“Isn’t he here?” Jack asked, sounding disappointed.
Emily shook her head. “No,” she replied in a muffled voice, still in Mrs Turner’s arms.
“Well, we haven’t seen him,” Mrs Turner said, “and we’ve been out and about all afternoon. I know we would have noticed if he’d been scampering around the village. Have you tried phoning the local vets in case anyone has found him and taken him there?”
Mr Turner had come over to join them. “You could try the RSPCA, too. They’ve got a centre not far from here,” he suggested.
“Thanks, we will,” Mum said. She stroked Emily’s hair. “Don’t fret. He’s got to be somewhere.”
They went inside and checked the answerphone for messages. Nobody had left one, other than Chloe asking if there was any news.
Dad made a few phone calls while Mum started cooking dinner. The house felt so empty and quiet without Pickle. Every room Emily went into reminded her of him: his spare lead in the hall, his toys scattered around the living room, his food bowl and bed in the kitchen. She kept expecting him to come bursting in, racing over to her barking, his tail wagging non-stop as he licked her face. But he didn’t.
Emily went over to Pickle’s basket and knelt beside it for a moment, looking at her puppy’s blanket and his favourite cuddly bear, which was lying in there as always. She remembered how, just the day before, she’d been there coaxing him to “Get in your basket!” and how he’d stumbled sleepily across the room to clamber inside. He was so sweet when he was tired.
With a lump in her throat, she found herself stroking the soft fleecy lining of the basket, wishing that Pickle was curled up in there tonight, snoring his cute doggy snores again.
She sat back on her heels and sighed. If only she hadn’t been so keen for Dad to take him out on a long walk, Pickle would be here now. If only she’d suggested that she and Chloe went on the walk, too, she could have kept a closer eye on him!
She gave a little sob, and Mum glanced over at her. “Oh, darling, don’t cry,” she said gently. “I know you’re worried, but I’m sure we’ll get him back soon. Someone will find him, even if we didn’t. Don’t lose hope!”
Emily nodded, wiping her eyes. She mustn’t give up on finding Pickle. And she shouldn’t sit around feeling sorry for herself while he was still out there, all on his own. He was counting on her to find him and she wouldn’t let her best friend down!
Dad came into the room just then. “I’ve left messages with all the farmers, and tried the local vets and the RSPCA, too,” he said. “I figured the more people who know about him the better.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Emily said. His words had given her an idea, and she got to her feet.
“Can I go up and down our road, asking people if they’ve seen Pickle?” she begged her parents. There were only fifteen or so houses on the road and Emily knew everyone who lived there.
Mum looked up from chopping onions. “Good idea,” she said. “Come straight back afterwards, though, won’t you, because dinner will be ready at six. And don’t cross the road without being very careful.”
“OK,” Emily said. They were lucky enough to live on a quiet street with hardly any traffic, but she knew to always stop and check.
“Ask people if they’d mind looking in their garages and sheds, too,” Dad suggested. “He’s such an inquisitive little fella, he might have found his way in somewhere and got trapped.”
“OK,” Emily said again. “I won’t be long.”
She went out into the street and began knocking on her neighbours’ doors. As soon as she said Pickle was lost, everyone was full of concern. “Let me know if he’s still not back tomorrow and you want help looking,” said Mr Warburton at number twelve.
“I’ll keep an eye out when we walk Buster later on,” promised Mrs Jackson at number ten. “If he’s anywhere around here, Buster will sniff him out, don’t you worry.”
“I’ll tell everyone down at the pub to watch out for him,” said Lizzie Miles at number six. She worked as a waitress in The Red Lion on Saturday nights, and was just heading off there when Emily knocked.
“Thanks,” Emily said – to Lizzie and Mrs Jackson and Mr Warburton, and to everyone else who kindly offered to help. Although he was only a little pup, Pickle was well loved in the village. Everyone seemed sorry to hear he’d gone missing.
Emily glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost six o’clock, so she trudged back home, hoping there might be good news waiting for her. Maybe somebody had phoned to say they’d found him. Maybe right now, Dad was grabbing the car keys, about to set off and collect him.
She ran the last few steps home with her fingers crossed. Hang on, Pickle, she murmured under her breath. We’ll have you home soon – I promise.
Everyone was quiet as they ate dinner that evening. The phone rang and Emily nearly knocked over her chair rushing to answer it, but it was only Grandma calling for a chat. Then, as they were halfway through pudding, the doorbell chimed and once again Emily bolted from her seat to answer it, with hopeful visions of one of their neighbours standing there with Pickle in their arms. It was just one of Dad’s friends, though, stopping by to talk about the game of golf they’d arranged later in the week.
“Maybe we should have one last look around the village,” Emily suggested as she helped Dad load the dishwasher with their plates and cutlery.
Dad shook his head. “It’s getting dark now, love,” he replied. “Let’s set out in the morning and look again then.”
Emily’s shoulders drooped. “I just hate the thought of him being somewhere out there, all on his own,” she said, gazing into the garden. “He’ll be so scared and cold.”
Dad put an arm around her. “He’s a clever little pup remember,” he said comfortingly. “I bet he’s found somewhere really cosy to sleep, and is all curled up, his nose tucked in his paws, while he dreams about the adventures he’s had. And tomorrow morning, first thing, we’ll go out looking again – all day if we have to. We won’t stop looking until we’ve found him, all right?”
Emily nodded. “All right,” she agreed.
A bit later, Mum helped Emily clear up the tent she and Chloe had made in the garden. As Emily carried in their drawings, the picture she’d drawn of Pickle with the bone in his mouth gave her an idea. “Maybe I can make a ‘Lost Puppy’ poster,” she suggested. “We could stick it all around the village with a photo of Pickle and our phone number. That way, more people will know he’s missing and will help find him.”
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Mum said. “If we design it on the computer, we can print off lots of copies.”
“Can I do a poster too?” Jack asked. He’d been very quiet since Pickle had gone missing but seemed to brighten at Emily’s suggestion. “I could use my paints.”
Emily smiled. “Thanks, Jack,” she said. “That would be really helpful.”
Mum spread sheets of newspaper on the kitchen table and got out the paint and felt-tips for Jack while the computer whirred to life. Then Emily started work on her poster.
MISSING! she typed in big letters.
“Let’s put in a big photo of Pickle so that everyone can see exactly what he looks like,” Mum said, opening up the folder of photos on the computer. “Why don’t you choose one, and then I’ll show you how to drop it into the document.”
“OK,” Emily agreed. A row of thumbnail photos appeared on screen and she clicked on the first to make it bigger. “Ohhh,” she said, smiling. “Mum, look. Remember how tiny he was at first?”
Mum and Jack came to see. The photo had been taken on the day Pickle had come to live with them, back when he was still so small that he could fit on Dad’s hand. It showed him sitting on Emily’s lap, his eyes wide and bright, and his head slightly cocked as if he were taking in his new surroundings. Both he and Emily looked really happy together.
“Ador
able,” Mum said. “Maybe for the poster you could find one of him when he’s a bit older, though, to show what he looks like now?”
Emily scrolled through the photos. There was Pickle curled up fast asleep in his basket for the first time. He looked so teeny-tiny! Mind you, he hadn’t slept for long that first night – he’d woken everyone up later on, crying piteously. “Poor thing, are you missing your mummy?” Emily had said when she went down to comfort him, stroking his trembling body.
Mum had appeared in the kitchen too, holding a small clock. She’d read that some little puppies liked sleeping with a ticking clock in their bed, because it reminded them of hearing their mother’s heartbeat, so they tried it with Pickle… and within moments he’d fallen asleep, curled around the clock.
An hour later, though, the cries had come again. Emily crept downstairs a second time, taking him into her arms and cuddling him in the dark, quiet kitchen. “I’ll look after you, Pickle, don’t worry,” she whispered to him. “I’ll be your mummy now.”
Once he’d dozed off, she’d slid him gently back into his basket and tiptoed up to her own bed… but then, at about five o’clock in the morning, she’d heard him again, making the saddest, loneliest little sounds. Unable to bear hearing him so miserable, she sneaked her pillow and a sleeping bag downstairs and spent the rest of the night dozing next to him on the kitchen floor.
Emily smiled, remembering how Mum had come in the next morning to find them both fast asleep. After that, Emily had been banned from sleeping on the kitchen floor – “You’ll be too tired for school!” Mum had said – but they discovered that if Pickle went to bed with an alarm clock and a hot water bottle wrapped in a nice soft blanket, he slept much better. The warmth of the hot water bottle must have reminded him of sleeping with his mum and brothers and sisters, they thought.
Other photos in the collection showed Pickle getting used to living with them in different ways. One picture was of him all bedraggled and wet, after he’d fallen into his own water bowl. Another showed him falling asleep on Mum’s fluffy pink slipper, and there were lots of him trotting about with his blue bear in his mouth. Then came the first day he was allowed outside – Emily would never forget that! Pickle had been so excited he must have sniffed every single blade of grass, and every leaf and flower in the garden!
“Have you found one yet?” Mum asked, interrupting Emily’s memories.
“Not yet,” she replied, flicking forward through more photos. Pickle with his new lead and collar. Pickle in the bath. Pickle playing with Jessie, Grandma’s elderly Yorkshire terrier. Pickle in the park chasing after a football with Jack. There were so many lovely pictures, it was hard to choose one.
At last she found the perfect photo. It had been taken a week or so ago, when the whole family had gone out for a long walk together. The picture showed Pickle standing in a field, his tongue hanging out in a big smile. “This one would be good,” she said, showing Mum.
“That’s a lovely one,” Mum agreed. “Oh yes – that was when we took a picnic on the Downs, wasn’t it?”
“And Pickle rolled in the fox poo,” Jack remembered with a laugh. “Yuck!”
Emily grinned. “Yes, and he pinched Dad’s sandwich right out of his hand,” she said. “Cheeky pup!”
Once Mum had shown Emily how to add the photo to the poster, Emily typed in a brief description of Pickle, and where he’d last been seen. Then she hesitated. “Do you think we should offer people a reward for finding him?” she wondered. “I’ve got six pounds in my money box.”
“I’ve got two pounds fifty,” Jack put in at once.
“That’s very generous of you both,” Mum said. “Keep your money, though. The reward can be that I’ll make cakes for whoever finds Pickle – one cake a week for the next three months!”
Emily smiled. Mum was known throughout the village for her cakes. Nobody would be able to resist such a brilliant reward!
Free cake for three months to whoever finds Pickle, Emily typed, and added their phone number in a large, bold font. There! If that didn’t get the whole village out searching for her puppy, nothing would.
“Finished!” Jack cried at that moment and held up his poster. There was a brown blobby picture of Pickle with four wonky legs, and underneath he’d written in careful black letters: Pleese find our dogg Pickel. We miss himm so mutch.
“I drew a sad face, too, to show that we’re feeling sad,” Jack said proudly.
“It’s perfect,” Emily said, giving her little brother a hug. “Thank you, Jack. Now everybody will know to look out for him.”
“We’ll take some photocopies at the village shop tomorrow morning, Jack,” Mum said. “Then we can put them and Emily’s poster all around the village.”
Emily felt a bit better as copy after copy of her poster came rolling smoothly out from the printer. She’d done everything she could think of to find Pickle today. Tomorrow, the posters would go up, and she and Dad would set out searching in the fields and woods again. Someone would find him soon, she was sure of it. And whoever did would not only earn themselves lots of yummy cakes from Mum, but they’d have Emily’s lifelong gratitude, too.
It was hard to get to sleep that night when all Emily could think about was Pickle. Eventually, after a lot of tossing and turning, she finally dozed off, only to dream that she was running through a forest calling her puppy’s name. She kept thinking she saw his waggy white tail disappearing behind trees, and ran on and on through the undergrowth, calling breathlessly. Wait for me, Pickle, she kept shouting in the dream. Stop!
Emily woke with a start, her heart thudding. It was just a dream, she thought in relief – but then in the next moment, she remembered everything that had happened the day before. Pickle was still missing!
It was nearly six o’clock and she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep any more, so she scrambled out of bed and padded downstairs in her dressing gown. The kitchen seemed horribly silent without her friendly pup to greet her in his usual bouncy way.
She was just about to help herself to some cereal when the door opened, and in came Dad. “Couldn’t sleep?” he said. “Me neither. Let’s have a big breakfast, and then I’ll make us some sandwiches and we can head off. We’ve got a Pickle-pup to bring home, haven’t we?”
Emily smiled. She liked the way Dad seemed so certain that they’d find him. “We have,” she agreed. “And we will!”
Dad put the kettle on and looked in the fridge. “All puppy-hunters should set off with a full stomach,” he declared. “How does bacon, eggs and toast sound?”
“Perfect,” Emily said happily. Dad’s energy and enthusiasm was starting to rub off on her. Yes, we WILL find Pickle today, she thought to herself. No doubt about it!
Dad popped some slices of bread into the toaster while Emily poured them each some orange juice. Then she buttered the toast while Dad cracked eggs into the hot frying pan and grilled the rashers of bacon.
After they’d eaten, Dad made a thermos of coffee and put together a picnic. “Hopefully we’ll be back before lunch, but we might need provisions,” he said. “Go and get dressed, Em, and brush your teeth while I have a quick shower. Then we’ll get going.”
By seven o’clock that morning, Dad and Emily were walking down the road. The sun had risen, painting the sky with streaks of apricot and rose, and the air felt cool and fresh. Jack was still asleep in bed but Mum had got up to wave them off. “Good luck,” she’d said. “And let me know as soon as you have any news. Once Jack’s up, we’ll take the posters around the village and spread the word.”
Dad had hesitated in the doorway with a grin. “About this reward. . .” he’d said cheekily. “If me and Em find Pickle, will we still get the cakes?”
Mum had laughed. “Absolutely,” she’d replied. “With extra icing and sprinkles. I’ll even make a special puppy-food cake for Pickle. See you later.”
Em
ily and Dad headed into Albany Woods together. There was some early-morning mist clinging to the trees, which made it feel damp and spooky. “I hope Pickle didn’t get too cold last night,” Emily said, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets to keep them warm.
“I bet he squeezed himself into a cosy rabbit hole or badger sett,” Dad said. “He’s probably made friends with all the woodland animals by now.”
Emily smiled. “Wouldn’t it be great,” she said, “if we were walking along, and Pickle’s head suddenly popped up out of a rabbit hole?”
Dad laughed. “Now that I’d like to see,” he agreed.
They walked right through the woods calling Pickle’s name, but there was no sign of him. After a while, the mist cleared as the sun rose higher in the sky, and the birds began singing in the trees. The perfect spring morning to walk your dog, Emily thought to herself. Now they just needed to find their dog.
“Pickle!” she called in a high voice. “Piiiiiiiickle!”
She wondered if Jack was awake yet and, if so, whether he and Mum had gone out to pin up posters around the village. With Pickle’s picture on every lamp post and telegraph pole, he would soon be the most famous dog in the neighbourhood.
Just then, Emily heard a faint sound on the breeze and stopped dead in her tracks. Barking. She could hear barking!
“PICKLE!” she shouted excitedly. The barking sounded just like her puppy… but where was he?
Woof! Woof! There it was again, so quiet you could only hear it if you strained to listen. “I think it’s coming from this way,” she said, pointing to her right. “Come on!”
She and Dad ran through the undergrowth, eyes scanning every single shrub and grassy patch. “Pickle, we’re here!” she called again. “Pickle, we’re coming!”
On and on they ran. Emily’s heart was thumping with excitement. She couldn’t believe they’d found Pickle already. She couldn’t wait to scoop him up in the biggest cuddle ever!
Puppy Gets Stuck Page 3