by Anna Wilson
‘I was going to mention that too,’ muttered Pippa.
Raphael shrugged. ‘Someone else will take the job,’ he said carelessly.
Mrs Fudge frowned. ‘But I thought you loved your job, Raphael?’ she said. ‘What on earth has come over you?’
‘I – er. I just want to help me dear old frien’,’ said Raphael.
Pippa was shaking her head. ‘That’s a load of rubbish,’ she said fiercely. ‘Mrs Fudge is right, you love being a postie. You would hate being shut indoors all day with us. You wouldn’t be able to rush around on your rollerblades and you wouldn’t be able to listen to your music and you wouldn’t—’
‘And I wouldn’t be chased up and down and roun’ and roun’ by a horrible spotty dog with snarly teeth and a droopy, loopy tongue neither!’ Raphael shouted.
‘What?’ said Pippa.
Raphael hid his head in his hands and groaned. ‘Oh, I know it sound pathetic, but I is tellin’ you, I is scarified o’ this dog! Every single time I go out with me post, it leap out o’ the shadows at me and knock me flyin’! I has asked every Crumbly I can tink of and no one, nowhere knows to whom this pooch belong. I cannot be the postie any more until someone catch the dog and shut it up.’
‘Well,’ said Mrs Fudge, folding her hands in her lap decisively. ‘I agree something must be done about the dog, but, Raphael, you cannot and will not stop being our postman. I certainly will not have you helping me instead of delivering the mail. What would all the other Crumblies say?’
‘I can tell you exactly what they would say,’ said Pippa. ‘They would say that Mrs Fudge had stolen away their postman and they would be very angry indeed.’
Raphael looked downcast as his dreams of a new job vanished before his eyes.
Dash had been listening carefully. He jumped up and put his little paws on the postman’s knees. ‘Pippa’s right, you know. But don’t worry. I will keep an eye out for this dog tomorrow as soon as it’s light. I am sure I can follow it and track down its owner.’
‘I’m sure you will, Dash,’ said Mrs Fudge. ‘As for my new assistant . . .’ She paused and shook her head. ‘It looks like we are back to square one.’
6
A New Arrival
Pippa had gone home and Mrs Fudge was nodding off in her favourite armchair with Muffles snoozing on her lap and Dash curled up at her feet, when the doorbell rang.
‘Shall I go and see who it is, Mrs F.?’ Dash offered gallantly, and at a nod from his weary old friend he went trotting to the front room to peek out of the window.
Being rather under-tall, shall we say, Dash couldn’t just take a sneaky look out of the window as you or I would do. He had to take a running jump at the sofa in the bay window and leap on to the back of it, then soar from that to the window ledge. It was a trick he had got the hang of very early on in his time at the house in Liquorice Drive and he had perfected the art of landing without making the slightest noise, thereby being able to spy on whomever should be at the front door.
In the light of the porch-lamp he saw a young girl with a shock of spiky purple hair. She was dressed from top to toe in black: huge black baggy jumper, very short black skirt and thick black woolly tights on her extremely long legs, and a pair of chunky, clompy black boots on what looked like unfeasibly big feet. Looped around her neck three or four times was a long white woolly scarf with large black dots on it, and over one shoulder she carried a voluminous silver bag. Dash made out the words ‘Big Silver Bag’ on the side.
How daft, he thought. You might just as well have the words ‘Big Black Jumper’ printed on your jumper.
The girl’s ears, he noticed, were decorated with a line of tiny silver earrings which ran along the curve of her ear and glistened as the light caught them.
She was looking towards the door, waiting for someone to open it, but as Dash observed her, she glanced across at the window and spotted Dash sitting on the sill. She beamed and waved cheerily as though greeting an old friend, and Dash saw that she had a small silver hoop through one nostril and another clamped on to an eyebrow as well.
‘Hello!’ mouthed the girl.
Dash was startled. Humans did not usually wave and say ‘hello’ to him. They might smile if they liked the look of him, or pat his head if they were close enough to bend down and touch him. But he had never yet seen a human being wave at him through a window in such an affectionate and, well, human way.
I wonder if she’s quite right in the head, he thought. She certainly looks rather odd. Maybe she’s come for the job.
The stranger was now pointing at the door and shrugging as though to ask if anyone was going to let her in.
Surely she doesn’t think I can answer the door? Dash thought. She must be one dog biscuit short of a full packet.
He scampered back to the kitchen to tell Mrs Fudge.
‘I think you’re going to have to see this person. She’s not from round here and she seems quite, erm, insistent. And a bit – different from other people,’ he said, unsure how to communicate his misgivings. ‘I’m not sure whether she’s here for the job or to have her hair cut. It’s very odd.’
Mrs Fudge gently removed Muffles from her lap and pushed herself out of her chair. Then she hobbled away, muttering, ‘She surely can’t be any worse than the people I’ve seen so far.’
She opened the door a crack to squint at the beaming stranger on the doorstep.
‘Hey! Hope I’m not too late,’ said the girl, holding out a black-jumpered arm to shake Mrs Fudge enthusiastically by the hand. She was bouncing on her toes as she did so, like an over-excited puppy.
Mrs Fudge had seen some hairstyles in her time, but this girl’s was something else. And she’s so . . . energetic! she thought. She felt her arm might be pulled out of its socket if she did not stop the stranger from pumping it up and down.
Dash, meanwhile, was sniffing at the air around the stranger as he always did when he first met anyone, person or pooch.
That is an unusual aroma, he was thinking, as he twitched his pointy little nose.
He looked around carefully to see if the stranger had brought a dog with her. (Being, as I have said, somewhat under-tall for a dog, Dash was always cautious in such situations, in case a larger animal bowled him over.)
However, just as he thought he might be getting to the bottom of where the smell was coming from, the girl hunched her shoulders and slipped between Mrs Fudge and the half-opened door. She stepped inside the house, slamming the door shut behind her before Mrs Fudge could speak. ‘The name’s Minx Polka,’ she announced. ‘I’ve come about the assistant thingie.’
Mrs Fudge blinked at Minx. Minx peered at the little old lady, who was looking very confused. ‘Unless . . . Oh, no. Have you given it to someone else already?’ she asked.
The exhausted Mrs Fudge did not know if she had the energy to deal with this chirpy, cheery, bizarrely dressed girl. Frankly, she was beyond warming to anyone or anything other than a cup of tea and a hot-water bottle at that moment in time. She stared at the girl for a second and then gestured to Minx to follow her without a word.
Dash was puzzled by Mrs Fudge’s behaviour, which he couldn’t help feeling was quite unlike his old friend, and so he spoke aloud without thinking: ‘Do follow us, Minx. You must excuse Mrs Fudge, she’s rather worn out today, I’m afraid.’
‘Cool!’ said Minx, stopping to scrutinize Dash closely. ‘Your little dog’s dead polite.’
At this, Mrs Fudge stopped abruptly in her slow painful tracks and turned back. ‘I’m – I’m sorry?’ she faltered. She was getting more confused by the second. No one but she, Pippa and Raphael had been able to understand Dash since he arrived one stormy night out of nowhere. Could it be that this stranger could understand him too? Was this a sign?
Minx let out a tinkling laugh. ‘Only joking. Really chatty though, isn’t he? He sounds polite – all that cute yappy barking.’
‘Cute?!’ Dash repeated, appalled. ‘Yappy?!’
; Mrs Fudge scooped him up and nuzzled his soft ear against her cheek so that she could whisper, ‘Shh.’ Then looking at Minx she said carefully, ‘He certainly is a very friendly dog, I’ll give you that. Now, dear, why don’t you hang your scarf and bag on one of those pegs there and come into the kitchen.’
‘Oh, er, yeah.’ Minx hesitated. ‘I’ll keep my bag with me, if that’s OK.’
Dash watched as Minx hung up her scarf: now that she was not wearing it, Dash noticed a band of leather around the girl’s neck. It had metal studs in it.
‘Strange necklace,’ he muttered aloud. ‘Looks a bit like a collar – for humans.’
Minx turned and winked at him, fingering her necklace as she did so.
Dash started. She does understand me!
7
The Dog Whisperer
Once Minx was settled at the table with a steaming cup of tea in her hands, Mrs Fudge gathered her strength to focus on her odd-looking visitor. She took her half-moon spectacles off and set them gently on the table. Then, squeezing her tired eyes shut for a second, she pinched the bridge of her nose, smiled, blinked and said to Minx, ‘Why don’t we start with you telling me a bit about yourself?’
Minx hugged her bag to her, nodded and began. ‘So. I’m Minx Polka. I’m from . . . well, I’m not from around here. I’ve come to the area to do some house-sitting. I’ve been rushing all over the place, travelling here and there—’
‘Travelling?’ Mrs Fudge interrupted, suddenly perking up. ‘Oh, I used to travel,’ she added, with a faraway look in her eyes. ‘When dear Mr Fudge was alive, we went all over the world.’
Dash pricked up one ear before collapsing into his basket with a long, doggy sigh. ‘Here we go. We’re going to hear those old stories again, are we?’
Minx laughed. ‘Your pooch’s heard it all before, has he?’ She winked at Dash again.
Dash sat to attention, the fur on his neck raised, his ears pricked and alert. ‘She can understand me! I told you, Mrs Fudge!’ he said.
Muffles opened one eye and hissed quietly.
Mrs Fudge was so flustered by what Dash was saying that she didn’t see Minx reach quietly into her bag, pull out a treat and slip it to Dash. ‘I – er, oh,’ she stammered, not knowing what to think. ‘Don’t pay any attention to Dash’s funny little noises. He just, er, needs a walk.’
‘I do not!’ Dash protested, lying down defensively. He made a show of refusing the treat. ‘Don’t go putting me out. I want to hear more from this person.’
‘I don’t think he fancies going out just now,’ said Minx, observing Dash closely. Then she turned and caught the look of puzzlement on Mrs Fudge’s pale face. She chuckled. ‘Think I’m weird, don’t you? Talking like I can understand what your dog’s saying. Well, I do. Kind of. I mean, not literally of course!’ She paused to take a deep breath. ‘I’ve had loads of experience working with dogs. It’s the main reason I would love this job,’ she explained in a rush.
‘Oh?’ said Mrs Fudge.
‘Yeah. I sort of . . . read their body language. Dogs are expressive that way, y’know? It’s not their barking or whining or anything like that,’ Minx explained. ‘That kind of thing’s important, course. But it’s their bodies you need to watch – it’s how they communicate with each other, you see.’
‘My word!’ exclaimed Mrs Fudge. ‘How clever you are!’
And what utterly delicious snacks you have! thought Dash. He had not been able to resist the tempting treat for long. In fact, so keen was he to get his paws on another one that he had stopped listening altogether to the conversation going on above his head.
‘Not really.’ Minx shrugged. ‘I learned from this guy I met when I was travelling. He was a dog whisperer.’ She put her head on one side and smiled. ‘So, about the job?’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Fudge happily. At last her problems looked as though they might vanish overnight. ‘Have you got experience in dog-grooming?’ She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. I must remain professional, she told herself. This girl could be from anywhere. Oh, I do hope she’s not too good to be true!
‘Too right I have experience!’ cried Minx, her dark eyes shining. ‘Dog-walking, dog-grooming, dog-feeding, you name it! I adore dogs.’
Muffles’s hackles shot up at this.
Minx glanced at the cat, then nervously scratched at her right ear and continued at top speed: ‘And I’ve been bored out of my brains at the moment – I have to get out. This house-sitting thing is total Yawnsville. I mean, once I’ve cleaned the house and rearranged the kitchen cupboards for the fiftieth time, there’s nothing more to do than run around – I mean, sit and twiddle my thumbs. Besides, it doesn’t pay that well, and I could do with some cash. When I saw your advertisement, it just seemed perfect. I need a job,’ she finished, panting slightly.
‘Well, you certainly seem enthusiastic,’ said Mrs Fudge, peering at her over the top of her spectacles. ‘And do you have a dog yourself?’ she asked. ‘Because if so, you know you’d be more than welcome to bring—’
‘No,’ said Minx abruptly. Her cheery demeanour disappeared in an instant; in fact her face looked suddenly quite frosty. Mrs Fudge frowned, and Minx continued hastily, ‘No, I really don’t have enough time to look after a dog . . . which is really sad, as like I said, I do love them.’ She forced a smile back on to her face and scratched her ear again.
‘Not enough time?’ said Mrs Fudge. ‘But, er, I thought you just told me that you didn’t have enough to do at the moment. I think you said that house-sitting was, er, “Yawnsville”?’ she added, the word sounding foreign coming from her own mouth.
‘Yeah, well. Looking after a dog’s a full-time business, isn’t it? And anyway, like I said, I really need the money. It’s not just about keeping busy,’ Minx said. ‘So when can I start?’
There was a nagging sensation in the back of Mrs Fudge’s mind that she was being pushed about a bit and that she really should ask more questions of this newcomer, but on top of the nagging was an overriding feeling that she wasn’t likely to find anyone else as energetic and knowledgeable as Minx.
‘All right,’ she said slowly. ‘Well, it’s getting a bit late now and I’ve had a long day, so how about you come back tomorrow and we’ll have a trial run with a couple of the dogs who are coming in for a shampoo? You can do them while I’m dealing with their owners’ hair. And we’ll see how we go from there?’
Minx’s face lit up with joy. She jumped up and rushed to give the unsuspecting Mrs Fudge a huge bear hug. ‘Thank you, Mrs Fudge!’ she cried. ‘I promise you won’t regret it.’
‘Yes, well – er, thank you, dear,’ said Mrs Fudge, straightening her spectacles as she pulled away from the crushing cuddle. ‘I am sure I won’t.’
And if you bring more of those treats, I won’t regret it either! said Dash to himself.
8
Pippa Peppercorn Is Unimpressed
The next day was a Saturday, and Pippa was due to help out as usual. Dash could hardly wait for the day to begin; he had been up since first light, rushing backwards and forwards from the front door to the kitchen. He was so excited that he had completely forgotten his promise to Raphael to go out looking for the big spotty dog.
‘When will Minx get here? I hope she won’t be late. I hope she brings those treats again,’ he muttered to himself as he zoomed about.
Pippa Peppercorn arrived bang on time, as usual. Her weekends at Chop ’n’ Chat were the highlight of her week.
Her voice could be heard ringing merrily down the hallway, ‘Hell-ooo! It’s mee-eee!’ She slammed the front door, her red plaits bouncing cheerily off her shoulders. She sang to herself as she skipped to the kitchen, her gangly legs going every which way.
‘Pippa dear,’ Mrs Fudge welcomed her warmly. ‘I have some rather exciting news for you.’
She proceeded to tell her young assistant about Minx. ‘She is a bit of a wonder, really. She has learned to read dogs’ body language – from a �
�dog whisperer”, apparently – and I have to say, she’s very convincing.’
Muffles hissed. She was suspicious of anything to do with dogs, and dog whispering sounded very unsettling to her.
‘It’s true!’ chipped in Dash. ‘She understood me so well that we thought she was going to be able to talk to me just like you and Mrs Fudge do!’
The more Mrs Fudge and Dash wittered on to one another, the stiffer and more uptight Pippa’s stance became. By the time Mrs Fudge announced, ‘I do believe she’ll spell the end of all our troubles!’ Pippa’s arms were crossed so firmly across her chest that she looked as though she was attempting to restrain herself from lashing out in fury. Her crystal-blue eyes were flashing like lightning bolts; even her hair seemed to crackle with angry electricity.
It came as quite a shock to Mrs Fudge when Pippa burst out with the words, ‘So you don’t need me any more then – is that it?’
‘Pippa!’ Mrs Fudge exclaimed, bustling over and throwing her arms around her small friend. ‘That is not at all what this is about! Surely you know that.’
Dash jumped up to lick Pippa’s hand (which was hanging limply by her side as the rest of her was crushed into Mrs Fudge’s large cuddly frame). ‘Mrs Fudge is only relieved to have found someone to help,’ he said, in an effort to console his friend. ‘And when you meet Minx, I’m sure you’ll like her too!’
Pippa shrugged off Mrs Fudge’s warm embrace and scowled at the pair of well-meaning faces in front of her. ‘Well, I’m very upset,’ she said. ‘I am the only assistant round here and I don’t want some know-it-all person who whispers to dogs taking over from me. So there.’
‘Miaow,’ Muffles mewed in agreement.
‘Now, now,’ said Mrs Fudge consolingly. ‘No one is going to be “taking over” from you. Sit down and have a cup of hot chocolate and we’ll talk about this properly.’