Eva Ibbotson: One Dog and His Boy

Supper was ready then, and the twins needed help with their homework, and after that Grandfather had to be wheeled down to the shop to buy his lottery ticket.

But at last everything was cleared away and Kayley and Pippa went into the little bedroom they shared and started to work on Fleck’s pedigree.

“Pedigrees are always complicated and a bit ridiculous,” said Kayley. “The bitches are called things like Wilhelmina Bossyboots of Kilimanjaro. And the more highly bred the dogs are, the longer the names.”

They spent a long time thinking, but in the end they decided that Fleck’s mother had been called Rodelinda of Mersey Drive because that was the name of the street where they had been for a takeaway on the night they found Fleck.

“And his father could be Frederick the Fifth of Fillongley,” said Pippa. “It might bring him luck if he was called after the farm.”

Fillongley was the name of the farm which had belonged to the O’Brians till their great-great-grandfather went bankrupt. There was a painting of it above the mantelpiece, and whatever else occasionally got pawned or sold, the picture of Fillongley Farmhouse stayed where it was.

They went on making up pedigrees, getting wilder and sillier till it was time for Pippa to go to bed.

When she came to tuck her sister up for the night, Kayley said, “You’d better pray for Fleck. Pray that there’s someone out there who wants him.”

“Yes, I will,” said Pippa.

And she did. But Pippa wasn’t a gentle and accepting girl like Kayley. Pippa was a fighter. She wanted to go out into the world and do battle for the rights of stray dogs everywhere to have a decent home. And not just stray dogs. Everyone who was poor and treated unfairly by life. When she was six, she had dragged a girl called Myrtle to the school toilet and flushed her head down the pan because Myrtle had been bullying an infant in the reception class.

When later Kayley slipped into the bed beside her sleeping sister, she could hear, quite distinctly, the sound of Pippa grinding her teeth.

Back in the compound at night, Fleck cheered up again. Though he was careful not to take up Li-Chee’s place by Otto’s left foot, he slept with his roommates. Otto was tired – there is nothing more exhausting than being petted by twenty-five small children – but he had time to give Fleck a goodnight lick before everybody slept.

But the next morning, and the morning after, which was the fateful Friday, the waiting began again. Fleck now had his name above his cage, and his pedigree, which Kayley had inscribed on a serious-looking piece of paper, and he had a number – Number 51. If only someone came and rented him out, just one person, just for a short time, everything would be all right.

But the day crawled on, and again nobody came for the little dog. The other dogs became more and more concerned; they understood full well what happened to dogs that never left their cages. They were taken away by two men in brown coats and bundled into a travelling crate and never seen again, and they could hardly bear to watch as Fleck pressed himself against the wire and looked up with his unequal eyes as the borrowers came – but not for him. He knew better now than to howl, and Kayley came whenever she could to stroke him – but as the minutes ticked away the atmosphere in Room A became more and more tense, and when Queen Tilly started one of her squealing sessions because her hot water bottle had cooled down, the others forgot themselves and started to growl.

Then at three o’clock Mr Carker came in with his clipboard.

“It seems there isn’t much call for Tottenham terriers,” he told the little dog. “We’ll have to get rid of you. Can’t have you eating me out of house and home.”

And he told Kayley to expect the men from the Canine Transport Company, who were coming to take the dog away.

He went out and shut the door and Fleck was left cowering in the corner of his cage. He recognized Mr Carker’s tone all too well. He had heard it often in his hard life as a stray.

Then at four thirty, a large Mercedes drew up in the street outside, and a man got out, holding the hand of a small boy.

Mr Carker always saw important clients in his office before he took them round, and Mr Fenton, who was head of International Power Inc., was clearly important.

“I believe you know our terms,” he said, “they’re laid out in the brochure. Twenty-five pounds an hour, and a deposit of three hundred pounds, returnable when the dog is brought back to us in good condition. Now, for a weekend borrowing we have a special rate—”

“Yes, yes,” said Mr Fenton hurriedly. Hal had been looking out of the window and hadn’t been listening. He lowered his voice. “Perhaps you have someone who could show my son round while we deal with the business.” He gave Mr Carker a meaningful look and Mr Carker caught on quickly. He was very used to people who lied to their children, and he went out into the corridor and shouted for Kayley.

“Will you take the young gentleman through the rooms and show him the dogs?” he said when she came. “He’s going to pick one out.”

Kayley smiled at Hal and he smiled back. He thought being a kennel maid must be the most wonderful job in the world; and she was so pretty with her wavy dark hair and her deep blue eyes …

“I’m allowed to pick out whichever one I want,” Hal told her. “I hope it’ll be a young one because dogs can live for fifteen years, can’t they, or more, so I’ll have him till I’m grown up.”

Kayley drew in her breath. She knew that Easy Pets were never rented out for more than three days. So they were tricking the child; she’d seen it done before. “Have you got any special breed in mind?”

Hal shook his head. “No. I just want to look – when I see the right one, I’ll know.” He looked up at her trustingly. “I’ll know at once, I’m absolutely sure.”

“Yes,” said Kayley. “It’s often like that. One just knows.”

She took him first to Room E, at the back of the building, and stopped by a basset hound, wheezing mightily in the corner of his cage. He was a most attractive dog, and Hal scratched him through the bars of the cage, but he did not say anything. The dog next to him was the mastiff who had bad dreams, and Hal listened open-mouthed while Kayley told him the sad story of the swallowed finger.

“She’s over it now, but the other dogs are very gentle with her; it’s as though they know.”

Nobody could help loving the mastiff but Hal was a sensible boy. It was nearly half-term now but later he would be at school part of each day; such an enormous dog would not get enough exercise. Next to the mastiff was a beautiful Cavalier King Charles spaniel who obediently lay down on his back with his paws in the air ready to be scratched or stroked – or even kicked, because these spaniels are such good-natured dogs that they will do anything to give their owners pleasure.

“He’s had a bad time too,” said Kayley. “The couple he belonged to split up and they sent him backwards and forwards on the train between Edinburgh and London, from one to the other. If he sees a train now, he just sits down and howls.”

“Oh, I wish I could have him,” said Hal. “He’s a marvellous dog.” And Kayley nodded, for the spaniel would have been a perfect choice.

But Hal went on to the next cage, past a corgi, past a schnauzer … and then through into Room D.

The first dog they came to there was a Dalmatian, and Kayley half waited for Hal to say, “That’s the one,” because since the famous film about Dalmatians every child in the world seemed to want one. But again, though Hal scratched him through the bars, and sighed a little – he did not stop. They passed a Lhasa apso, so hairy that it was hard to tell which end was which, and a pug. The dogs were tired now, it was the end of a working day, but when they saw Kayley come with a visitor they did their best to sit up and greet them politely. A chow … a beautiful Tibetan lion dog … a Labrador…