Puppy Gets Stuck

by Sue Mongredien

  “Brilliant,” Chloe agreed at once.

  The girls set to work. Mum let them carry two of the kitchen chairs outside and gave them an old sheet to drape across the top to make a roof. Dad brought out the clothes rack that they sometimes used to dry clothes, and they hung an old towel over it to make a third wall to their shelter. The sheet sagged in the middle, until Chloe had the clever idea of using pegs off the washing line to clip it more securely to the rack. The camp was coming together!

  Mrs Turner was in the garden next door, watering her vegetables. She waved when she saw the girls. “Building an extension, are we?” she said with a smile, looking over the fence at their tent.

  “Yes,” Emily replied proudly. “It’s our new secret hideout.”

  She and Chloe crawled inside. “We could be cave girls,” Chloe suggested. “Sheltering in our cave from the wolves outside.”

  “Ooh, yes,” Emily said. Then she giggled as a little brown face poked inquisitively around the doorway. She should have known he wouldn’t be able to resist exploring the tent for long. “Oh no!” she cried, pointing dramatically. “A wolf’s coming into our cave! Help!”

  She and Chloe clutched each other, squealing and pretending to be scared. The “wolf” gave a big woof and bounded into the tent, wagging his tail and jumping at the girls as if trying to join in the game.

  “Help!” Chloe cried. “I’m being licked to death by a wolf.”

  “Don’t eat us, wolf,” Emily giggled, rolling back on to the grass. “We beg you – spare our lives!”

  The wolf seemed to like the tent. Once he’d spared the girls’ lives – just – he sniffed at every corner of it, his nose twitching. Then he barked cheerfully and trotted out again, his tail wagging excitedly.

  “Hey, maybe we could get a rug or something to lie on next,” Chloe said, looking around when Pickle had gone. “That would make it even cosier in here.”

  “Good thinking,” Emily said. “Let’s go up to my bedroom and see what we can find.”

  The two friends went inside the house to look for suitable bits and bobs. Mum was just about to drop Jack off at a friend’s birthday party but gave them a second old sheet to use as their carpet before she left. Then the girls collected up an armful of soft pillows, a board game to play and some books. “We can stay in our tent all day,” Emily said happily.

  Chloe picked up a packet of felt-tips. “Let’s draw some pictures and stick them to the walls, too,” she suggested. “It’ll be the perfect girls’ hang-out.”

  But when they returned to the garden, they saw that their camp wasn’t looking quite as good as before. It certainly wasn’t a perfect girls’ hang-out! The chairs had been tipped over, and the sheet had been dragged across the lawn and now had muddy paw prints all over it. Pickle’s eyes were wild as he tugged at it with his teeth.

  “Oh no,” Chloe exclaimed. “Not again!”

  Emily felt fed up, too. “Pickle, that was naughty,” she told him, trying to prise the sheet from his mouth. “You spoiled our tent.” She pulled at the sheet but Pickle seemed to think this was an exciting new game and wouldn’t let go. “Give,” Emily said crossly. “Give!”

  She gave the sheet another pull, harder this time… and then they heard a loud rrrrrrip as it tore. “Pickle,” Emily said, letting go before the tear grew even bigger. “Now look what you’ve done!”

  Dad came outside to see what all the noise was about. “Oh dear,” he said when he saw the wreckage. “Did someone call the tent-demolition squad or is this the work of young master Pickle?”

  Emily’s cheeks felt hot. “That’s the second game of ours he’s ruined, Dad!” she complained. “Now we’ll have to start all over again.”

  Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “He didn’t mean to ruin anything,” he reminded Emily. “He’s still young and mischievous, that’s all. I know it’s annoying, but he was only playing.”

  Sensing he was in his mistress’s bad books, Pickle finally dropped the sheet and walked over to Emily, pressing his head against her bare legs and giving a little whine. He wagged his tail hopefully, as if trying to make friends.

  Emily gave a sigh, then crouched down and hugged him. Dad was right. “I know you didn’t mean to ruin our tent,” she said, patting him gently. “But sometimes you’re a pest, Pickle-pops.”

  “Tell you what,” Dad said. “Once your mum’s home again I’ll take him out on a long w-a-l-k.” He spelled out the word so that Pickle wouldn’t understand and start going bonkers with excitement. “And then you’ll have a chance to set up your camp properly again. I’ll even give you a hand rebuilding the tent before I go. What do you think?”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Emily replied, just as Chloe said, “Yes, please.”

  “Right,” Dad said. “Well, first things first, let’s get matey-boy inside.” He scooped up Pickle, who licked his face. “Then we’ll get started. Don’t worry, girls. It’ll be the best tent ever, if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

  The rest of the morning was great fun. True to his word, Dad helped the girls build a really cool new tent, and then they enjoyed making it cosy and comfortable inside. Mum came back from dropping off Jack, and Dad took Pickle for a walk in the woods, so Emily and Chloe were left in peace and quiet. They lay on their tummies in the tent, drawing pictures and using safety pins to attach them to the inside of the sheet-wall. “We’re not cave girls any more,” Chloe said with a grin. “We’re famous artists, and this is our gallery.”

  Emily looked at her picture. She was drawing Pickle with a bone in his mouth standing in a big flowery meadow. “I’ll probably sell this for a million pounds,” she declared, making his tail a bit fluffier. “If I decide to sell it, that is.”

  Chloe giggled. “People will queue for miles to see our work,” she went on dreamily, adding seagulls to the beach picture she was working on. “We’ll be so famous we’ll never have to go to school again. . .”

  “Lunch time!” called Mum.

  The girls smiled at each other and went into the kitchen, where Mum was laying plates of food on the table. She must have stopped at the bakery on the way home, Emily realized, because there were warm sausage rolls and gingerbread men decorated with chocolate icing. It all smelled delicious.

  “Can we have lunch in our tent, please?” Emily asked hopefully.

  “Of course,” Mum said. “If you find a tray, Em, we can load it up with goodies.”

  The girls helped themselves to a sausage roll and a gingerbread man, as well as a juicy red apple each and a handful of fat green grapes to share. Then Mum poured them glasses of water with clinking ice cubes and helped carry everything out to the tent.

  “Perfect,” Chloe said as they leaned back on their pillows, munching happily.

  “Yep,” Emily agreed. She never would have admitted it out loud, but it was actually sort of nice to have Pickle out of the way for a change while they enjoyed their game. As much as she loved him, sometimes she wanted to play with Chloe, just the two of them, without Pickle joining in.

  The girls finished lunch and took their plates back inside, then started a new game, climbing up into the cherry tree and pretending it was a boat. It was cool and breezy up there, and the pink blossom smelled beautiful.

  Jack came home after a while – a neighbour had brought him back from the party – and the girls made him jump by dropping petals on his head when he came out to look for them. “Hey!” he shouted when he realized what was happening. He shook the petals from his hair and the girls nearly fell out of the branches giggling.

  Emily grinned. “I hope Pickle’s home soon,” she said. “Imagine his face when he sees us up here. He’ll be so confused that I’m not down on the ground with him.”

  Just as she said these words she heard Dad’s voice from inside the house. They were back!

  “Pickle!” Emily called from the tree, expecting
him to come charging outside to find her. She smiled to herself as she pictured him sniffing all around the garden trying to spot her and Chloe.

  But Pickle didn’t appear. That was strange. Then Emily realized how quickly Dad was talking to Mum inside. His voice sounded urgent and worried. What was going on?

  “Shall we get down now?” Chloe asked.

  “Wait,” Emily said. “Listen.” She kept still, trying to hear what Dad was saying.

  “And he hasn’t come back here?” he was asking Mum. “Oh no. I was hoping he might have found his way home. . .”

  Emily realized she was gripping the branch so hard her knuckles had turned white. What was Dad talking about? I was hoping he might have found his way home, he’d said. Surely he didn’t mean. . .

  “Back in a minute,” she muttered to Chloe and scrambled down from the tree, her heart beating faster than usual. No, she told herself. Don’t be silly, Em. Of course Pickle was with Dad. Where else would he be? She must have heard wrong. “Pickle!” she called again, her voice sounding shrill. “Where are you, boy?”

  She ran into the kitchen, only to see her parents both looking anxious.

  “Oh, Em. . .” her dad began, his mouth twisting in a strange, tense sort of way.

  “What? What’s happened? Where is he?” Emily said, her words tumbling over one another as she spoke. “Where’s Pickle?”

  Jack and Chloe followed, and there was an awful moment as they all waited for Dad to reply. He passed a hand through his hair, looking awkward. “I’m really sorry,” he said at last. “I let him off the lead for a while and he must have got lost. I called and called but he didn’t come back.” He shrugged. “I was hoping he’d be here. I thought he might have found his own way home, but. . .”

  Emily swallowed. “He isn’t here,” she said. Her voice sounded weird, as if it was coming from far away, and her heart seemed to pound even harder. Her legs felt numb and wobbly as if they might give way at any moment. “He must still be out there somewhere.”

  Jack looked worried. “But where?” he cried. “Where is he?”

  Mum put her arm around him. “We’ll all go and look for him,” she said. “He can’t have gone far. You know what he’s like – he’s probably just gone off exploring and got himself lost.”

  “But what if. . .?” Emily began. Her mind was already spinning with a thousand terrible “what ifs”. What if he’d wandered into a road and been hit by a car? What if he’d hurt himself and was lying all alone in the woods? And what if… what if somebody thought he didn’t have an owner and had taken him home with them? She swallowed, trying to clear her head of such awful thoughts.

  “We’ll find him,” Dad said as if he could read her mind. “I promise.”

  “Let’s retrace your steps through the woods,” Mum suggested to Dad. “We can drop Chloe off on the way.” She gave Chloe an apologetic smile. “Sorry, love. I’ll give your mum a quick call. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  “It’s fine,” Chloe said. She squeezed Emily’s hand. “I can phone around when I get home and ask other people to look out for him,” she suggested. “Poor little Pickle! I wonder where he is?”

  They locked the back door and went out of the front together. Mum dialled Chloe’s parents on her mobile as they hurried down the road.

  Emily felt as if she was in a dream. It seemed so wrong, all of them walking down the road together without Pickle. She kept expecting to feel him brushing against her legs, or hear him bark. Where was he? All she could think about was how she’d called him a pest for knocking down the camp. Her cheeks burned as she remembered how she hadn’t even missed him while he’d been out with Dad. In fact, she’d enjoyed playing with Chloe without him interrupting.

  “I hope we find him soon,” she said in a small voice. “I hope he’s not scared.”

  “Honestly, darling, I’m sure he’s absolutely fine,” Mum said as they neared Chloe’s street. “Try not to worry. He’s probably having a wonderful time chasing a squirrel somewhere. We’ll find him.”

  Emily managed a small smile, imagining Pickle lolloping joyfully after every last squirrel, rabbit and mouse that lived in the woods. Mum was right – chances were he was having the time of his life. “I hope so,” she replied shakily.

  They dropped Chloe off and she hugged Emily goodbye. “I’ll tell our neighbours,” she said, “and phone everyone I can think of. Let me know when you find him, won’t you?”

  “I will,” Emily said. “Thanks, Clo.” She tried to smile but as soon as they walked away from Chloe’s house, her optimism faltered. Poor Pickle. What if she’d really upset him, telling him off for spoiling their tent? He might have run away on purpose. Maybe he was wishing he had a nicer owner, one who always let him join in with her games.

  Emily sniffed at the thought. It was too awful to bear. She could feel her bottom lip start to wobble – always a sign that she was close to tears. “Mum,” she said quietly as they carried on down the road. “What if Pickle doesn’t want to be found? What if he doesn’t want to live with us any more?”

  Mum put her arms around Emily at once. “Nonsense,” she said firmly. “Don’t even think that. I’ve never seen a happier puppy than Pickle – and that’s because of the caring way you look after him. He adores you, Em. He absolutely loves you! If anyone can help find him, it’s you, OK?”

  Emily felt a bit better. She blew her nose and nodded. “OK,” she said. “And I will find him.” And when I do, she thought to herself, I’ll make the biggest fuss of him ever. I’ll never call him a pest again!

  They retraced Dad’s steps through the woods and around the fields and farmland, calling Pickle’s name every few minutes.

  They passed quite a few dogwalkers that Emily recognized, and the family stopped each time to ask if anyone had seen Pickle. Nobody had, but they all took a note of Mum’s mobile number and promised to call if they saw him. “We lost Shelley once,” one lady said, patting her Labrador as she spoke. “Didn’t find her for hours, so I know how you must be feeling. At least there aren’t any busy roads around here. He’s probably just wandered off – it happens so easily with a puppy.”

  Emily felt comforted by the lady’s words. “Where did you find Shelley in the end?” she asked.

  “Down near Fletchers’ Farm,” the lady said. “She was playing with the farm dogs as if she didn’t have a care in the world, when I’d been tearing my hair out with worry.” She smiled. “I was so relieved, I couldn’t be cross. Anyway, I won’t keep you. I hope you find your puppy – I’ll certainly keep an eye out for him.”

  They thanked the lady and went on their way. “I hope Pickle’s playing with some other dogs,” Jack mumbled sadly.

  “Me too,” Emily said. Poor Jack looked almost as upset as she’d been feeling. “I bet he is,” she said, trying to sound more confident for his sake. “You know how friendly he is. Even at the dog training classes, he was trying to make friends with all the other puppies, wasn’t he, Dad?”

  “He was,” Dad agreed. “And hopefully if he is with another dog, the owners will give us a ring and let us know. Our phone number’s on his collar, remember. I’m sure any dog owner will look after him until we can go and pick him up. We’d do the same if we found a lost puppy, wouldn’t we?”

  “Yes,” Emily agreed. “We would.” She was feeling more positive by the minute. They would find Pickle soon, she knew it. They had to!

  Two hours later, they had walked for miles and Jack was complaining that his feet hurt. Emily’s feet were getting tired and sore too, but she couldn’t bring herself to say so.

  “I think we should turn back,” Mum said eventually. “It’s starting to get cold, and it’ll be dark before long. And you never know, somebody might have left a message on our home phone.”

  Dad agreed. “Once we’re back, we can ring around the local farms,” he added. “Ask them t
o check their outbuildings, just in case Pickle has been accidentally shut in a barn or shed.”

  “He might have found his way home,” Emily said hopefully. “He could be waiting for us on the doorstep!” It was just the sort of thing Pickle would do, she thought, and that would explain why they hadn’t found him in the woods. She imagined herself running down the road towards him, laughing with relief. THERE you are! she would say as he bounded up to meet her. You found your own way back, did you? What a clever little puppy!

  As they walked into their village and came to their road at last, Emily forgot all about her aching legs and feet and began to run. She was so sure that Pickle would be there waiting for her, wagging his feathery tail and barking with joy to see her. He had to be! “Pickle! Pickle!” she yelled. “We’re back!”

  She sped past Mr and Mrs Turner, who were unloading some shopping bags from their little blue car, and charged up the path to their house. “Pickle, are you there?” she called, her voice catching on the words as she stared into every corner of the front garden. Please be here, she thought desperately. Please, please have come home, Pickle!

  Silence greeted her words. There was no joyful bark, no scuffle of paws. Emily’s shoulders fell as bitter disappointment rushed through her.

  “Is everything all right, dear?” Mrs Turner called over in concern.

  Tears brimmed in Emily’s eyes. She’d tried so hard not to cry ever since Pickle had gone missing, but she couldn’t hold back any more. “We’ve lost Pickle,” she said as the first tears rolled down her cheeks. “We’ve been calling and calling for hours, but we can’t find him anywhere.”

  “Oh lovey,” said Mrs Turner, putting her shopping down and coming over to hug Emily. Mum, Dad and Jack walked up the path then, too.