by Joy Cowley
“It might mean that we’ll find a safe nest in the town,” she said, and I realised she was deeply disturbed. This morning she believed she had lost me and Alpha at a foreign railway station. Then her gentle Beta had been almost eaten by a giant eel. It was all too much for a motherly rat who’d been born at the back of a first-class Greek restaurant. I licked behind her left ear. “Don’t worry, my love. Think of our family star. We’ll be safely guided.”
When Alpha came back, she seemed very excited. “I’ve found a boat!”
“What kind of boat?” Retsina asked.
“Where?” I said.
Alpha answered both questions. “It’s a humming-bean cooking pot. Come! I’ll show you!”
Retsina stayed with the other three while I followed Alpha to the space between the two houses with wheels. Under the cloth-skin line was a fireplace, and nearby on a shelf was a large pot and cooking tools. Alpha pointed to the pot. “No eel will bite that!”
I considered it: a strong metal pot with a handle on each side. Certainly it would contain a family of six. But there was a problem. “How will we propel it across the lake?”
“With oars!” said Alpha, indicating two cooking tools: a wooden spoon and a long-handled food scraper. She stood on her hind paws to touch a handle on the pot. “The oars can fit through these loops.”
I was pleased that she had done so well. “My clever ratlet!” I cried.
When we told Retsina, she was still anxious. “How will we get it to the water?”
“That’s what family is for,” Alpha replied.
It did take all of us to push the pot down the slope to the water’s edge, and the closer we got, the more cautious we became. Poor Beta was terrified. But no eel came into the shallows to investigate. I suspect that a metal saucepan was less attractive than a plump little rat.
All the while, the terrible terrier was barking its anger with a madness that had it straining at the end of the rope. We took no notice but kept well out of its reach when we went back for the tools that would be our oars. I dragged one and Retsina dragged the other. Now we had a boat sitting on the edge of the water, two oars in place, but how would we launch it? I suggested we get the ratlets on board first. That was a simple matter. Each climbed up my back and over the top of the pot. Their weight inside it, however, anchored it firmly in the mud. I looked beyond it, checking the surface of the lake for threatening ripples. All was calm. The only threats came from the dog dancing at the end of its tether and telling us what it would do with us.
“Push!” I said to Retsina.
We both pushed as hard as we could. The pot moved a little but was still aground.
“Another push!” I said. “One, two, three!” The pot moved a paw space so that it was half in the water.
“Try again!” said Retsina.
We were both so occupied with launching our pot boat that we hadn’t noticed that the dog had stopped barking. It was Alpha who told us why. “Papa! Mama! Hurry! The dog is biting through its rope.”
I glanced back. It was true. The terrier was chewing the tether that kept us safe. “Push!” I yelled at Retsina.
How we strained against the pot! It was stubbornly slow but each push was a little easier, as the water took some of the pot’s weight.
“Hurry, Papa!” Alpha screamed.
One more heave and the pot bobbed a little. I knew that when Retsina and I got on board, it would go aground again. We needed to take it out further, but that risked us becoming eel bait.
“The dog’s loose! It’s coming!”
We waded deeper, steering the pot out, then I helped Retsina up the side. She tumbled over and reached for my paw. Meanwhile, Alpha and Gamma had taken an oar each. Barking furiously, the dog raced down the beach, but by the time it got to the water’s edge, our pot was bobbing nicely and moving with strokes of the cooking tools. Retsina and I took control of the oars because we were stronger and taller on our hind legs. We were now too deep for wading, and the angry dog was yelling insults from the rim of water. “I’ll get you! I’ll bite out your eyes! I’ll bite off your tails!”
I laughed. “Do your worst, you stupid mongrel!”
I should not have taunted it. In the heat of the moment, I had forgotten that dogs are good swimmers. The terrier made a determined leap into the water and came after us with strong, sure strokes. Its paws were much faster than our makeshift oars.
“Go back!” I yelled at it. “Come any closer and I’ll hit you with this paddle!”
My threat was feeble and the dog knew it. Although it was not a big dog, it was certainly bigger than a family of rats. It would tip the pot over and we’d all find ourselves in the stomachs of hungry eels.
Now the terrier was almost upon us. Its paws paddled fast and it grinned up at me, certain of victory. I looked at the sharp teeth embedded in that smile. Then I observed a disturbance in the water behind the dog’s short tail. The dog’s expression suddenly changed. It turned its head, but before it could yelp, it went under the water and disappeared.
Our pot rocked slightly in small waves and then became steady again, as though nothing had happened. Only Beta cried for the dog. I may have mentioned that Beta is very tender-hearted. The rest of us were too relieved to feel any sympathy for a terrier taken by a giant eel. I glanced over Retsina’s shoulder and saw we were nearly at the opposite shore. It was indeed a narrow lake.
“You were right,” Retsina said to me.
“Right?” I looked at her. “About what?”
“Everything!” She smiled. “We were safe. Your whiskers didn’t twitch once.”
CHAPTER FIVE
NOT ALL CLOVER MEADOWS ARE SWEET
Having successfully crossed the lake, we left our pot boat and oars in a patch of rushes. We were confident now that we could get to Ratenburg, but if we wanted to return home, then the boat with two oars could be useful again.
Retsina and I helped our ratlets through the rushes and up a low hill. The view from the top was very fine indeed: a country road with humming-bean houses, barns for cows and hay, and large fields of grass, barley and corn. It was surely a land of plenty and would be ideal for rats, were it not so populated with dogs. We could hear hounds barking to each other from farm to farm.
Beta, who had the memory for this part of the journey, reminded us, “The farmers have trained their dogs to get rid of rabbits and rats. Uncle Signal said we must travel at night.”
I was still a little sensitive about that brown and white Railway rat. I glanced at Retsina, then said to Beta, “Uncle Signal has never travelled the map. Nor is that likely. Rats like him have usually descended from humming-bean pets. Their ancestors lived in cages with mousie toys.”
“Nonsense!” snapped Retsina. “Signal comes from a long line of very intelligent Laboratory rats. His grandmother trained humming beans to give her a piece of cheese when she ran through a maze. How many rats can do that?”
I sniffed. “I was merely making the observation that he has never been here.” I drew my tail around me, aware that it was still very sore. “I don’t care what kind of ancestry he has. I’m saying that a map isn’t the journey. Did the great Signal tell us that the train would stop at every station? Did he warn us about the terrible terrier?”
“I don’t have to listen to this!” said Retsina.
Delta came between us. “Will you two stop shouting? We’ve had enough dog attention for the day.”
Beta said, “Papa, Mama, I’ve been thinking. We need a safe place to rest until dark. If the rabbits have been hunted, there should be some empty rabbit tunnels in the fields.”
Retsina and I were surprised that our gentle Beta should have such a clever idea. We also felt somewhat embarrassed that we had quarrelled in front of the ratlets. I congratulated Beta, and Retsina suggested that when we came upon a suitable rabbit tunnel, we should find a ripe corncob to take down it. With much enthusiasm and some caution, we set off down the hill. We could hear the dogs but didn’t
see them, and since their barking was conversational, we assumed that they didn’t know we were in their territory.
The first to locate an empty rabbit burrow was Gamma. We thought this was a lucky find until we discovered vacant holes all over the hillside. Some still smelled faintly of rabbit, while others had been long empty and had grass roots growing through their ceilings. I felt a chill. I was not particularly fond of rabbits but they were harmless creatures and I did not wish them ill. That there should be so many forsaken tunnels suggested either a great migration or a great slaughter. I suspected the latter and was convinced it would not be good for us to linger in Sweet Clover Meadows. We would rest until dark and then recommence our journey.
The chosen tunnel was near the corn field. Gamma ran up a stalk and severed a plump, ripe cob. It fell with a heavy plop and we rolled it into the tunnel opening. Ah, what pleasure! There can surely be no greater delicacy than kernels of corn fresh from the plant. After the feast, we lay at the bottom of the burrow, utterly content, and Delta said, “Papa, tell us the story of brave Grandpa Mizzen.”
“You want to hear that again?” I asked.
“Yes, yes!” they all said, and Retsina added, “If you are not too tired.”
“Papa Mizzen and Mama Sloop lived on an old cargo ship that went around the world carrying containers as big as houses.”
“Tell us what was in them!” cried Beta.
“Bunches of green bananas from Ecuador. Car engines from Italy.”
They knew this by heart and chanted with me. “Truffles from France. Sausages from Germany. Herrings from Norway.”
“You left out olives from Greece,” said Retsina.
“Olives and delicious retsina wine from Greece,” I said. “But one day the ship with a cargo of containers hit some rocks and began to sink. So what do rats always do?”
“They always leave a sinking ship!” our ratlets shouted.
“Not my father,” I told them. “He stood bravely on the deck while all the other rats dived overboard and swam for the shore. ‘The captain goes down with the ship!’ he said. Mama Sloop was in the water, waiting for him. ‘You are not the captain, you fool!’ she said. ‘You are my husband! Jump!’ But he would not jump. She shouted, ‘You are the father of my ratlets.’ ‘What ratlets?’ he said. ‘We don’t have any babies.’ ‘We will have some soon,’ said Mama Sloop. ‘Jump or I’ll come up there and push you off.’ So my brave papa, Mizzen Rat, jumped into the water and swam to the shore with Mama Sloop. The next day seven ratlets were born on a ledge under a wharf. I was the last to arrive.”
Gamma said, “Now tell us how you and Mama met.”
“Another time,” I told him. “We’ve had a long day and we’re all tired. Go to sleep.”
Full of good food, and safe in the darkness of the rabbit burrow, we went into such a deep sleep, we lost a sense of time.
It was an unfamiliar noise that woke me, a scraping sound. Instantly alert, I eased away from the tangle of slumbering fur and crept up the dark tunnel. The scratching noise grew louder. Large paws raked at the opening, and then a snout plugged the hole. Yes, it was a dog, one much larger than the terrier, a hound of some sort with a great bulge of sniffing nose. It could smell me. I was sure of that. Although there was almost no light, I could see the nostrils dilating. The beast pushed harder and its muzzle came into the hole, floppy jowls and a wet mouth, breath stinking of rotten meat. But the hole was too tight to allow the mouth to open, so I knew that I could safely attack. I lunged at the nose and clamped my teeth onto it.
The hound pulled back so quickly that I was yanked out of the burrow. Fortunately, the dog was too surprised by the attack to take advantage of the fact that a rat was dangling in front of its face. It shook its head, I fell off and in an instant I was back down the hole. But in that instant I registered two things: it was already night and the hound was loose. So much for Signal’s information about dogs being tied up when it was dark!
The hound went loping off, whimpering, but I knew it would be back. There were stories about rat-hunters, how a dog would stand guard until a humming bean came with fire and smoke to drive rats into the open. I went back down the burrow and woke the family. It was time to move.
I didn’t tell my wife about the hound. I didn’t need to. She sniffed as we came out of the burrow, and whispered, “Dog.”
I said in her ear, “Gone.”
There was no way of knowing how many dogs were roaming about in the dark, so I chose a path through the corn field. If a dog did pick up our scent, it would not be able to find us without making a noise. Corn plants rustle and rattle, and these were planted close, only a rat’s distance apart. We ran in our usual formation, Retsina in front, the ratlets and then me, pausing a couple of times to listen for dogs. There was distant barking but nothing close. I looked up past corn leaves, and in a small patch of dark sky, I saw a magnificent omen. “Look, everyone! Our family star!”
Six noses pointed skyward. Six sets of whiskers moved at the edges of smiles. There was our beautiful star shining down on us. Rats backward!
Then an all too familiar voice said, “It’s a planet!”
I jumped, certain that this was in my imagination, but no, from around a corn stalk came Pirate rat Roger. “I thought it was you,” he said.
My mind was in such a state of confusion, I could not utter a word.
He patted his stomach, even rounder than usual. “I’m sick of corn. I’ve been here all day.”
Retsina said, “How did you get across the lake?”
“Not a problem,” he said. “Sunsweep town didn’t have a cosy tavern, so I decided to cross the lake. The humans have a ferry boat that goes back and forth. Did you see the jetty? I hid in a picnic basket and had a free lunch with my ride. How did you get across?”
Our ratlets wanted to tell him but I hushed them. “The dogs will hear us! Walk quietly!”
Jolly old Roger fell into line in front of me. He glanced upwards and smiled. “It’s the planet Venus,” he said.
“Don’t be such a mouse!” I snapped.
We walked most of the night, over fields and then on the edge of the road, because Beta was sure that humming beans would not allow dogs where there was traffic. A few cars went past. When we heard them coming, we bellied down in the grass and were undetected. Sometimes a distant hound would pick up our scent on the still air and bark an alarm. Since no dog came after us, I thought that perhaps dogs were confined at night, and the one that had tried to dig our burrow was an exception.
The sky in the east turned grey, and we were still in the Sweet Clover Meadows. We would soon have to find a daytime hiding place. If the hounds were let loose during the day, no hole in the ground would be safe.
“We need to hide before they’re set free,” Beta said, hopping nervously from paw to paw.
We were all in agreement, but an empty rabbit tunnel was not a practical solution.
“What about a hay barn, shipmate?” Roger asked.
I was still ignoring him, but I thought it a good idea. Perhaps not a hay barn, I decided, but some kind of tool shed where we could safely hide in the rafters.
“Plenty of hay barns,” Roger insisted.
I was silent, still angry that he had travelled effortlessly across the lake in a picnic basket when we’d had such a struggle in a metal pot. Some things were simply not fair!
At last I located a suitable shed along a minor road. It was open on one side and contained a row of complex machinery we did not recognise, although Roger was certain that some hanging objects were lights for humans who had poor vision. “Four lights in each section of the shed,” he said. “Notice that the lights are movable and can be hung over a clear work space.”
“Very interesting,” I said, “but this is not finding us suitable shelter.”
“Papa! Up here!” Gamma had climbed up a long piece of rough wood that supported the roof. Under the edge of the roof was a recess well out of the reach of rat-hunting do
gs. Even if they caught our scent, they would not be able to see us or reach us. If by chance we were discovered by humming beans, there was ample space for escape along the rafters and out to the other side of the building. Once again, I felt great pride in our ratlets, who were proving themselves to be intelligent and resourceful. We joined Gamma on the high ledge of the shed and were settling down when a dog barked.
“That’s close,” said Retsina. “It’s not yet daybreak and the dogs are loose already.”
“What’s that other noise?” said Alpha.
I listened. “A male humming bean.”
“No,” Alpha replied. “Not that. The crowd noise.”
She was right. A crowd of creatures was approaching the shed with at least one dog and a humming bean. As they came closer, the sound was louder, but for the life of me, I could not see what it was all about. We lay still as the assortment of noise increased—a low bellowing, a shuffling, a snorting, a squishing of feet in mud, with dog barks and sometimes instruction from the humming bean. “Get in behind there!”
“I know what this is,” said Retsina.
She was smiling, so I knew we were not in danger. “What?” I asked.
“Those very large creatures are cows, and this is a milking shed.”
Being a Ship rat, I had never seen a milking shed, although I vaguely associated the word cow with milk. If someone had asked me where milk came from, I would have remembered a glass or plastic container left out on tables in the apartment building. I put my head over the ledge and looked down as the large furred creatures entered the shed. They certainly were huge—bigger than bicycles and slightly smaller than cars—and their odour was very strong. More came into the space in front of the shed. Alpha joined me and peered down, amazed at the number and size of these animals. She said to Beta, who was behind her, “They have tusks on their head and four black feet and a huge hand with four fingers.”