by Ben Fogle
‘Excellent,’ said Mr Dog, scrambling down to join them. ‘With any luck by pulling on the net we’ll pull up the lid too. We have to force it all the way open so it can be seen.’ He grabbed some of the net in his own jaws. ‘Mmmm, I do love a good tug toy!’
Lulu and Ditzy began to heave, and Mr Dog dug his front paws into the ground and pulled on the net with all his might. The lid began to creak. Come on, he thought as the seals strained even harder beside him, and the creaking grew deeper and louder. Together we can do it … We have to do it!
Finally – CRACK! The damaged crate lid snapped open on its twisted hinges.
Mr Dog and the seals let go of the net and were sent tumbling backwards.
‘Success!’ squealed Lulu.
‘Well done, you two,’ Mr Dog panted, rolling on to one side. The white lid was now standing straight up from the water like toast from a toaster. ‘All right now – dive! Stay out of sight.’
‘We’ll do our best,’ Ditzy promised, before she and Lulu slid like jumbo sausages back into the river.
Both groups of hunters were converging on Mr Dog now, but he was too exhausted to move. He lay there panting as they closed in.
‘It’s that mutt again!’ came a man’s voice as torch beams played over him.
‘It’s John Tregeen’s dog, from down in the town.’ Mr Dog recognised the voice of Alana the angler. ‘It is, I’m sure of it.’
‘You’re right there, Alana,’ came a deep, familiar voice from the motorboat as the engine died away. ‘Hello, boy! Fancy seeing you here.’
Mr Dog jumped up. Could it be …?
YES! It was John Tregeen in the boat, with Sadiq from his fishing crew holding the lantern!
Mr Dog clambered into the boat and yapped happily around John’s legs. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he woofed.
John kneeled down and fussed Mr Dog. ‘When Alana told me you’d been seen with seals and a hunting party was after them, I got worried and came looking.’
I’ve been quite worried myself, thought Mr Dog. But he couldn’t make John understand that, so he settled for giving him a lick or two.
‘I’m glad you’ve got your dog back, John,’ said Alana. ‘Now, please take him away, before he leads us another merry dance.’
‘Thanks for tipping me off that he was here, Alana,’ John said, then frowned as Sadiq shone his light on the upstanding lid of the crate. ‘What is that?’
‘A big box, by the look of it,’ said Vole-Saving Man. ‘What’s inside?’
‘Let’s check it out,’ said Alana. ‘Is that plastic packaging?’
‘It must have come off that train that derailed here a few weeks back,’ said John. ‘If this gets washed out, there’ll be enough to keep the beach clean-up team busy for weeks!’
‘What about the seals?’ said one of the other men impatiently. ‘They’re what we came out to deal with.’
‘Forget them for now,’ said Vole-Saving Man. ‘If they’re gone, they’re gone. We need to get this thing out of the water and dispose of it properly.’
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said John, jumping from the boat to the riverbank.
All attention was now fixed on the problematic crate – except, of course, for Mr Dog’s. He was busy watching two dark, slippery shapes glide away through the water, vanishing into the night. Sadiq noticed too, smiled, and looked at Mr Dog with a finger to his lips, as if to say, ‘Keep quiet!’
I will, thought Mr Dog. Nothing good can come out of that crate, but great things will come from this evening’s work – that’s for sure!
Mr Dog was so tired out that he fell asleep in John’s boat. When his eyes flickered open again, the boat was being steered back down the river by John and Sadiq, the outboard motor grumbling away.
John smiled. ‘You look worn out, boy. I am too, after helping to shift that wretched crate out of the water. Still, at least it can’t harm the environment any more. It’ll be recycled and disposed of properly.’
Thank goodness for that, thought Mr Dog. He looked out into the black night. I wonder where Ditzy and Lulu are now … Did they make it back home to the sea?
The hours passed and the boat finally reached the estuary where the river met the sea. The harbour was still dark, but the jetty was lit by strings of white fairy lights, waving in a breeze blowing in from the sea. In the glow that they spilled, Mr Dog saw two grey weighty sausage shapes bobbing about. Could it be …?
‘Lulu! Ditzy!’ Mr Dog put his paws up on the side of the boat and barked at them. ‘You made it! You’re all right!’
‘We are now, Mr Dog!’ Lulu called back. ‘Free. Safe. Together.’
‘I’m going to teach Lulu how to put on a show here in the harbour,’ said Ditzy. ‘She does an excellent impression of a log, you know.’
‘I’ve seen it,’ woofed Mr Dog.
‘I reckon we’ll get all sorts of extra snacks as a double act,’ Lulu said. ‘And I’m sure Ditzy will even share some with the shyer seals …’
‘I suppose,’ Ditzy grumbled.
‘You two are good for each other.’ Mr Dog gave his widest doggy grin. ‘Good luck!’
John looked over and laughed. ‘I’m glad to see Ditzy back,’ he told Sadiq. ‘The locals love her, and the tourists will come looking for her when they hear. We ought to sell more fish than ever.’ He grinned. ‘Wasn’t it funny the way the dog barked at the seals and they grunted back? You could almost believe they were talking to each other …’
The men laughed, but Mr Dog just smiled to himself. He knew that his work here was done.
John crouched beside his canine companion. ‘You know, boy, I have a feeling your real home is out there on the open road. You’re all about finding new friends and fresh adventures … Am I right?’ He smiled and stroked Mr Dog’s neck. ‘Still, before you head off again, how about you rest at my place for a couple of days and let me feed you up a bit, eh?’ He held out his hand. ‘Do we have a deal?’
I believe we do, kind sir! thought Mr Dog.
He solemnly held out his paw, which John took and shook, and somewhere in the harbour, Lulu and Ditzy barked their approval.
There, thought Mr Dog, the deal is SEALED. A little rest, a lot of food – and then off I go again!
Notes from the Author
I have always loved seals. The first time I met one in the wild, I was on a rough boat trip to the remote Scottish island of Eigg in the Inner Hebrides. It was Easter and the seas were mountainous. I was only ten and it all seemed a little scary … until I noticed some little black heads with their beady eyes staring up from the rough waters. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed dozens of them. My enduring love for seals was sealed.
When on Taransay island for a year, my Labrador, Inca, used to leap into the freezing Hebridean water and play hide-and-seek. Have you ever noticed how much seals resemble Labradors? Sometimes I couldn’t tell mammal and dog apart. My most enduring memory, however, is of Nelson, the famous one-eyed seal of Looe in Devon, which inspired me to put the statue in chapter one. Nelson was the most famous resident of Looe for more than twenty-five years and I often saw him in the harbour. The fishermen would throw him fish and people travelled from far and wide to watch. When he died, there was such mourning that a bronze statue was erected in his memory. Seals have a way of looking into your soul with those big doleful eyes, just like Lulu does in the story. I’ll always love seals. Reassuringly, they remind me of my childhood.
How to help with plastic
Plastic rubbish is littering our oceans and threatening the lives of millions of marine animals around the world. Seals are curious creatures and can get caught in fishing nets, plastic waste and discarded rubbish. We all have to do our bit to help protect these animals and keep our oceans healthy.
When you can, try to say no to single-use plastics. Don’t use plastic straws, and ask your parents to bring their own bags when they go shopping. If you do have to use plastic, make sure you clean up after yourself. If you go to the beach
or to the park, don’t drop your rubbish on the sand or on the grass! Look for a recycling bin or, if there isn’t one around, take it home and recycle it there. We can make clothes, shoes and all sorts of other things out of recycled plastic, which is so much better than it ending up in the ocean.
Read on for a sneak peek of Mr Dog’s next adventure,
Chapter One
CRATES AND CASES
It was a bright but chilly April afternoon. A hard sea wind huffed at the ferryboat as it braved the waves off the craggy coast of Scotland.
The people on the ferryboat had no idea that a stowaway had crept on board: a furry, four-legged, rather scruffy stowaway, who was now hiding below deck in the cargo hold! Aside from his white beard, his fur was dark and shaggy. A ragged red-and-white hanky was tied about his neck. His ears were floppy, his nose was large and his brown eyes sparkled even in the gloom.
He wasn’t just a dog. He was Mr Dog.
Mr Dog was a big fan of adventures so he’d been roaming all over, from the south of England way up to the highlands of Scotland. It was there that he’d spied a group of people in a pretty little town catching the ferryboat to some islands off the coast, so he had crept into the cargo hold to go with them, and now here he was!
To his surprise, he had found the hold mostly full of animal crates and carriers – at least forty of them. From the smell, he could tell that they had been used very recently. Some of them still had a few crushed dog biscuits inside (although with a hungry Mr Dog around, not for long). The funny thing, though, was that the crates didn’t smell of dogs or cats or even of rabbits or rats, but of another animal – one that Mr Dog couldn’t quite recognise. Someone had left a little fresh water in some of the bowls, so Mr Dog was glad for that.
Finally, the ferryboat slowed as it neared its destination, and Mr Dog felt the usual thrill of excitement of being about to explore somewhere new. ‘Now, how to get off without being seen?’ he mused.
Just then, the door to the hold was thrown open. Mr Dog ducked inside a pet carrier with solid plastic sides as a lady in a bright-red coat with frizzy blonde hair bustled inside. ‘I can see Jed’s pick-up truck waiting,’ the lady called to one of the crew. ‘He’ll help me unload the empty crates.’
‘Right you are, Lizzie,’ a woman called back.
How kind of this Jed to help Lizzie – and to help me too! thought Mr Dog. I may as well stay in here and be carried off in style …
Sure enough, once the boat had moored up, Jed came aboard and helped frizzy-haired Lizzie shift the crates and cages off the boat. It took several trips. Mr Dog held his breath as his own carrier was lifted up.
‘This one weighs a ton!’ Jed declared.
How dare you! thought Mr Dog with a secret chuckle.
As soon as the crate was put down, Mr Dog cautiously nosed open the door of his carrier and peered out. He was in the back of Jed’s pick-up truck, which was as red as Lizzie’s coat, and parked on a pier beside a small rocky harbour. Suddenly, he heard angry voices from beside a dark-green van parked close by. Lizzie was arguing with another woman whose sharp features reminded Mr Dog of a hunting bird, and he raised his ears to listen in.
‘If I’d known you were only going over to the mainland to bring back more spotlights, Mrs Maitland, I’d have thrown them overboard!’ said Lizzie hotly. ‘What you’ve been doing to those hedgies is plain cruel!’
Mr Dog was puzzled. ‘Cruelty to hedgies?’ he murmured. ‘Whatever does she mean?’
Mrs Maitland remained calm and haughty. ‘They don’t belong on the Isle of Evan, Lizzie. We’ll get rid of them a lot faster by hunting them down than by taking them over to the mainland in crates …’
‘Rubbish!’ Lizzie insisted. ‘Your hunts are dangerous and unnecessary and they’re going to stop, mark my words.’
‘Are they indeed!’ Mrs Maitland sneered.
‘Is a hedgie like a hedge?’ Mr Dog wondered aloud. (Although to humans, of course, it came out as Grrr, wuff-wuff RUFF!) He jumped down from Jed’s pick-up truck and trotted past the other side of Mrs Maitland’s green van, shaking his head. ‘I should think it is unnecessary to hunt down a hedge – it just stands there and lets you find it!’
‘They’re not talking about hedges.’ A large, sturdy tan basset hound in a thick leather collar leaned through the van window. ‘They’re talking about hedgehogs.’
‘Hedgehogs!’ Mr Dog grinned. ‘Of course, that was the smell in those cages. Wait a moment. Why are hedgehogs being taken to the mainland? Why don’t they belong on this island?’
‘Who cares?’ said the basset hound. ‘If Mrs Maitland says they don’t, then they don’t. She’s my mistress, after all.’
‘So Mrs Maitland is hunting these hedgies?’
‘No, dogs like me are hunting them.’ The basset hound looked confused. ‘Aren’t you hunting them too?’
‘Goodness, no! The only things I’m hunting are happy memories.’ He raised a paw. ‘I’m Mr Dog, by the way.’
‘My name’s Dandy.’ The basset hound looked suspiciously at Mr Dog. ‘I’ve never seen you before on the island. Did you come over from the mainland with Lizzie? Or “Lizzie Toddy, Busybody” as my mistress calls her.’
Mr Dog was not impressed by name-calling. ‘I did come over from the mainland,’ he said. ‘But not with Lizzie. I just cadged a lift in the boat.’
‘Well, perhaps you’d like to join us on the hunt tonight?’ said Dandy. ‘It’s a good chase with all the other sniffer dogs, plus it’s even more fun in the dark.’
‘So that’s why you need the spotlights! Hedgehogs only come out at night.’ Mr Dog sighed. He always felt sorry for an underdog – or an underhog in this case. ‘Well, thanks for the invite to the hunt, but no thanks. I hope it all goes wonderfully well …’ As he turned, he added quietly: ‘for the hedgehogs!’
‘I heard that!’ Dandy’s hackles rose. ‘Well, just make sure you stay out of the way of my hunting pals and me … and don’t make friends with any hedgies if you know what’s good for you.’
‘Perhaps I should change my name to Mr Doog?’ Mr Dog grinned. ‘Then I’d know what’s good for me backwards!’
By now, Mrs Maitland had loaded her spotlights into her van and was clambering into the driver’s seat beside Dandy. ‘Stop grumbling, boy!’ She snapped at his low growls. ‘I’m the one who should grumble, having to deal with Lizzie Toddy, busybody …’
Dandy barked an ‘I told you so’ at Mr Dog. Then the van’s engine started and Mr Dog scampered away. Mrs Maitland and Dandy drove off, then Lizzie and Jed drove away in the opposite direction.
Mr Dog trotted up the nearest grassy hillside to take a good look around at his surroundings and plan his next steps. But, really, he already knew what he was going to do.
‘It sounds like the Isle of Evan’s hedgies could use a good friend,’ he declared. ‘Luckily, good friends don’t come any shaggier or waggier than Mr Dog!’
Also available, in another adventure …
When a mother rabbit is captured in a trap, Mr Dog finds himself playing bunnysitter to her babies …
But someone wants rid of ALL the rabbits, not just this one, and time is running out to save them …
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