep going, Pickle, you might get your five-metre badge!”

  Emily laughed too. Pickle seemed to be rather enjoying himself, now that he’d got over the shock of cold water, and was swimming around very splashily. “Come on, boy, over here,” she called, bending over a little and patting her thighs encouragingly. “Come to me, that’s it.”

  She reached out her hand and as soon as he’d paddled near enough, she grabbed his collar and hauled him out of the water.

  Covered with duckweed and mud, Pickle looked completely bedraggled. He smelled absolutely terrible, too.

  “Pickle Wilson, what are you like?” Emily groaned. “Look at him, Mum.”

  “Poo!” Jack said, holding his nose. “Pickle pongs.”

  “It’s not his fault,” Emily said loyally. “Is it, boy? He. . . Aargh!” She leaped back as Pickle chose that very moment to give himself a thorough shake, spraying Emily with stinky mud from head to foot.

  “Yuck!” she shrieked, wiping a strand of duckweed from her face. Pickle wagged his tail as if he’d just been very helpful, and Emily found herself giggling. You really couldn’t be cross with a puppy like Pickle!

  Jack burst out laughing, and Mum looked as if she was trying not to chuckle too. “Oh dear,” she said. “What a mucky pup – and what a mucky daughter! I hope you two won’t get too cold now you’re so wet. Perhaps we’d better head back.”

  Emily agreed. “Let’s put you on the lead, Pickle,” she said, clipping it safely on to his collar. “I think that’s enough exploring for one day, don’t you? We don’t want you getting into another pickle!”

  Woof! Pickle agreed, wagging his muddy tail.

  They set off towards home, Pickle’s fur slowly drying in the sunshine. As they passed their neighbours’ house they saw that Mr and Mrs Turner were in their front garden, pulling up some weeds.

  Mr Turner looked up and smiled when he saw them. “Goodness me, Pickle, what have you been up to?” he asked.

  Mrs Turner’s eyes twinkled. “It looks like somebody will be going straight into the bath when you get home,” she said, laughing.

  Mum shook her head. “I’m tempted to put the pair of them in together,” she joked. “I’m not sure who’s the muddiest, Emily or the dog!”

  Once they were back inside, Emily quickly changed out of her muddy clothes and helped Mum fill the bath for Pickle, who wasn’t very happy about being washed at all. Despite Emily’s best efforts, he kept trying to clamber out, his claws uselessly scrabbling at the side. Water and the bubbles from his special doggy shampoo went everywhere, and soon Emily and Mum were drenched, too.

  Afterwards, Emily dried Pickle in a big fluffy towel and brushed the tangles out of his fur. “There,” she said when it shone once more. “You’re as good as new.”

  Once Pickle had eaten his tea, he seemed so tired that he barely had the energy to move. Instead of making the short journey to his basket, he curled up on the floor by his food bowl and closed his eyes.

  Emily smiled as his head sank dreamily on to his front paws. “Pickle! Get in your basket.” she reminded him in the sing-song voice she always tried to use when giving him commands.

  Pickle opened one eye and peered groggily at her.

  “Good boy, Pickle, get in your basket,” Emily coaxed.

  Pickle was so sleepy he could hardly walk, but he obediently staggered to his feet and trotted over to his basket. He flopped into it, gave a deep sigh of relief, tucked his nose under his favourite cuddly bear, then promptly fell straight back to sleep. Within seconds he was snoring.

  Emily stroked his soft fur. “What a good boy,” she told him, gently resting her head on his sleeping body and listening to his heartbeat. “I hope you have a lovely dream about chasing squirrels. Sleep well… and let’s have another adventure tomorrow.”

  Emily had always enjoyed weekends, but ever since Pickle had joined the family, she loved them even more. Two whole days of puppy play! She couldn’t think of anything nicer. Even better, her friend Chloe was coming over for the morning, too.

  Emily scrambled out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown, then went downstairs to see her pup. He had obviously been exploring the shoe basket by the back door, because he’d pulled all the shoes out of it and was now having a fight with one of Dad’s slippers. He growled with excitement as he chewed it with his sharp little teeth and dragged it around the kitchen to show it who was boss.

  “Hey, you,” Emily said, hurrying over. “Don’t let Dad see you doing that, you monkey.” Just the week before, Pickle had chewed right through the toes of one of Mum’s designer shoes. He’d been in deep disgrace for that. “Give it, Pickle. Drop!”

  Pickle ignored her and shook the slipper around some more, still growling softly at it from between his teeth. Why on earth would he want to drop this new toy, which smelled so interesting?

  “Come on, Pickle,” Emily coaxed, pulling gently on the slipper. “Drop, I said. Drop it!”

  But Pickle still wouldn’t drop it. He was having too much fun!

  “How about playing with Bear instead?” Emily offered, picking up his favourite cuddly toy from his basket. But even the blue bear – much chewed and loved – didn’t seem as exciting as Dad’s slipper today.

  It was only when Emily tipped some puppy food into his bowl that Pickle finally decided that OK, perhaps the slipper wasn’t actually the tastiest thing after all, and dropped it on the floor.

  Emily examined the slipper while Pickle ate his breakfast. Uh-oh. It was wet and slobbery and there were toothmarks in the sole. Dad wouldn’t be very happy about that. She did her best to dry it with a towel and attempted to press flat some of the toothmarks, but it still didn’t look quite right. Hmm. She just hoped Dad would be too bleary-eyed that morning to notice.

  Emily put the slipper back in the shoe basket along with all the others that Pickle had cheekily pulled out. Then, after a moment’s thought, she draped the towel over the top of the basket. If Pickle couldn’t actually see the shoes, she thought, maybe he wouldn’t realize they were still inside. Genius!

  Pickle glanced up at her while he ate, and she ruffled his fur, feeling pleased with her idea. Then she poured herself some cereal and a glass of milk and sat down at the table.

  “Morning,” said Dad, coming into the kitchen wearing his dressing gown. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed what she had done to the basket of shoes. “Emily,” he began, “why. . .?”

  He broke off in the next moment. Breakfast finished, Pickle had romped straight back over to the shoe basket with an excited bark. He nosed eagerly under the towel for a few moments before re-emerging with Dad’s slipper in his mouth and the towel now dangling on his head. Then he gave a muffled woof, ran over to Emily and dropped the slipper at her feet, wagging his tail. It was as if he were saying, Found it! Even with that towel! You can’t fool me!

  Emily and Dad laughed and laughed. “You rascal,” Dad said affectionately, reaching down and taking the towel off Pickle’s head. “Honestly, what a daft dog!”

  Pickle began bounding back and forth from the shoe basket, barking and wagging his tail and looking very proud of himself.

  “Here we go again,” Emily groaned as Pickle pulled out one of Jack’s trainers with great enthusiasm and dumped it on the floor. Then out came the other trainer. Then one of Emily’s red wellies, which he had to heave and heave at. Emily coul
dn’t help giggling. Pickle was unstoppable!

  “Well, at least I know what my first job of the day is going to be,” Dad said as he filled the kettle at the sink. “Making a lid for the shoe basket – so that it’s puppy-proof!”

  Later that morning, Emily’s best friend Chloe came round to play. It was a sunny day, so she and Emily decided to go out into the garden, closely followed by Pickle, who began nosing his red ball around the lawn. Every now and then he would bring it over to Emily, who threw it for him to chase after and fetch.

  Meanwhile, the girls began making a “fairy house” together in one of the flower beds. Emily collected some just-fallen red tulip petals, which made a perfect silky bed, Chloe picked a dandelion flower to use as a pillow, and they both found a few soft pieces of moss that could be velvety fairy cushions.

  “It looks great,” Emily said, sitting back to admire it. “Now, what could we use to make a table and chair?”

  Before they could start looking for anything, though, Pickle came rushing along with his ball and trampled clumsily right through the fairy house to get to Emily’s side.

  “Oh no!” cried Chloe in dismay as his paws broke the tulip-petal bed. “It’s ruined.”

  “Pickle!” Emily groaned, feeling disappointed.

  Hearing her tone of voice, Pickle’s tail drooped and his big brown eyes turned anxious and uncertain. He stood looking at Emily, his head on one side, and gave a little whine.

  Emily reached out to pat him. “Oh, it’s all right, boy, I’m not cross,” she said after a moment. “You didn’t know, did you?”

  He licked her face and gave a small woof as if to say sorry, and Emily pulled him close for a cuddle. “He’s still only a baby,” she said to Chloe. “Maybe we should think of something else to do.”

  Just then Mum came out with some chocolate brownies and glasses of lemon squash, so the girls had a little picnic on the lawn while they thought. Then Emily had an idea. “Let’s set up camp out here,” she suggested. “We could make a tent out of a sheet, and use some chairs and things to hold it up. What do you think?”