by Anna Wilson
He was really feeling very nervous now about what he might find, but he knew he had to be brave. ‘I am doing this for Pippa and for Mrs Fudge,’ he told himself as he crept along to the back door.
As luck would have it, there was an old cat flap installed there, which was just the right size for a miniature dachshund to crawl through. He poked his nose through first and had a good sniff around.
‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Still not much in the way of new aromas – nothing to suggest a grandfatherly presence.’
(If you want to know what a grandfather smells like, you will have to ask Dash, as I have no idea.) Next Dash summoned up his courage and leaped daintily through the cat flap.
He was as shocked as Pippa had been by the state of the place. ‘It’s a good job I have such an amazing sense of smell!’ the little dog exclaimed. ‘My eyes are not much good to me here.’ Being the short pooch he was, he could not see beyond the furniture and the stacks of books and papers. He scuttled along to the Inventionary, where another machine seemed to be in the early stages of development. There was less clutter on the floor in this room, so Dash was able to take in the complicated contraption with its ropes and levers and coils and springs and bells and whistles.
‘What on earth is this going to be for?’ Dash wondered aloud.
He decided to jump on to a low chair and from there to a table so that he could get a closer look at the invention.
Not that this gave him any clearer an idea. He did, however, find a piece of paper on which was scrawled the most perplexing arrangement of letters:
‘He must be a spy!’ Dash said. ‘Only spies use codes. And this looks exactly like code to me’ (which just goes to show exactly how clever he was).
Why, thank you!
You’re welcome.
But sadly he was not quite clever enough to work out how to break the code.
Hey!
Well, you weren’t, were you?
*blushes* NO . . .
And so he was left none the wiser. However, he did think it might be a clue.
‘If this doesn’t prove the grandfather is a tricky piece of work, I don’t know what does,’ he said. Then he picked up the piece of paper and held it gently in his mouth. ‘I will take it back to Chop ’n’ Chat as evidence.’
He then eyed the apparatus in front of him and thought about touching it to see what would happen. He stared up at the huge muddle of levers and ropes and wheels and attachments which surrounded a very ordinary-looking chair.
The contraption was monstrous! If you had peeked through the window, you would have seen how small and vulnerable the little pooch was next to the device towering over him. But Dash was a brave dog. He carefully dropped the piece of paper he had been holding and went up to the machine. It smelt of oil and metal and not much else. He stepped back and noticed there was a very small lever just within reach of his nose. His curiosity overcame his nerves and he gently nudged the lever. Then, oh dear . . .
ZOOM! CLICK! WHIRR!
Two hands appeared from nowhere and held him in a vice-like grip. They lifted him from the ground and plonked him on to the chair.
‘Ouch!’ shouted Dash.
Whirr, click, SQUELCH!
A huge object that looked like a sink plunger was lowered over Dash’s head and fastened itself to his scalp with a nasty sucking noise.
‘Argh!’ yelled Dash. He wriggled in vain to free himself.
Then the whirring and the clicking increased in volume and a ticking noise started up somewhere behind him. If Dash had known anything about computers, he might have said that it sounded like paper coming out of a printer. But he was a dog and knew nothing of such things. In any case, he was far too upset by now to be thinking much beyond, ‘GET ME OUT OF HERE!’
Then something very odd happened. The noises all stopped at once. The sink-plunger-sucker thing removed itself from Dash’s head (unfortunately taking rather a lot of his lovely red fur with it) and the hands let go of him. He was about to leap for safety when he heard another ticking, clicking noise – and then he froze.
A long streamer of paper, like loo roll, had come flying through the air. As it dropped in front of Dash, he caught sight of the words, ‘Ouch!’ and ‘Argh!’ and ‘GET ME OUT OF HERE!’
That’s funny, he thought. That’s exactly what I was thinking when I was trapped in that thing. I really should investigate further—
But the very second that he thought this, something came out of the seat behind him, gave him an almighty push and propelled him out of the Inventionary and into the hall. The front door blew open ahead of him, and he was pushed out on to the drive, where he landed in a crumpled heap.
‘That does it!’ he whimpered, puffing and panting as he picked himself up. ‘I am going back to tell Pippa right now what sort of dangerous nonsense her new friends are up to. We cannot possibly let them loose on the poochy population of Crumbly-under-Edge!’
15
The Pooch-Pampering Machine
But by the time Dash arrived back at Chop ’n’ Chat, Mrs Fudge and Pippa were having a cup of tea and a natter in the kitchen, and Tallulah and Smug had already left.
‘Where are they?’ he demanded. ‘I have something to say, and I want them to hear me say it.’
‘If by “they”, you mean Smug and Tallulah, they’ve gone home,’ said Mrs Fudge.
‘I bet they have,’ began Dash. ‘And I also bet I know what they’re up to—’
But Mrs Fudge interrupted excitedly, ‘Pippa’s told me all about their idea for a dog-grooming machine! It does sound marvellous . . .’ Then she tailed off and peered at the little pooch. ‘Dash dear, are you feeling all right? You look as though you’ve been caught in a tornado – your fur is sticking up all over the place! What in heaven’s name have you been up to?’
‘THAT IS PRECISELY WHAT I WANT TO SPEAK TO SMUG AND TALLULAH ABOUT!’ barked the miniature dachshund.
Muffles leaped in the air from her place on the window seat, howled in fury and left the room.
‘Dash!’ Pippa reprimanded. ‘Please stop shouting and calm down.’
‘But they are up to something – something devilish. Something devious. Something . . .’ he broke off. He had run out of words beginning with D to describe exactly what Tallulah and Smug were up to.
‘For goodness sake,’ snapped Pippa, ‘when are you going to stop being so ridiculously jealous?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Fudge. She took off her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. ‘I have one of my headaches coming on. I’m going to have to have another lie-down.’ She smiled wearily at Pippa. ‘Can I leave things in your capable hands in the meantime? Mrs Prim’s bringing George in for a trim.’
‘Of course, Mrs Fudge! Why not have a proper snooze? You look as though you need it,’ said Pippa. Then, under her breath to Dash, ‘Now look what you’ve done.’
The old lady smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you. Do please wake me when Tallulah and Smug come back with their invention, would you? Oh, and do the washing-up, dear, if you wouldn’t mind.’ And with that, she hobbled out, leaving Pippa and Dash alone in the kitchen.
Dash immediately scampered up to Pippa and put his paws on her knees. ‘Listen,’ he hissed. ‘I’ve just been over to the Foghorns’ and I’ve had first-hand experience of one of their inventions and I can tell you it is downright dangerous!’
‘WHAT?’ Pippa exclaimed. ‘You broke into their house? What on earth have you been up to?’
Dash raised his hackles (at least, what few there were left after his adventure). He growled. ‘Grr! I’ll have you know that I was doing some detective work. The sort of detective work that you and I used to do – together.’
Pippa brushed Dash’s paws from her knees with an irritable flick of her fingers. ‘And I would have come with you, a) if you had asked me and b) if there was any need. Which there isn’t! What exactly gives you the idea that we need to go sniffing around Tally and Smug’s house? Nothing went wrong with the hairdressing m
achine, so why should there be anything wrong with the dog-grooming idea? You are just being grumpy and silly and—’
‘Will you just LISTEN?’ Dash interrupted. He jumped up again and put his paws on Pippa more firmly this time. ‘That house is spooky. The grandfather is nowhere to be seen. There are coded messages lying around. And to top it all I have PROOF that there is something sinister going on. Listen to this: the invention I discovered in the house read my mind!’
‘Hello! What a lot of noise. Is everything all right?’ Tallulah was standing in the doorway surveying the scene.
‘No, since you ask,’ Dash said. ‘Everything is far from all right.’
‘Wow! You were quick,’ said Pippa.
‘Oh yes, the marvels of the super-fast scooter,’ said Tallulah vaguely.
‘Marvels indeed,’ growled Dash.
‘Ignore him,’ said Pippa, standing up and stepping in front of the dachshund. ‘He is a bit overexcited. We all are! We can’t wait to see the new machine.’
‘Well, that’s splendid, because Smug is just setting it up in the salon right now. We towed it along behind us. He thinks it’s fine and that no more adjustments are needed.’
‘NO MORE ADJUST—?’ barked Dash.
Pippa gave Dash a shove with her foot and said hurriedly, ‘Let’s see it then!’ Just as she said this, the doorbell rang. ‘That will be Mrs Prim,’ she said. ‘George can be our first customer to try the pooch-pampering machine!’
Mrs Prim’s reaction to the invention could not have been more different from Dash’s. She was overjoyed by the mere fact of being the first Crumbly to see it in action (mainly because it meant she had pipped Marble to the post).
Dash noticed that there was now a bath attached to the apparatus, which confused him. Maybe this is not the horrific machine that pummelled and punched me then, he thought. But he felt a rumble of unease in his tummy nonetheless.
Mrs Prim was beaming as she took in the complicated design. ‘My! It looks even more magnificent than the hairdressing invention!’ she cooed. ‘And luckily Georgie needs a good old trim, so – let’s try it!’ she announced. Her springer spaniel did look rather a mess. His ears were matted with burrs and mud and his usually glossy coat was knotty and tangled.
‘He is a mucky pup, isn’t he?’ Mrs Prim giggled as she took in the looks on everyone’s faces. ‘I’m afraid that I let him go for a swim in the river just this once, seeing as he was coming for a shampoo anyway.’
Dash was feeling distinctly jumpy now. How can Pippa put an animal into a machine that she knows nothing about? He thought. I am certain this is going to end in tears. In any case, he went on grumbling to himself as he eyed the spaniel, I bet ‘Georgie’ will have seven fits if they try to strap him into that hideous invention.
George did indeed whimper as he was led towards it.
‘Come along now, Georgie,’ said Mrs Prim. ‘Be a good boy for Mummy.’
Tallulah wheeled the machine into place and Pippa gently put George into the bath. Then Tallulah adjusted the shower fixture to the correct height. The machine immediately began to emit a loud whirring noise which George’s whimpering matched in volume.
Then Smug barked, ‘Green button!’ The second Tallulah pressed the flashing light, the sink plunger descended and attached itself to George’s head (but a lot more gently than it had done with poor Dash). The spaniel gave a louder whimper, but was drowned out by a ticking and whirring noise behind him. Then a streamer of paper shot out of the back of the machine with the word ‘Biscuit!’ on it.
Pippa gasped. ‘What. . . ?’
Immediately the plunger was retracted and a hand appeared in front of George’s nose with a tempting dog treat, which he gobbled up straight away. Then some soothing music was piped out of some speakers either side of the bath.
George had never looked calmer. In fact, Pippa thought, he looked almost hypnotized. His large brown eyes had grown larger and did not appear to be focused on anything. And his tongue was lolling rather stupidly out of the side of his mouth.
‘Perfect,’ Smug announced.
‘Perfect?’ cried Dash. ‘The poor hound looks positively ill!’ Although he had to admit to himself that this machine was, so far, behaving much better than he had feared it would.
‘What an excitable pair,’ commented Mrs Prim, watching Dash and Smug’s exchange with fascination. ‘I do sometimes think it would be wonderful to be able to understand them, don’t you? Although,’ she added, not waiting for an answer, ‘I have to say your clever machine does look as if it understands my darling Georgie. He seems very happy now that he’s had that treat. Well, are you going to clean him up now?’
Pippa nodded. She could not bring herself to speak.
Tallulah stepped in. ‘Wash first?’ she asked briskly.
‘Lovely,’ said Mrs Prim.
‘Blue button, then yellow, then orange lever,’ commanded Smug.
Shampoo immediately poured out of a small spout on to George’s matted coat, then two familiar white-gloved hands appeared from the sides of the contraption and began massaging the shampoo into George’s fur. Soon he was a ball of white froth.
‘Is – is he going to be all right?’ faltered Mrs Prim. Her bright, animated expression had faded and she was beginning to look a little worried. ‘Only – I can’t see him under all those bubbles. Mrs Fudge doesn’t usually put so much shampoo on him.’
‘Tell her I needed to use the Intense Wash setting,’ said Smug. ‘I have never seen such a filthy hound.’
‘Rude!’ exclaimed Dash. ‘Just because you sit inside all day inventing things, Mr Clever-Clogs . . .’
Pippa raised her voice above Dash’s growling and gave him a gentle prod with her toe. ‘We have used a bit of extra product on George today, Mrs Prim,’ she said. ‘He was rather more dirty than normal.’
Mrs Prim blushed. ‘Yes, yes. I am sure you know what you are doing. After all, I am very pleased with my new hair-do,’ she said, patting her perfect blonde bob. ‘If Georgie ends up looking even half as good I shall be pleased.’
‘As will we, Mrs Prim,’ added Tallulah.
We’ll see about that, thought Dash grimly.
There was a beeping sound from the machine just then, and the hands were whisked back inside while the showerhead was activated and began to wash off the soapy suds. George’s face emerged looking as daft and wide-eyed as before, his tongue still hanging out of his mouth.
‘At least we might have solved the problem of his smelly breath,’ muttered Dash. ‘We must be grateful for small mercies.’
‘That is unkind,’ hissed Pippa, and she gave him another prod with her toe.
No one else had noticed this exchange as George was now being blow-dried. The bath had drained itself of the water and had turned itself into a super-speedy dryer by blowing hot air out of the plughole at the spaniel, rather like one of those wonderfully fast hand-dryers you sometimes find in posh public loos. The effect was as if George was in a wind tunnel! All his fur was blown back and his ears were flapping madly, but the whole experience was over in a flash. His soft and silky fur was now perfectly dry, so the hands appeared again and a pair of clippers began to swiftly work away at the long hair on his body and the extra fur on his ears.
The minute the hands were finished, they disappeared, taking the clippers with them, and George was free to be picked up by Mrs Prim and given a well-deserved cuddle for surviving his ordeal. Not that he seemed to need it; he was still as calm as custard.
‘Amazing!’ cried Mrs Prim, smoothing her hands over her freshly groomed pooch. ‘I have always been very happy with Mrs Fudge’s service, as you know, Pippa,’ she said. ‘But I have to say, the effect this new machine has had on my Georgie is astounding. I could enter him for a show and he would win first prize, I am sure!’ she trilled.
As she spoke, another pair of hands had emerged from the machine and was busily sweeping up the clippings from the spaniel’s coat and disposing of them into a han
dy little bin in the side of the invention.
‘I’m glad you’re pleased,’ said Pippa. ‘Isn’t it wonderful to have such satisfied customers?’ she added. And she gave Dash a look, which very clearly said: I told you so.
16
Pawology
A week later Raphael came into Chop ’n’ Chat one afternoon to report that, ‘Me frien’ Bob – the postie in the village o’ Much Snortin’ – is askin’ me about you, Mrs Fudge my darlin’! He say the villagers have heard you is the top-notch person to come to for hairdressin’ and pooch pamperin’.’
‘Much Snorting?’ repeated Mrs Fudge. ‘But that is over ten miles away. Surely the villagers have their own hair salon within walking distance.’
‘Ah, but they is not havin’ mir-ac-ul-ous machinery, is they, sweetness?’ Raphael pointed out. ‘No one who has heard o’ the Foghorn treatments is goin’ to settle for a borin’ old wash and blow-dry now.’ And he gave a little twirl on his rollerblades to show off his still sharp-looking haircut.
Raphael was right: results of the gossiping soon had the phone ringing so often that Pippa could have sworn it was overheating from the extra use.
‘Now that Mrs Fudge needs to rest more, I haven’t got time to answer the phone, let alone set the machines working, and make tea and cakes,’ a flustered Pippa said to Tallulah after one particularly taxing afternoon.
‘Well, we can fix the problem of answering the phone,’ said Smug. ‘All you need is an answering machine.’
‘And what good would that be?’ snapped Dash. ‘Pippa will still have to call the people back, and that takes too much time as well!’ He turned to Pippa and said, ‘I’m sorry to say I told you so, but surely you can see that it is the machines that are the problem! They are making life more complicated rather than less.’