Nobody's Dog Page 12

‘Take me! Take me!’ Number One bellowed hopelessly.

  ‘I wish somebody would take you,’ Chip was yapping. ‘Give us a break from the monotony.’

  ‘Chip!’ Digby called. ‘Can you hear me? It’s Digby! Where are you?’

  Eventually the barking died down a little. Digby renewed his calls and Chip heard him.

  ‘I’m not so far away, I think. You sound close,’ the mongrel called. ‘How did you end up in here?’ The voice seemed to come from across the passage.

  Digby got up and went to peer through his grille. To his surprise and pleasure he could see Chip standing with his nose to his own grille a couple of pens along on the opposite row. Their tails wagged briefly as they spotted each other.

  ‘I’ve been abandoned again,’ Digby informed Chip sadly.

  ‘So I see.’

  ‘What about you, Chip?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been here quite a while. I told you: I’m a regular Jack-in-the-box, I am. In and out of here like . . . but wait a moment! You said “abandoned”. Last time I saw you, you were with another man in a car. You know – after you were captured and tied up.’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve had some narrow escapes. I found my master again, but it was all in vain. Look at me now.’

  ‘Don’t feel so sorry for yourself,’ Chip barked. ‘You’ll soon be picked out again. Just think of that poor brute Number One! He’s the sort we should be sorry for.’

  Digby knew the remark was justified but it didn’t lift his spirits. He began to tell Chip all about his adventures. Then the visitors reached their row and occupied their attention. Digby made himself as unappealing as he was able by growling and baring his teeth at all of them.

  Later he continued his talk with Chip, and learned that Streak had been briefly in the Dogs’ Home again. Digby guessed the greyhound had lost his way running from the hateful Ken. However, his owners had claimed him shortly after his arrival in the compound.

  ‘Oh, that’s good news,’ Digby said, forgetting his own troubles for a moment. ‘I wondered about him. Bouncing Jet Streak of Fleetwood,’ he recited affectionately. ‘A true friend.’

  ‘Oh yeah? I could do with one or two of those,’ Chip muttered a mite enviously.

  ‘Well, I . . . we can talk together, can’t we?’ Digby offered.

  ‘Yeah. We can. Thanks, Digby.’

  Chip’s presence did help. The two dogs communicated when they could. At night, though, Digby’s spirits sank. In the darkness, when most of the animals were asleep, he would think about Frank and Tam until, released from sorrow by sleep, he dreamed of them instead.

  But there was a further blow to come, and a most unexpected one. Norman, now fully recovered, had resumed his way of life as a pub singer. One of the managers he knew well had given him a room above the pub, and one afternoon, having already combed the streets and drawn a blank, he arrived at the Dogs’ Home, looking for Chip.

  The old man wasn’t particularly fond of dogs in general and he paid scant attention to most of them. He came heavily along the corridor, humming an air, and let out a piercing whistle when he spotted Chip.

  ‘Bless my soul, here you are then!’ he cried delightedly. ‘This is magic for both of us. Oh, you’re glad to see me, are you?’ Chip was yelping in greeting, and Norman bent down and tickled the mongrel’s ears. ‘Wait on a bit. I’ll have you out in no time.’ Pleased as Punch at finding his old comrade again, Norman set off to make arrangements.

  When Chip was removed from his pen, Digby whined miserably as the mongrel gave him a cheery last call. ‘I’ll see you outside, Digby. I’ll look for you!’

  Digby was too upset to respond. Now his last friend was taken from him. Frank, Tam, Streak and, finally, Chip: all gone, all distant. He lay with his head on his paws, his misery complete.

  At Rothesay House, too, unhappiness prevailed. Ever since Frank and Digby’s departure, Millie had been sullen and unforgiving. She held both her parents to blame. Her father had presented Frank with an impossible ultimatum, and her mother, Millie thought, had been uncaring. Moreover, Tam had begun to fret. He was off his food, listless and withdrawn. Mr Odling despaired.

  ‘We don’t owe them anything, Margaret,’ he said, trying to justify himself. ‘The lad was only a gardener, after all. The business of Digby is unfortunate and I suppose, with hindsight, I was a bit peremptory, but . . . well, all this’ – he waved an arm at his daughter, sulking in a chair – ‘is just ridiculous.’

  ‘You do owe Frank,’ Millie contradicted. ‘His wages!’

  ‘It’s not my fault he went off without them,’ Odling protested.

  ‘Of course not, dear,’ his wife agreed. ‘But, James – don’t you think we should make some effort to locate Frank? I’m really worried about him. He has no home, you know.’

  Odling looked shamefaced. ‘I know,’ he mumbled. ‘But I couldn’t have foreseen his moonlight flit. I never dreamed he would do such a thing. I thought he’d at least stay on until he could sort himself out.’

  ‘What about Tam?’ Millie demanded. ‘Why should he go on suffering?’

  There was silence. There was no doubt Tam was very unhappy.

  James Odling heaved a deep sigh. ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘I can’t stand this atmosphere any longer. How can we find Frank?’

  ‘Why don’t we try the park?’ Margaret Odling suggested. ‘That’s where you found him first. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so we could all go.’

  Millie wasn’t convinced. ‘What would Frank be doing in the park, Mummy? He doesn’t have a job there any more.’

  ‘Can you think of anything better?’ James Odling asked irritably.

  Millie looked at Tam lying under a chair, head on paws in an unconscious reflection of Digby. ‘Actually I can,’ she said. ‘Why not let Tam look for Digby? The first thing he does when he gets outside is to sniff Digby’s scent. Why don’t we let him lead us?’

  ‘Millie, he’s not a bloodhound. He’s a collie,’ Margaret Odling pointed out.

  ‘He’s more likely to know where to go than we are, anyway,’ Millie insisted stubbornly. ‘We could at least try.’

  ‘Yes,’ her father said. ‘We could. We’ll give it a go, Millie.’

  18

  The next day Tam was put to the test. He was so eager to find his brother again that, once on Digby’s trail, he pulled like mad on the lead to follow it. Millie’s arm was stretched to the limit but she didn’t complain or haul the dog back. Her parents walked behind, resigned but curious.

  Tam, as the family soon discovered, wasn’t the greatest canine sleuth. He lost Digby’s scent early on, then found it again by a lamp-post farther down the street and showed tremendous excitement. From there he managed to track his brother to the railway arch where Frank and Digby had sheltered. The scent was so strong thereabouts that Tam spent some minutes casting about, in and out of the arch and round the corner, this way and that, until Millie tired and pulled him up.

  ‘He’s not here any more, Tam,’ she told the collie. ‘Can’t you find which way he went?’

  Her parents had watched Tam’s antics. ‘He’s stumped,’ James Odling said. ‘Come on, Millie. It’s no use. We can’t stay here.’

  Margaret Odling had a thought. ‘This isn’t far from the Dogs’ Home where you first took Digby,’ she said. ‘Do you think Frank might have taken him back there? After all, he’d have difficulty looking after him without a job, or a roof over his head.’

  Millie glared at her father, and Odling raised his eyes to heaven.

  ‘All right, all right. I’m the villain of the piece. I know.’ He hated to see his daughter’s accusing looks. ‘Let’s go to the Dogs’ Home, and if Digby’s not there we’ll simply have to give up. What more can we do?’

  In the compound, Millie was saddened by the collection of abandoned, lost and stray dogs. Her soft heart melted when she saw the animals’ puzzled or downcast expressions. Even those who perked up at the sight of the interested and sympathetic human onlookers
were, she knew, doomed to disappointment as the family eventually passed them by.

  ‘How could you, Daddy? How could you have brought poor Digby to this kind of place?’ she whispered.

  ‘Stop blaming your father,’ Margaret Odling said a little sharply. ‘He’s not a criminal. You don’t understand. There are times when unpleasant things have to be done. And he’s doing his best to make up for it now.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ Millie said. Then, suddenly, ‘Look! Look at Tam!’

  Tam was lunging forward, trying to break into a run. Millie let him have his head. The two scampered down the corridor and Tam’s explosive yelps of delight and excitement brought the adults hurrying up. And there were the brother collies, one outside the pen doing his best to get in, the other behind the grille scrabbling to get out; both straining to cross the barrier between them.

  ‘Oh, look. Look at them!’ Millie laughed joyfully. ‘They’re so pleased to see one another!’

  Even her father had to admit that the dogs obviously belonged together. ‘Very well. We must go to the office and explain everything,’ he said. ‘I hope they won’t make any objections. I don’t expect they’ll remember me, but if they do I’ll make them understand I made an awful mistake.’

  Millie was ecstatic. But there was still the question of Frank’s whereabouts.

  Frank had skulked from street to street, using up what money he had on food and sleeping wherever the mood took him. After a few days he realized he needed to stop drifting. Digby was in the Dogs’ Home, so the job at Rothesay House could yet be his. It was a tempting thought for someone who had recently got used to feeling comfortable, but it was a thought Frank dismissed almost as soon as it took shape. He had betrayed Digby’s trust once. To return to Rothesay House without him would be a double betrayal. He wondered if anyone had chosen Digby and taken him home. If so, he hoped it was to a more settled existence than he had provided. He still regretted the number of hours Digby had had to spend shut away in the cabin.

  The more Frank thought about Digby’s prospects the more he longed to know his fate. Although he wanted the best for Digby, he was unable to prevent himself from wishing the collie was still in the compound. Somehow it felt that while Digby was being housed by the charity in the Dogs’ Home, he was still Frank’s dog. Finally, Frank resolved to return there. He simply had to know what had happened.

  On the way he began to make all kinds of plans. He decided that if he found Digby still penned up, he would see it as Fate taking charge. It would then be Frank’s duty to spare his dog any more unhappiness. Somehow he would arrange to get him out. Then the two of them could resume their old life as it had been before the Odlings had come into it. Digby had been content then; he could be so again. Frank grew more and more excited as he neared the building. As he entered it, he felt as though a weight had dropped from his shoulders. He smiled at everyone he saw as he began the familiar route around the corridors and then up the ramps to the higher levels. The smile faded as he reached the top floor without finding any sign of Digby.

  ‘He must be here. He must,’ he muttered fiercely to himself, his eyes scanning the name plates outside the few empty pens in case Digby had been temporarily removed for exercise or medical attention. But his name appeared nowhere. Frank realized the worst had happened. Digby had been readopted.

  As a last resort he went down to the office to enquire about the date of Digby’s selection. The young girl on duty recognized him.

  ‘Have you had a change of heart?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Well – yes,’ Frank answered uncertainly. ‘When did Digby go? Were they nice people? Did he look happy?’

  The girl smiled. ‘They were very nice people. They came only yesterday. And – er – is your name Frank?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is. Why?’

  ‘I have a message for you. From the little daughter. She said we were to tell you, if you ever came here looking, that Digby is safe and well and will be longing to see you.’

  ‘But – but . . .’ Frank’s mind raced. ‘Was the little girl called Millie?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Oh!’ Frank cried. ‘Now I see! That’s great! So they changed their minds too. Digby is back with his brother.’

  ‘He was here,’ the girl confirmed. ‘He came with the family. He and Digby looked like two peas in a pod.’

  ‘Of course. They’re from the same litter. Thank you so much; you’ve made my day.’ Frank sighed happily. ‘Oh, this is more than I hoped for. I must go and see poor Digby. He can’t know what’s happening to him. He’s been in and out of one place and another . . .’ Frank’s voice died away as he strode to the exit. He was talking to himself more than to anyone else.

  After a hasty clean-up, he set off for Rothesay House. His head was in a whirl. What had changed Odling’s mind? ‘It’s Millie. I bet it’s Millie,’ he murmured to himself. ‘I’m so glad Tam and Digby are together. But what about the garden? Is someone else looking after that? And if not, can I have my job back? But if I do, who does Digby belong to? He’s not mine any more. I gave him up. Oh! Oh dear! But at least I’d see him . . .’

  On and on went Frank’s thoughts. They couldn’t be put to rest until he arrived at the house. It was Sunday, the weather was fine and the family were all in the garden, eating a cold lunch. Millie heard the doorbell ring. She came running when she saw who it was.

  ‘Frank! Oh, Frank!’ She flung her arms round him in a joyful hug. ‘Mummy! Daddy! It’s Frank!’ She grabbed Frank’s free hand and dragged him after her.

  Millie’s parents stood up to greet him. Both had relieved smiles on their faces. Before anyone could speak Digby bounded from cover and leapt into Frank’s arms, plastering his face with frantic licks.

  ‘Well!’ James Odling laughed. ‘That says it all, Frank. Welcome back. We’ve made mistakes, both of us. The garden has missed you, as you can see. And – and so have we,’ he ended a little awkwardly.

  Frank couldn’t find words. He stood smiling broadly, but with a slightly dazed expression.

  ‘The cabin’s yours as before,’ Margaret Odling said, ‘unless’ – she looked momentarily uncertain – ‘you’ve found another position?’

  ‘Er – no. No, nothing,’ Frank stammered, stooping to drop Digby to the ground. He hardly dared ask about the dog. ‘Er – can Digby . . .’

  ‘Digby will want to be with you,’ Margaret Odling said. ‘I think he’s made that quite plain.’ She laughed. ‘And perhaps with Tam too!’

  The other collie was standing nearby, enjoying the scene and wagging his tail sympathetically.

  ‘Thank you,’ Frank said. ‘But I think Digby belongs to all of us.’

  Some days later Frank sat in his cabin with the door open on to the garden. He had invited Miss Crisp to tea. They watched the two dogs lying peacefully side by side in the shade of the rhododendrons. Occasionally one would utter a contented sigh which the other would echo.

  ‘You haven’t told me your story yet,’ Tam reminded Digby.

  ‘Plenty of time for that,’ Digby said. ‘I’m savouring every moment as it passes. It’s so wonderful to feel settled when you’ve lived through something so different.’

  ‘Well, that’s what we are,’ said Tam. ‘Settled for life.’

  NOBODY’S DOG

  AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 47887 5

  Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,

  an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK

  A Penguin Random House Company

  This ebook edition published 2011

  Copyright © Colin Dann, 2011

  First Published in Great Britain

  Red Fox 9780099267072 2011

  The right of Colin Dann to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed
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  About the Author

  Colin Dann was born in Richmond, Surrey. His interest in natural history was fostered by studying the local wildlife in Richmond Park, and wildlife success came at the age of ten, when he won a London Schools Essay Competition set by the RSPCA. His prize was a copy of The Wind in the Willows. For many years he worked for Collins, the publishers. It was during this period that his concern for conservation led him to write his first novel, The Animals of Farthing Wood, which won the Arts Council National Award for Children’s Literature in 1980.

  Colin has since published seven further books in his Farthing Wood/White Deer Park sequence: In the Grip of Winter (1981), Fox’s Feud (1982), The Fox Cub Bold (1983), The Siege of White Deer Park (1985), In the Path of the Storm (1989), Battle for the Park (1992) and Farthing Wood – The Adventure Begins (1994). These stories were made into a highly successful animation series for the BBC. Other titles by him include The Ram of Sweetriver (1986), The Beach Dogs (1988), Just Nuffin (1989), A Great Escape (1990), A Legacy of Ghosts (1991) and the City Cats trilogy, King of the Vagabonds (1987), The City Cats (1991) and Copycat (1997).