The Invisible Dog

by Dick King-Smith

  ‘No.’

  ‘Poor old boy,’ said Janie, fondling an invisible ear.

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it afterwards.’

  Apart from those old snapshots of Rupert, Janie had never in her life set eyes upon a Great Dane until that unforgettable day shortly after her eighth birthday. They had walked into the great hall of Olympia and made their way past the judging of a whole lot of other breeds – terriers and collies and gun dogs and many more – and suddenly there were the giants, a ring full of them.

  Black and blue, fawn and brindle and harlequin, they stood and showed themselves in all their majestic dignity.

  The judge was a little woman, small enough, it seemed to Janie, to have gone for a ride on any one of the great dogs whose points she was so carefully examining.

  Janie and her mother and father watched at the ringside as class succeeded class, and handlers stood their charges before the little judge, or walked or ran around the ring, the huge dogs striding out beside them. Tall men or short men, thin ladies or fat, old or young, they each had something in common, thought Janie – a Great Big Beautiful Dane. If only we could have one some day, she said to herself.

  A man beside them noticed the rapt expression on Janie’s face.

  ‘Bet you wish you had a dog like one of those,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Actually,’ said Janie, ‘I have. He’s called Henry.’

  ‘Imagine that!’ said the friendly man.

  ‘Henry’s rather out of the ordinary,’ Janie’s mother said.

  ‘Out of this world,’ said her father.

  They stayed and watched till the end of the judging, till the little woman had made her choice between Best Dog and Best Bitch. Both appeared equally beautiful to Janie – every one of the Danes there, it seemed to her, was faultless; she couldn’t see any difference between them except colour. But she desperately wanted the dog to win Best of Breed because, just by chance, he was a harlequin. And her wish was granted.

  ‘He’s beautiful!’ Janie said.

  ‘Isn’t he just!’

  ‘They all were.’

  ‘Weren’t they just!’

  Afterwards they went round the benches, and there he was, with his rosettes and his prize cards and his proud owner.

  Janie pushed between a small crowd of admirers to get a closer look. The dog, she could see, knew just what a clever fellow he was. He had a kind of smile on his great face and his long tail wagged slowly and majestically.

  ‘He’s called Champion Larkmeadow Nobleman of Merlincourt,’ she told her parents.

  ‘Gosh! What a mouthful.’

  ‘But his owner called him Bob. I heard him.’

  ‘That’s better.’

  ‘Funny thing though,’ said Janie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He looked just exactly like Henry.’

  FIVE

  The Tea Leaves

  The postbox was at the top end of the village, not much more than a hundred yards from Janie’s front gate. It was, in fact, set into the low garden wall of Mrs Garrow’s cottage, and Janie sometimes wondered how the old lady posted any letters she might write. Did she come out into the lane and post them from the front like everyone else, or did she stay inside her garden and stretch over the wall, then feel for the opening in the box and post them, so to speak, upside down? No, she wouldn’t be tall enough, would she?

  One day she found the answer.

  ‘Take this letter up to the post for me, Janie, will you, please?’ her mother had said, and Janie set off, the letter in one hand, the lead in the other, the collar around Henry’s invisible neck.

  She was approaching the postbox when she saw Mrs Garrow come out of her front door, also carrying a letter, and walk across her little bit of lawn to a spot directly behind the bright red box.

  She’ll never be able to do it; she’s too short, Janie thought, but then Mrs Garrow seemed suddenly to rise higher, and she leaned right over the top of the wall and posted her letter.

  Straightening up, she saw Janie and let out a burst of quacking laughter.

  ‘Bet you thought I wasn’t tall enough to do that!’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for these,’ and Janie could see that the old lady was standing on top of a little pair of wooden steps positioned behind the wall.

  ‘I always enjoy doing that, Janie,’ Mrs Garrow said. ‘’Specially as I always feel somehow that the postbox is mine, seeing as it’s set in my wall.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Janie. ‘Is it all right if I post my letter in it?’

  ‘Course it is!’ cried Mrs Garrow with another volley of quacks. ‘Though I’m surprised to see you carrying it.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Janie asked.

  ‘Well, I’d have thought that great animal of yours would be carrying it for you in his mouth. Some dogs do, you know. My! He’s a size, isn’t he? What’s his name?’

  ‘Henry,’ said Janie.

  ‘Well I never!’ said Mrs Garrow. ‘D’you know what, Janie? That was my late husband’s name.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Janie. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added.

  ‘No need to be sorry, dear,’ said Mrs Garrow. ‘He’s been dead and gone these twenty years, though never a day passes when I don’t think of him. And you know what? There’s a lot in common between your Henry and mine.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’ Janie said.

  ‘Well, my Henry was a great big chap too – he didn’t need a stepladder to post a letter – and another thing, he was quiet, just like your dog. He doesn’t bark much, does he?’

  ‘No,’ Janie said.

  ‘Saw one just like him on the telly, couple of weeks ago,’ Mrs Garrow said. ‘Some big dog show it was.’

  ‘Cruft’s!’ said Janie. ‘We went there!’

  ‘Did you take Henry?’

  ‘No, but there was a dog there just exactly like him and he won the prize for Best of Breed. Another harlequin Great Dane, he was.’

  ‘A harlequin Great Dane, eh?’ said Mrs Garrow, and she looked down from her perch at the dangling collar and nodded.

  ‘I see,’ she said.

  ‘And Daddy says I can have a real one – I mean, another one – but only on one condition.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘I have to have five hundred pounds.’

  ‘That’s a lot of money.’

  ‘It’s a fortune!’

  Mrs Garrow looked down at Janie and her invisible dog, and her wrinkled face creased some more, into a smile.

  ‘Talking of fortunes, Janie,’ she said, ‘how would you like me to tell yours?’

  ‘Oh, could you? Oh yes, please,’ said Janie.

  ‘Come in and have a cup of tea then.’

  ‘I’d better ask Mum,’ said Janie.

  ‘You do that,’ said Mrs Garrow. ‘I’ve got some nice cake.’

  When Janie returned, permission granted, Mrs Garrow called from her front door, ‘Come on in.’

  ‘What about Henry?’ Janie said.

  ‘He’d better stay in the garden,’ Mrs Garrow said. ‘My old black cat doesn’t like dogs.’

  ‘All right,’ said Janie, and she came in through the gate and dropped the collar and lead on the lawn. ‘Down, Henry,’ she said, and, ‘Stay.’

  ‘Now,’ said Mrs Garrow when they had drunk their tea, ‘let’s have a look in your cup.’

  For a long moment she studied the tea leaves in the bottom of the cup, very carefully.

  Then she said, ‘Janie, I think you’re going to be lucky.’

  ‘Why? What can you see?’ Janie asked.

  ‘Look,’ said Mrs Garrow, handing the cup back.

  Janie looked in, but all she could see was a scatter of black tea leaves at the bottom of the white cup.

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve got to know what you’re looking for,’ said Mrs Garrow. ‘There’s a shape there all right – a great big shape it is, no doubt about it, and what’s more, it’s black-
and-white.’

  ‘A harlequin Great Dane!’ cried Janie. ‘Is that what it is?’

  Mrs Garrow smiled her crinkly smile.

  ‘I shouldn’t be surprised,’ she said. ‘And now you’d best get off home.’

  Out on the lawn, Janie picked up the end of the lead.

  ‘Heel, Henry!’ she said, and, ‘Thank you for the tea, Mrs Garrow. I hope the tea leaves were right.’

  ‘Talking of leaves,’ said Mrs Garrow, ‘this lawn’s covered in them. I’d better sweep them up. Bye-bye, Janie dear.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Janie said.

  For a moment she stood in the lane by the postbox, looking over the low wall. On the lawn old Mrs Garrow was sweeping away with a long broomstick of birch twigs, watched by her black cat.

  SIX

  The Money

  ‘I’m bankrupt,’ said Janie’s mother.

  ‘And I soon shall be,’ said her father. ‘I don’t think it’s fair. Whoever heard of a dog playing Monopoly?’

  ‘’Specially an invisible dog,’ his wife said.

  Janie sat grinning, a great stack of money in front of her. She patted the unseen head at her side.

  ‘You played well,’ she said.

  It had been Janie’s idea that Henry should take part in the game. She threw the dice for him, of course, and moved his symbol round the board, and collected the rents from all his properties as well as her own. As always, she played with the top-hat, her mother with the flat-iron and her father with the car. Henry’s symbol, naturally, had to be the dog.

  ‘OK,’ said Janie’s father as the car landed on Henry’s Park Lane hotel. ‘I’ve had it too. You win, Janie. You and Henry.’

  ‘Cheer up, Daddy,’ Janie said. ‘I’ve got a nice surprise for you,’ and from a wad of money she peeled off a five-hundred-pound note and held it out to him.

  ‘What’s this for?’ he said.

  ‘For my Great Dane puppy. Remember what you said? “You come along with five hundred pounds,” you said …’

  ‘Oh, no you don’t,’ her father said. ‘It’s got to be real money if you want a real dog. Five hundred pounds of Monopoly money indeed – you’ll be lucky!’

  ‘I think I will be,’ Janie said.

  Later, Janie’s mother said, ‘I wish you hadn’t done that silly thing, David.’

  ‘What silly thing?’

  ‘Telling Janie she could have a puppy if she had five hundred pounds. You saw the look on her face just now – she genuinely believes she’s going to be lucky. It’s not fair on the child – there’s no way she could find that amount. Either put up the money yourself or shut up about it.’

  ‘I just might,’ Janie’s father said.

  ‘Might what? Shut up?’

  ‘No, put up the money. Ever since Janie brought out that lead and collar, I’ve found myself thinking of dear old Rupert and what a super dog he was and wondering why we never replaced him. And what with Cruft’s – well, I must admit I’m getting quite keen on the idea. After all, Sally, we are the right sort of people to have a big dog – we’ve a sizeable house and garden, we live in the country and we can afford it.’

  ‘You told Janie we couldn’t when she first asked you.’

  ‘Yes, I know; it’s all the fault of that invisible dog of hers. The more she plays that game, the more I find I want to see an actual living, breathing, flesh-and-blood Dane on that lead.’

  ‘A harlequin.’

  ‘Does that matter? Surely any colour would do.’

  ‘Not for Janie it wouldn’t. And it may not be easy to find exactly what we want.’

  ‘We?’ said her husband. ‘You go along with the idea then?’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘We will,’ said Janie’s father, and he grinned, slyly it seemed to his wife.

  ‘What have you got up your sleeve?’ she said.

  ‘Not up my sleeve,’ said Janie’s father. ‘In my pocket,’ and he took something out of it.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘An advertisement. I cut it out of the local paper.’

  ‘You don’t mean …?’

  ‘Yes. Listen.