The Girl Who Thought She Was a Dog

by Clare Balding

  ‘What group is Twiglet in?’ Uncle James chimed in.

  ‘Boxers are in the Working Group.’

  ‘Really?’ said Grandma. ‘I always thought of them as wanting to play rather than work for a living.’

  ‘They’re really good guard dogs,’ said Fennel, putting her arm around Twiglet. ‘The best in the world, I’d say.’

  ‘And from what I’ve seen, they’re pretty good at agility,’ her mum added proudly.

  Fennel grinned. She couldn’t believe how much improvement the two of them had made in such a short period of time. She was walking alongside Twiglet with such purpose that even Grandma noticed her confidence.

  Fennel was perfectly at home, saying hello to every dog they passed. Some of them looked a bit confused to hear a human speaking Doggish, but the poodles were particularly friendly. Fennel had always been told that they were intelligent dogs and now she believed it.

  They had their passes checked as they went through the main entrance. While they waited for Rosie to fill out some forms, Fennel and Twiglet were distracted by the most magnificent pair of eyebrows. They sidled away from the rest of the family.

  ‘Excuse me, but are you a schnauzer?’ Fennel asked quietly in Doggish.

  The grey-and-white dog in the queue behind them looked surprised but bowed his head politely.

  ‘Indeed I am. Delighted to make your acquaintance. My name is Champion Count Basil of Bavaria.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Count Basil! I’m Fennel and this is Twiglet,’ said Fennel with a smile.

  ‘And may I ask, what are you here for?’

  ‘Agility,’ Fennel answered.

  The schnauzer raised his eyebrows to an even more pronounced height.

  ‘Isn’t that for the barking-mad collies?’

  ‘Well, it is really, but there’s a class called Medium ABC. We’re in that,’ Fennel explained.

  ‘ABC? Is that some sort of spelling test?’

  Twiglet smiled. He liked Count Basil.

  ‘No, it stands for Anything But Collies,’ Fennel clarified. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m here for the breed judging. If I win Best of Breed, I’ll go through to the Group judging and then … who knows?’

  Count Basil’s owner darted over and tugged on his lead.

  ‘There you are, Basil! Come on, time for action.’

  Basil winked at Fennel and walked obediently behind his master. He swung his hips with the swagger of a catwalk model. Fennel gave him a big grin.

  ‘Good luck to you both!’ she heard him bark over his shoulder as they turned away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Teamwork

  There were five different halls at the NEC, all of them packed with people. They were either shopping for dog accessories, clothes or food, or watching the judging in the different arenas. Twiglet tried to stick close to Fennel as they squeezed through the crowds, heading towards the main arena. There they found their ‘benches’: low wooden shelves with dividers giving a bit of privacy from the dogs on either side. The noise was deafening. The collies were all shouting over each other and making no sense at all.

  ‘What are they on about?’ asked Fennel, her understanding of Doggish confused by the incessant yapping.

  Twiglet listened carefully.

  ‘It sounds like they’re all just crying “Go, go, go!” over and over again,’ Twiglet said.

  When she saw them in action, Fennel understood why. These dogs had got themselves into a state of frenzy. Collies are made for agility in a way that neither Twiglet nor Fennel ever could be. They jigged and pranced like racehorses on the start line and, once the collies set off, their handlers only had to point towards a jump and they were over it, often racing on to the next obstacle before their owner had a chance to point the way.

  ‘They’re too fast for their own good,’ said Fennel to her uncles, as they all watched one collie take the wrong course and get eliminated. ‘We’ve got to be accurate. That’s more important.’

  Uncle James nodded at her proudly. ‘That’s the ticket!’

  When it came to the ABC class, Twiglet checked out the opposition. There were a few cocker spaniels and a lot of mixed-breed dogs, who looked as if they were a bit of everything. Fennel walked the course, counting the strides between the jumps and noting the tricky switchback from the ramp to the jump before the bendy poles. She got down on all fours to measure the size of the tunnel in case it wasn’t tall enough for Twiglet.

  ‘Look at her,’ said Uncle James. ‘She knows exactly what she needs to do.’

  ‘She’s so happy,’ Grandma said, smiling. ‘She was determined to get here in one class or another and I’m rather pleased it’s agility instead of showing. Much more fun.’

  Fennel looked up and grinned at her family.

  Rosie gave her a quick wave. ‘I’m so glad you’re all here,’ she said quietly to the others. ‘This means the world to Fennel.’

  ‘Oh, we’re here to cheer, whatever happens!’ said Uncle Matt. ‘We’ll be the loudest, most embarrassing fan club in Birmingham.’

  It was nearly time to begin. Fennel was in the collecting area, waiting with the other competitors. She talked Twiglet through the course and they watched the first cocker spaniel set off. He was pretty good but he didn’t put a foot on the white line at the end of the ramp, like he was supposed to, so he picked up a penalty.

  ‘Next competitors: Twiglet and Fennel Wilson.’

  The announcement caught them by surprise.

  ‘But there’s supposed to be someone else before us!’ Fennel whispered to Twiglet anxiously.

  ‘I guess they didn’t turn up in time,’ Twiglet murmured.

  ‘Well, at least this means there’s no time to get nervous …’

  Fennel straightened her back and marched out with Twiglet trotting alongside her.

  The announcer’s voice boomed out of the speakers.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, please give a huge welcome to our youngest competitors: Fennel Wilson and her boxer, Twiglet!’

  Fennel could hear Uncle James and Uncle Matt whistling and whooping from the stands. She looked up and smiled at them. The rest of the crowd politely clapped.

  ‘This is what I wanted, more than anything,’ Fennel said softly in Doggish as they crouched on the start line. ‘To be here with you, Twiggy. Showing the world what a star you are.’

  ‘We’re a team,’ Twiglet woofed, his face serious with concentration. ‘Now let’s show them what we can do!’

  Fennel was nervous and excited, all in one bundle of butterflies.

  ‘Ready?’ she whispered.

  Twiglet nodded. ‘Let’s go!’

  The whistle went and they both reacted immediately.

  Fennel sprinted into the centre of the course as she’d seen all the other owners do. Twiglet leaped over the first two jumps, darted up the ramp and down the other side, over another jump and through the bendy poles. He scooted through the tunnel and Fennel was there on the other side to point him to the next jump.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it! They seem to be completely in tune!’ shouted the commentator and the crowd started to roar.

  But as Twiglet bounded over a pair of red-and-white poles, Fennel saw him throw her a worried look. The crowd was making such a racket she couldn’t be sure, but she thought he was trying to say something to her in Doggish. She watched him bending and twisting through the course, eyes darting nervously up at her, and then she realized what the matter was. Whenever they’d done their training, they had run the obstacle course together. This was the first time Fennel hadn’t been right there beside Twiglet – and it was making him anxious.

  In an instant she knew what to do. Don’t worry, Twiglet! she thought. We’re a team!

  Fennel darted across the course to join Twiglet as he made a sharp right turn to a tyre jump. She threw herself through the hole in the middle of the tyre and beckoned him after her.

  ‘Jump through!’ shouted Fennel. �
�Good boy!’

  They took a turn back to the left and then two more jumps. The crowd was going wild and Fennel was sure she could hear Twiglet barking with excitement as they dashed round the course together.

  ‘Well, this really is extraordinary,’ cried the commentator. ‘Twiglet the boxer is making record time and – can you believe it? – young Fennel is actually jumping the course too!’

  The people in the collecting arena had stopped chatting and fussing over their own dogs, the crowds in the stands were cheering fit to burst and everyone was watching Twiglet and Fennel blazing their way round the course. Fennel even thought she caught a glimpse of Count Basil in the audience, barking his approval.

  Fennel was beside Twiglet again and he woofed with delight as they leaped over the last two jumps side by side. Fennel threw herself over the line and Twiglet landed on top of her, licking her face. She couldn’t believe that the deafening applause of the crowd was all for her and Twiglet. Rosie, Grandma, Uncle James and Uncle Matt were making more noise than anyone as the commentator said, ‘Well that was a clear round for both Twiglet and Fennel in a very fast time of one minute and two seconds!’

  Fennel and Twiglet ran over to where Rosie was waiting with her arms outstretched and a huge grin on her face.

  ‘Well done!’ she shrieked as she scooped Fennel off the floor. ‘That was brilliant! You’re the fastest so far.’

  ‘Well done you too, old boy,’ said Uncle James, giving Twiglet a rub.

  ‘What a team you are!’ cried Grandma. ‘I’m so proud of you both.’

  Uncle Matt patted Fennel on the head and said, ‘I always said it was better to be a dog than a radish!’

  Fennel and Twiglet settled down to watch the other competitors. The handlers were all much older than Fennel and positioned themselves in the middle of the course so they could direct their dogs. Fennel could see it was probably a more efficient method.

  ‘But I reckon our way was more fun, don’t you?’ she laughed, and kissed Twiglet on the nose.

  The whole family watched with their hearts in their mouths as the rest of the competitors made their runs. A cocker spaniel called Rufus was on course to beat their time until he stuttered at the last jump and knocked it down.

  They were still in the lead … and there was only one more dog to go!

  That dog was a very fit looking Tibetan terrier called Pickle. He flew over the fences, but he hesitated at the top of the ramp. His owner managed to coax him down but he lost valuable time, even though he was much faster through the bendy poles and the tunnel than Fennel and Twiglet.

  ‘This will be very close!’ The commentator shouted. ‘One minute and … three seconds,’ he finished, as Pickle crossed the line.

  Fennel’s face was a picture. She and Twiglet had won! She was in such a state of shock that Twiglet had to jump up at her to bring her out of her daze. She took his front paws and they danced in a circle together, laughing. Fennel started to cry and Twiglet stopped to lick her cheek.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  Fennel leaned close to his ear. ‘They’re tears of joy!’ she whispered in Doggish. ‘I wanted to compete at Crufts with you but I never thought we’d actually win!’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Champions

  As they lined up to receive their prizes, Twiglet quietly asked Pickle the Tibetan terrier what had happened at the top of the ramp.

  ‘My owner thinks it’s nerves, but the truth is, I don’t like heights,’ he explained. ‘It doesn’t matter, though; I’m glad you won. Your owner seems to really understand you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Fennel in Doggish.

  ‘What’s that, dear?’

  Fennel looked up to see Pickle’s owner, a pretty lady about her mum’s age, looking curiously down at her.

  ‘It’s just …’ she held the woman’s gaze. ‘Pickle’s frightened of heights. That’s why he froze on the top of the ramp.’

  The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you really think so? Now that you mention it, I do remember a bad experience a few years ago when he got stuck in a treehouse. Perhaps that would explain it.’

  Fennel nodded. ‘That makes sense.’

  The woman laid a gentle hand on her arm.

  ‘I’m ever so impressed with your teamwork. You really do understand your dog!’

  Fennel grinned and Twiglet gave a happy bark.

  ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you grew up to be a dog whisperer,’ the woman chuckled.

  Fennel looked at her in surprise. ‘A dog whisperer?’

  ‘Yes! That’s the name for someone who really understands dogs and can communicate with them like nobody else. It’s a very special thing.’

  Fennel felt her heart swell with pride but before she could respond, the announcer called her name, and it was time for her and Twiglet to collect their first prize.

  ‘Come on,’ said Fennel out loud, leading Twiglet forward. ‘We deserve this!’

  ‘Who was that lady you were talking to earlier?’ Rosie asked, after the prize ceremony had finished.

  ‘That was Pickle’s owner,’ replied Fennel. ‘I told her that Pickle is frightened of heights. Of course, I didn’t tell her that I can speak Doggish!’

  Her family stared at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean, you can speak Doggish?’ said Uncle James.

  ‘Oh!’ Fennel reddened. She’d said more than she’d meant to. ‘I just mean that I can sometimes understand what dogs are saying. Not all the time, just the obvious things.’

  Her mother and grandmother exchanged a look.

  ‘Is that so?’ said Rosie. ‘I did wonder. There was that time a few weeks after Twiglet had been bitten by that big dog – we all thought he had recovered but you told me that his neck still hurt.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Grandma. ‘And I heard you making strange noises to Twiglet when you were training in the garden. I wondered what you were up to!’

  ‘You’ll have to be careful, you know,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s a gift that not everyone will understand.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Fennel. ‘And I know that you’ve all been worried that I think I’m a dog. I know I’m not. Much more importantly – I know what I am! I’m a dog whisperer.’

  ‘That sounds like a job that was made for you,’ Rosie said with a smile.

  They were passing the prize-giving for Best of Breed, and Twiglet gave a bark as he spotted their friend Basil through the crowd. Basil’s owner was stepping up to take first prize!

  ‘Oh, Mum, please can we watch?’ Fennel pleaded.

  ‘Of course, darling,’ Rosie replied, ruffling her hair. ‘Anything for my champions!’

  They watched with delight as Basil advanced into the Group judging and cheered loudly when he won that too. Next up was Best in Show, the grand final of Crufts. Twenty-two thousand dogs had been judged and now it was down to the final seven. Fennel and Twiglet stood close together as they watched, breathless with anticipation.

  The judge went slowly down the line of dogs, the crowd following his every move. Eventually he stopped, stepped back … and pointed at Basil.

  The crowd went wild. Fennel clapped and whistled, and Twiglet barked beside her. Count Basil was the Champion of Crufts – the best of the best!

  As Basil and his owner were encircled by a scrum of excited friends and family, Fennel and Twiglet heard him give a loud, joyful howl.

  ‘That’s for my new friends!’ he barked out in Doggish. ‘For Twiglet and Fennel, the best team I’ve ever seen!’

  THE END

  If you enjoyed reading about Fennel’s special relationship with Twiglet, you’ll love the story of suffragette Emmeline Pankhurst and her adventures with a little puppy called Rascal. Turn the page for a sneak preview …

  Megan Rix

  EMMELINE AND THE PLUCKY PUP

  Chapter 1

  November 1910

  The little Staffordshire bull terrier puppy’s shiny black nose sniffed at the delicious smells drifting o
n the cold November air. The puppy was very thin and its ribs were easy to see through its white, brown and black fur.

  ‘Jellied eels – get your jellied eels here!’

  ‘Baked potatoes! Hot baked potatoes!’

  ‘Oysters and whelks! Best oysters and whelks!’

  ‘Chestnuts! Hot chestnuts!’

  It was after one o’clock and lots of hungry people were buying food from the stalls and handcarts in Parliament Square Garden, across the road from the Houses of Parliament. No one was taking much notice of the thin little puppy as it trotted round the stalls.

  ‘Meat pies!’ called a vendor.

  ‘I’ll have two pies,’ a man said.

  As the man bit into the first pie the puppy looked up at him and gave a whine.

  ‘Get out of it, you,’ the man said, some gravy from the pie running down his chin.

  A handbell clanged behind them. ‘Muffins! Freshly baked muffins!’

  The puppy looked longingly at the tray of muffins balanced on the baker’s head. But none of the muffins fell off and the baker went on his way ringing his bell.

  ‘Sheep’s trotters – fresh sheep’s trotters!’ a red-faced stallholder shouted to passers-by.

  The puppy drooled at the delicious meaty smell.

  ‘Are they really fresh?’ a woman asked.

  ‘Won’t find fresher,’ the stallholder replied.

  Seizing its moment, the desperate puppy stood on its hind legs and bit into a cooked sheep’s trotter from the edge of the stall.

  ‘Hey, you! Come back here!’ the stallholder shouted as the tiny dog tore off with it. ‘Thief, thief!’

  ‘I’ll catch him,’ yelled one of the errand boys who was hanging around the stalls hoping for work.

  ‘Penny if you do,’ said the stallholder. ‘But be quick.’

  ‘I’ll be quicker than him,’ said a second boy.

  ‘Penny for whoever brings it back,’ the stallholder told them.

  A third, fourth, fifth and sixth boy joined in the chase. Everyone wanted the penny. They sped across the grass after the puppy, who had the warm sheep’s trotter clamped in its jaws.