Werepuppy and the Werepuppy on Holiday Read online

  Marigold would normally have sensed a secret by now, but she had made friends with a whole gaggle of little girls that she met on the beach every day, and she was so busy giggling with them all the time that she hardly spent a minute with the family. They were all looking forward to the special seaside festival fete on Friday. There was going to be a fancy dress competition and a talent contest. Marigold was determined to win both. So were all her friends. They all wanted to dress up as princesses or pop stars and they all wanted to sing and dance in the talent contest. A whole troupe of plump ungainly little girls pranced up and down the sands, singing their hearts out.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Marigold, give it a rest!’ Dad begged, trying to have a little snooze in his deck-chair.

  But Mum and Gran had decided there was no reason why they couldn’t go in for the talent contest too, so they started practising a souped-up version of’How Much is that Doggy in the Window’.

  Meryl and Mandy and Mona decided to try a little number of their own, and came up with a very rock’n’roll raucous version of ‘Hound Dog’.

  Dad couldn’t work out why most of his womenfolk seemed obsessed with doggy themes, and he didn’t appreciate any of their acts.

  ‘Pipe down the lot of you!’ Dad begged. ‘Can’t a man get a bit of peace for five minutes?’ He caught Micky’s eye and sighed. ‘Women!’

  ‘Yeah, Dad. Women,’ Micky agreed, wishing they’d all stop nudging each other and giggling whenever they sang the word dog, just in case Dad cottoned on. Micky decided he had too much on his plate trying to keep tabs on Wolfie to go in for the talent contest himself, and he certainly didn’t care for the dress idea, fancy or otherwise. He’d seen on a poster that there was also a dog obedience competition at the fete, but he knew there wasn’t much point entering Wolfie.

  Micky chuckled at the very idea.

  ‘You’ve certainly perked up a lot, son,’ said Dad. ‘You’ve had a good holiday, haven’t you?’

  ‘Mmm, yes, Dad.’

  ‘There. I told you so. I don’t want you to think I’m heartless, pal, but you can’t let your life be ruled by your pets,’ said Dad.

  There was a faraway familiar barking.

  ‘That’s right, Dad,’ said Micky. ‘Er… I think I’ll just take a little walk along the beach, OK?’

  He hurried off towards the barking. Wolfie was in trouble again. He’d pounced on someone’s Frisbee, mistaking it for a large white pancake. Wolfie was very partial to pancakes. There wasn’t much of the Frisbee left.

  ‘Who on earth is the owner of this wretched animal?’ said the someone’s dad angrily. He spotted Micky running up. ‘Ah, is this your dog?’ he demanded.

  Micky hesitated. Wolfie caught on at once. He changed gear from welcoming barks to hostile growls, baring his teeth at Micky.

  Micky acted frightened, backing away.

  ‘My dog?’ he said. He wasn’t exactly telling a fib. And anyway, Wolfie wasn’t a dog at all – he was a werepuppy. And he was certainly acting like it too.

  Wolfie ran away, spitting out gobbets of Frisbee. Micky ran away too, in the opposite direction, but he circled round when he got to the promenade. Wolfie circled too and they met in the middle, as if they were performing an elaborate dance routine. Wolfie woofed delightedly, shards of Frisbee still in his teeth.

  ‘No, Wolfie, you’re very bad and naughty,’ said Micky. ‘You’ve got to stop getting into trouble like this.’

  Wolfie put his head on one side and showed all his teeth in a challenging smile.

  There was a full moon that night. Micky peered out of the window anxiously as he went to bed. He knew there was every possibility of trouble. Wolfie might very well end up having a far more substantial snack than a Frisbee. He might chomp up a pet chihuahua, munch on a mongrel, gollop half a Great Dane. There was no holding him back when moon madness struck him.

  ‘I’ve got to stop him,’ Micky muttered. ‘He’s mine, so it’s down to me.’

  He parcelled up his duvet under one arm and then slyly seized Marigold’s skipping rope. She was nearly nodding off to sleep – but she still saw.

  ‘What are you doing with my skipping rope?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Micky, stuffing the skipping rope inside his grubby pyjama jacket. ‘What skipping rope, anyway?’ He unthreaded Granny’s belt from her red dressing-gown, snaffled her scarf, and pulled out the cord from his anorak.

  ‘Granny!’ said Marigold, her eyes round. ‘Micky’s gone mad!’

  ‘Now you settle down to sleep, pet. Granny will tell you a story. Never mind about Micky. He’s off on a little errand, that’s all. I daresay it’s necessary,’ said Granny Boot.

  ‘Oh it is, Granny. Very,’ said Micky.

  He rushed off before Marigold could fuss further. He went out into the garden in search of Wolfie – and found him in the absolute nick of time. He was growling and slavering at the foot of a fruit tree while a terrified ginger torn teetered in the branches, emitting agonized yowls.

  The cat was fat and the branch was brittle. There was a snap and a mew and a bark – but just before Wolfie chewed the torn into catburger Micky pounced. He threw his duvet over Wolfie, upturned him, and wrapped him up like a giant sausage roll. Wolfie growled and howled, but Micky hung on, tying him up with all his different cords and belts. He felt inside to make sure Wolfie’s head wasn’t bent and his paws were quite comfy, and got badly scratched and nipped for his pains.

  ‘You bad bad boy!’ said Micky crossly. ‘Look, I don’t want to truss you up like this, but it’s the only way we’ll avoid a full-scale seaside slaughter. Stop struggling so, Wolfie! I’m not hurting you, am I?’

  Micky might not want to hurt Wolfie, but Wolfie was doing his best to hurt Micky.

  ‘Ouch!’ Micky squealed, as Wolfie’s snapping jaws poked out of the duvet.

  He ended up tying Granny’s scarf round Wolfie’s head to stop him biting. He looked as if he had toothache – and howled accordingly through gritted teeth.

  Granny came creeping out to see what was going on. She was ready to be cross with the pair of them but she got the giggles when she saw Wolfie.

  ‘He looks just like the wolf pretending to be the granny in Little Red Riding Hood,’ she spluttered. ‘Oh, if only we could enter him in the fancy dress competition!’

  She made Micky come back to bed once they’d both double-checked that Wolfie was safe and secure inside the duvet but Micky barely slept. Granny Boot made him have her duvet and tucked herself up into her dressing-gown but Micky still couldn’t cuddle up and get comfoftable. He kept tossing and turning and twisting Granny’s duvet into knots, so that he fell asleep and dreamt he was trussed up himself – and then he woke to hear Wolfie’s indignant wailing outside. He must have chewed his way right through Granny’s scarf.

  Micky wasn’t the only one Wolfie woke. Half the hotel heard the howling. Meryl and Mandy and Mona and Granny and Mum knew who was responsible. Little Marigold sat up straight in her bed and snapped her fingers. She put two and two together.

  ‘I get it,’ she said. ‘I know who that is. And I bet he’s been hanging around here for days. That’s what they’ve all been going on about. Cheek! Why didn’t they tell me? I bet Dad doesn’t know. I’m going to tell.’

  Marigold burst into Mum and Dad’s bedroom in the morning, reading to spill the beans. But Dad was already up and downstairs. He’d had very uneasy dreams all night long.

  ‘I kept having nightmares about that dratted dog for some unknown reason,’ Dad told Mum. ‘I kept dreaming that he was howling away, desperately unhappy.’

  ‘I wonder why you dreamt that, dear?’ said Mum.

  ‘And then I couldn’t get back to sleep but I was in such a state that I still thought I heard him howling,’ said Dad. ‘Look, I think I’m going to ring that dog shelter after all. I know it’s crazy, but if that wretched mutt really is pining I want to know. He drives me crazy but I’d still never forgive myself if anything happened to h
im. I know just how much he means to young Micky.’

  ‘But we’re going home tomorrow,’ said Mum. ‘There’s no point phoning now.’

  ‘No, I’ve simply got to put my mind at rest. Blow me, I can still hear that phantom howling now!’ said Dad.

  Down he went to phone. Then up he ran, just as Marigold was clamouring for attention.

  ‘Not now, Marigold!’ said Dad, his tanned face drained dirty yellow. ‘Something terrible’s happened. Wolfie’s gone missing. He escaped from the shelter that very first day, and there hasn’t been sight or sound of him since.’

  ‘I think there might have been a few sights and sounds,’ said Mum calmly.

  ‘Dad, Dad, I know about Wolfie!’ said Marigold.

  ‘Sh, Marigold, I’ve got to go and find Micky and somehow break it to him. Oh dear, I feel so dreadful. He’ll never trust me again,’ Dad sighed.

  But Micky wasn’t in his bedroom.

  ‘He’s… busy in the garden,’ said Granny Boot.

  Micky was extremely busy struggling to release Wolfie from his shackled sausage. Wolfie didn’t seem to bear him any grudge now the moon had disappeared. He nuzzled Micky with his bescarfed snout, giving gruff little love-woofs. Micky got the last belt untied and rolled Wolfie out of his strait-jacket. Wolfie quivered, stretched, gave one joyful bark, and then bounded away.

  ‘Hey, Wolfie! Where are you going? Come back!’ Micky yelled.

  In his newly freed delight Wolfie had lost all sense of direction. He was running towards the hotel. Then he smelt breakfast cooking. Bacon. Sausage. Wolfie lost all sense as well as direction. He was guided solely by his twitching nostrils. He charged kitchenwards.

  ‘Help! Help! There’s a mad dog devouring all my cooked breakfasts!’ the hotel landlady shrieked.

  ‘Wolfie!’ said Micky.

  ‘Wolfie!’ said Granny Boot.

  ‘Wolfie!’said Mum.

  ‘Wolfie!’ said Meryl.

  ‘Wolfie!’ said Mandy.

  ‘Wolfie!’ said Mona.

  ‘Wolfie!’ said Marigold.

  ‘Wolfie?’ said Dad.

  Then Wolfie himself came rushing into the dining-room, still chomping chipolatas, and barking himself into happy hysterics at seeing his family fully assembled.

  The cat was certainly out of the bag now. Well. Let’s say the dog was out of the duvet.

  But Dad didn’t have the heart to send Wolfie home now, especially as it was right at the end of the holiday. He was so relieved that Wolfie was safe and sound that he didn’t even object too much when the hotel landlady understandably asked for compensation for all her cooked breakfasts.

  ‘So it’s your dog, is it? Well, I did make it plain. We don’t allow any dogs inside our hotel.’

  ‘He’s just been in the garden up till now,’ said Micky. ‘And he won’t come in again, I promise. You’re going to be as good as gold from now on, aren’t you, Wolfie?’

  Wolfie grinned hugely.

  He was more than happy to co-operate with Granny Boot, and let her dress him up in one of her nighties. Micky was much less co-operative, and objected furiously when forced into a frock of Marigold’s and Granny’s red dressing-gown for a hood and cloak – but he was thrilled all the same when they won first prize in the fancy dress.

  Granny Boot hoped she might just score a double and win the talent contest too. She and Mum sang ‘How Much is that Doggy in the Window’. They sang it very loudly, with lots of hearty hand gestures. Dad cringed in his chair, hoping that no one knew they were his relatives.

  But Mum and Granny didn’t win the talent contest.

  Meryl and Mandy and Mona sang ‘Hound Dog’. They wriggled their hips energetically like Elvis. Dad slid further down his seat, his hand over his eyes.

  Meryl and Mandy and Mona didn’t win the talent contest either.

  Marigold and all her little girlfriends sang a selection of songs and danced until the floorboards creaked. Marigold had a habit of making up her own tunes to songs so she rarely hit the same notes as the others. Dad sat up all the same because Marigold did look quite cute, standing centre stage with the spotlight shining on her golden curls – but in the middle of her dance she spun round on one leg, lost her balance, and fell bump on her bottom. Dad slumped again.

  Marigold and her friends didn’t win the talent contest.

  Micky and Wolfie won! The dog obedience competition had given Micky an idea. Wolfie came on stage first, with a dog lead tied round his front paw. Micky came trotting after him, the collar round his neck. They walked in a circle, Wolfie first, Micky scurrying by his side. Every so often Micky lagged a little. Wolfie barked – and Micky meekly came to heel, while everyone laughed.

  Then Wolfie edged Micky into a corner and slipped the lead off his front paw. He jumped up at Micky to make him sit down. Then he gave one short sharp bark and walked right to the other side of the stage. Micky fidgeted and fussed until Wolfie relented and gave another bark. Micky shot across the stage and Wolfie licked him lovingly for being such an obedient boy.

  Wolfie put Micky through his paces, making him fetch a banana and carry a comic and sit up and say please to get a biscuit. Wolfie forgot his act at this point and ate both banana and biscuit himself, but this just made the audience laugh harder. They clapped and roared to show their appreciation and Wolfie threw back his head and howled triumphantly, happy to be the star of the show.

  ‘That was great, Micky! Well done, Wolfie!’ Dad was sitting up proudly, shouting to show his enthusiasm.

  The boy obedience act won first prize – a huge box of chocolates.

  ‘We’ll share them, Wolfie,’ said Micky, opening the box to show him what it contained.

  Wolfie grinned and started gulping. Wolfie didn’t see the point of sharing.

  ‘Hey, leave some for me!’ Micky said, trying to snatch the box away.

  Wolfie barked – and so Micky obediently let go. Wolfie rewarded him with one half-chewed soggy chocolate toffee.

  It was clear who had got the upper paw.