Mr Dog and a Hedge Called Hog

by Ben Fogle

  Lizzie hadn’t noticed her prickly escaping prisoner, trying to keep eye contact with Dandy, the leader of the pack. ‘You’re as stubborn as your owner, aren’t you? And almost as annoying!’

  At first, Mr Dog thought that Hog was just scared and trying to escape. Then he realised that Hog was in fact bravely balancing on the branch right above the threatening hounds, even while Lizzie tried to calm them down …

  ‘No, Hog!’ Mr Dog woofed.

  But he was too late. Suddenly, Hog jumped!

  ‘GERONIMOOOO!’

  Curling into a ball, Hog landed on Dandy’s head, his prickles poking between the basset’s floppy ears. Dandy yelped and jumped in surprise, as Hog bounced off – and biffed the barking bloodhound on the bonce too. As he rebounded, Hog hit the harrier’s head as well! With perfect timing, Mr Dog dashed forward, barged the ridgeback aside and caught Hog neatly in his jaws like a spiky ball.

  Then he retreated behind Lizzie. He needn’t have worried, though. Yelping in surprise and confusion, the hounds had hightailed it away, with Dandy fleeing after them through the woods.

  ‘Not so scary after all, were they?’ said Hog happily.

  ‘Dandy’s bark was worse than his bite, as we dogs say.’ Mr Dog put the hedgie down and gave his nose a fond nuzzle. ‘You were amazing, Hog! You stopped that situation before it could get nasty.’

  ‘You’ve helped me so much,’ said Hog. ‘I wanted to help you too.’

  Lizzie was staring down at Mr Dog and Hog in wonder. ‘You two are quite the double act, aren’t you?’

  Mr Dog sat politely and, again, offered a paw.

  ‘I have the strangest feeling that you were trying to help this little guy all along, not hurt him. Which makes you all right with me.’ Lizzie bent down and carefully picked up Hog. ‘I’m going to take you home and put you in a nice cosy carry-case. I’ll look after you until I’ve caught enough hedgies to take back to the mainland again, and then you’ll start a safer, happier life …’

  Mr Dog lay down on his side and gave a happy sigh. ‘That IS good news.’

  ‘But what about all the other poor hedgehogs?’ said Maura, popping up again from the leaves. ‘For every one that Lizzie saves, Moaning Minnie Maitland deals with two more. It’s not fair!’

  No, it’s not, thought Mr Dog. But whatever can be done about it now?

  Chapter Ten

  A NEW START

  Mr Dog followed Lizzie back to her farmhouse.

  It turned out that she fed her rescued hedgies dog food, and plenty of it! She put out bowls for both her new guests in one of the outbuildings.

  ‘Delicious!’ Hog declared, munching on kibble inside his nice, cosy carry-case.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Mr Dog licked his chops as he finished his own meal. ‘Better than wader eggs?’

  Hog licked his little food dish. ‘A hundred times better, I bet!’

  ‘I agree,’ came a little squeak from behind him.

  ‘Me too,’ came another.

  ‘I recognise those voices,’ Hog gasped. ‘Sprackle! Tucker! My little hedgie friends!’

  ‘Really?’ Mr Dog gave his biggest doggy grin and stood on his back legs to greet the little hedgehogs, each in a pet crate. ‘Hog was afraid he’d lost you.’

  ‘It was a human giant called Jed who found us,’ said Sprackle. ‘He said we would be checked to be sure we’re healthy, then taken to a place called Mainland to begin a better life.’

  ‘Mainland,’ Hog said dreamily. ‘That’s where the first hedgehogs came from, a thousand seasons past.’

  ‘Wow!’ Tucker was impressed. ‘You sure know a lot, Hog.’

  ‘Jed the giant was waiting for his friend, frizzy Lizzie, to come back,’ Sprackle said. ‘He hoped she’d be bringing good news. Is finding Hog the good news?’

  ‘It’s the best news,’ said Mr Dog. ‘But I suppose Jed must’ve meant something else.’

  ‘I wonder what?’ said Hog.

  Then the farmhouse doorbell rang.

  Mr Dog trotted back to the house to see who was calling – and as Lizzie and Jed opened the door, he found it wasn’t good news at all. Mrs Maitland had come to call, and she didn’t look pleased. Dandy, back on his lead, growled crossly.

  ‘That no-good stray!’ Mrs Maitland pointed at Mr Dog. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘He’s staying with me for a while, until I take him back to the mainland,’ said Lizzie. ‘Like my hedgies, he can start another life there.’

  I’m rather fond of the one I have, thought Mr Dog. But you’re very sweet to think of me!

  ‘That dog’s been out worrying sheep,’ said Mrs Maitland. ‘Ought to be locked up.’

  Jed folded his arms. ‘What about your Dandy? I heard Farmer Donaldson say he gave a whole herd of cattle a fright, running off the lead with his friends.’

  ‘They gave me a scare too,’ Lizzie added. ‘Still, I do hope that all those hounds have been safely recovered?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mrs Maitland harrumphed. ‘I was out all day searching for Dandy. Found him and the others skulking in the woods near here and got them all in my van. Something had spooked them.’

  Lizzie winked at Mr Dog. ‘I can’t imagine what.’

  Mr Dog grinned. ‘Beware of low-flying hedgies,’ he woofed, and Dandy cringed.

  Mrs Maitland stepped up to Lizzie. ‘I’m here because I believe that you and Jed turned that stray dog loose on purpose to sabotage our hunt,’ she went on. ‘What do you say to that, hmm?’

  ‘It’s not true,’ Lizzie said.

  Jed nodded. ‘We would never do such a thing, because the poor thing could’ve been hurt – just like those hedgehogs you find.’

  Lizzie smiled. ‘Still, the good news is, the Isle of Evan’s hedgehogs are finally safe from your horrible hunts, Mrs Maitland. Because, you see, I didn’t just go to the mainland to release our rescued hedgies. I invited members of the Scottish Nature Trust along, to see what we’re doing.’

  ‘Aye, she did,’ said Jed, waving a piece of paper. ‘And they were so impressed, they’ve just confirmed that they’re banning all hedgehog hunts on the Isle of Evan. They want to help fund our “catch-with-kindness” scheme instead.’

  Mrs Maitland had gone very pale. ‘Ban?’ she spluttered. ‘Fund you?’

  ‘Hurray!’ Mr Dog threw back his head and howled with happiness.

  Dandy dropped to the floor, whining. ‘Not fair!’

  ‘It’s good news for sure,’ Mr Dog agreed. ‘And, goodbye!’ He scampered away to tell Hog and the other hedgies. They couldn’t believe their little ears!

  ‘No more hunts?’ said Hog, his black eyes wide with wonder. ‘A new start for all of us?’

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose it’s possible to move all of the hedgehogs here back to the mainland,’ said Mr Dog. ‘But hopefully they can find the right balance so that the island’s wildlife will live together in harmony. I can’t wait to slip out and share the news with Maura!’

  ‘How kind you are,’ said Hog happily. ‘Will you come back after, Mr Dog?’

  ‘Of course, for a while,’ he wuffed. ‘We’ll all take the ferryboat back to the mainland and I can see you settled into your new lives before carrying on my way.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Hog pressed his little nose through the bars in his carry-case and Mr Dog pushed his big nose up against it. ‘I never would have got here without you.’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t leave you behind, could I?’ Mr Dog grinned. ‘After all, it’s not every day that I meet a talking hedge … and practically never that I meet a hedge called Hog!’

  Notes from the Author

  There’s something special and different about hedgehogs. With their sharp, prickly coats, beady eyes and little snouts they might not look that beautiful – and they are very shy – but there is nothing like them anywhere else in Britain. I love watching the way they snuffle for food or curl into a ball if they think they are in danger. And I still wait up at night sometimes, watching very quietly,
hoping one will appear in my London garden (even though it never has!).

  Hedgehogs live in both the town and the country and really don’t usually need much more than the right food and somewhere dark and quiet to hide. But sometimes in this busy human world this isn’t easy, so occasionally we just have to give them a bit of help. Remember that one might be living in a pile of dead leaves or under a bush or compost heap, so be careful if you disturb them. If you have a hedgehog nearby, think about whether you might leave out a little extra food when it’s time for them to get ready to hibernate for the winter or when they have just woken up in the spring. They will happily eat dog food or cat food and like water (not milk) to drink. And if anyone is lighting a bonfire, ask them to check for hedgehogs first!

  Hedgehogs are nocturnal animals so they only usually go out at night. If you see one during the day, it might have a problem. If you find a hedgehog in daylight and it looks lost, don’t touch it but ring your local hedgehog rescue centre or a hedgehog charity instead for advice. Hedgehogs really need our friendship – even if they can’t tell us so.

  Chapter One

  A CRY IN THE NIGHT

  It was late in the city. The roads were quiet and the house windows were dark. But not all animals went to bed just because humans did! Nocturnal creatures still roamed the streets and gardens …

  An eerie sound, like a howling scream, rose up into the starry springtime blackness of the sky.

  Mr Dog jumped awake, his dark eyes wide under their bushy brows. He was a raggedy mutt, with dark scruffy fur, a big black nose and front paws as white as his muzzle. ‘What a curious noise,’ he said to himself, stretching with a yawn. ‘I wonder what it was?’

  The short, sad, yowling cry came again. Mr Dog pit-patted across the kitchen to the back door, stuck his head out through the catflap and raised an ear. He was trying to trace the lonely sound. But the night was quiet again, just the grumble of a passing car in a nearby road, so he went back inside.

  Mr Dog didn’t often stay in cities. A travelling dog by nature, he preferred fresh air, fields and forests. If he chose to stay with a pet owner it was usually in a sleepy town or small-time village. But a little while ago he had stepped on a thorn and his paw had grown sore. He’d limped into town in search of help.

  Luckily, a kind, animal-loving lady called Minnah had found him and taken him home. She’d pulled out the thorn with tweezers, given him a good bath and even washed the red-and-white spotted hanky that served as his collar! Her friend was a vet who had checked Mr Dog’s paw, and luckily the only treatment needed was to soak it in a special bath for ten minutes, twice a day.

  ‘It’s really feeling much better already,’ thought Mr Dog, waggling his paw. ‘And how sweet and clean I smell! I may have to change my name to Lord Dog…’ He stood on his back paws and tried to look as posh as possible. ‘Hmm, perhaps even Sir Dog?’

  ‘Sir Silly Dog!’ someone giggled from a pet-carrier on the kitchen floor.

  ‘Silly? I’m being serious.’ Mr Dog beamed at the tortoise inside the carrier. ‘Or sir-ious, at least. How are you feeling, Shelly?’

  Shelly pushed out his little scaly head. ‘I’m feeling glad to have such a noble neighbour!’ he said. Shelly was a fifteen-year-old Horsfield tortoise with a richly patterned shell and a sense of fun that was missing in many tortoises. ‘I just really hope that someone finds poor old Crawly soon.’

  ‘So do I,’ Mr Dog agreed sadly. Crawly was another tortoise who for years had lived with Shelly in a nearby garden. Then, two days ago, Crawly had gone missing. There was no sign of forced entry to the garden. No one knew what had happened. Since the tortoises’ owners had to go away for a few days, they’d asked Minnah to look after Crawly in case something happened to him too.

  ‘One minute Crawly was there beneath a hedge,’ Shelly said, not for the first time, ‘and the next minute … he was gone.’ Shelly’s head slowly shrank back inside his shell. ‘It all happened so fast.’

  ‘Don’t lose hope.’ Mr Dog put his nose to the side of the carry-case and snuffled Shelly’s shell. ‘Crawly might still show up, you know …’ Suddenly he heard the creak of a floorboard. The kitchen light flicked on and Minnah came into the room.

  ‘Hello, boy,’ she yawned, patting his head. Mr Dog woofed softly in greeting and wagged his brushy tail.

  ‘That screaming fox woke you up too, did it?’ said Minnah, filling the kettle. ‘What a racket, calling out like that…’

  ‘A fox!’ Shelly shivered in his shell – though, of course, Minnah couldn’t hear a word he said. ‘I never knew that a fox could make a sound like that.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Mr Dog agreed. ‘Minnah certainly taught us something tonight.’

  Shelly’s dark eyes twinkled. ‘You mean … she “tortoise” something!’

  Mr Dog rolled on to his back and wriggled in amusement. Shelly beamed.

  Minnah made herself a cup of tea, fed Mr Dog a biscuit and then switched out the light and went back up to bed.

  Mr Dog had just settled himself back in his basket when the eerie fox cry sounded again.

  ‘I don’t like the thought of a fox being so close by,’ Shelly confessed. ‘My owner said it could’ve been a fox who took Crawly from the garden.’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Mr Dog, who was a friend to all animals and never one to judge. ‘Dogs and foxes tend to avoid each other, so I haven’t really met one before …’

  After a while, Shelly fell asleep. But Mr Dog’s ears jumped as the strange howl sounded once more from outside.

  I wonder why that fox is calling? thought Mr Dog. Perhaps it’s in trouble. Maybe I can help? Limping just a little, Mr Dog padded over to the catflap and squeezed through it. At the very least, I can ask him to keep the noise down so he doesn’t disturb the neighbours …

  The catflap opened on to a side alley: one way led to the main street, the other to a quiet lane that backed on to a row of garages. The night was cool and Mr Dog’s nose twitched with the city’s scents. The houses were dark but the streetlamps cast bright orange patches over the pavements. Somewhere distant, gulls gave their rowdy cries and a clock struck three. Mr Dog felt happy. How nice it was to be outside again!

  His nose twitched with a strong, musky smell from the fir trees that lined someone’s garden. That fox has marked this territory, thought Mr Dog. A boy fox, unless I’m very much mistaken. He must be close by …

  Then Mr Dog caught another smell.

  The smell of a tortoise!

  Quickly he pushed his head through the fir trees – and couldn’t believe his eyes.

  A small and scrappy red fox was sitting happily in the garden – holding a tortoise in its jaws!

  About the Author

  BEN FOGLE is a broadcaster and seasoned adventurer. A modern-day nomad and journeyman, he has travelled to more than a hundred countries and accomplished amazing feats; from swimming with crocodiles to rowing three thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean; from crossing Antarctica on foot to surviving a year as a castaway on a remote Hebridean island. Most recently, Ben climbed Mount Everest. Oh, and he LOVES dogs.

  Books by Ben Fogle

  MR DOG AND THE RABBIT HABIT

  MR DOG AND THE SEAL DEAL

  MR DOG AND A HEDGE CALLED HOG

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