Dodie Smith - The 101 Dalmatians

The spots on Dalmatians begin to come through after two weeks. By the time Perdita’s family were six weeks old it was obvious that they were going to be beautifully marked and very valuable—Perdita heard the farmer say so to a stranger who came to the farm one morning. She was still helping to feed them; they would eat all the farmer offered and then come to her for milk. Then she and they would all have a happy sleep in the old box she had been given for a bed.

One afternoon she woke to find not one puppy in bed with her. She searched the farmhouse, she searched the farmyard. No puppies anywhere. She ran onto the road, fearing they might have been run over. On and on she went, pausing every few minutes to bark. No answering puppy-bark came to her. Soon it began to rain. She thought of the puppies all getting wet, and barked more and more desperately. A car nearly ran over her; she saved herself only by jumping into a muddy ditch, where the mud even got into her eyes and ears. By the time she reached the common where she had met her husband, she was shivering and weak on her legs. The thought of her lost husband added to her misery at the loss of the puppies. She had eaten nothing since the previous afternoon—the farmer gave her only one meal a day. At last, faint with hunger and utterly broken-spirited, she collapsed. And there, not long after, Mrs. Dearly found her.

That was Perdita’s whole story; except that she never told Pongo that the farmer had named her Spotty—because she liked Perdita so much better.

Pongo sympathized with all his heart and did his best to comfort her. He said he did not think the puppies were lost. It was more likely that they had been sold—perhaps to the stranger who came to see them. And this might be the best thing that could have happened to them—for if they were valuable, they were sure to be well taken care of. There would never have been enough food at the farm for them when they got really big. Perdita knew all this was true. And the two tiny puppies in the basket with her were wonderfully comforting—so were the kind things Pongo said about being grateful to her for feeding them. Soon she felt much happier and slid into a warm, well-fed sleep.

Pongo lay awake for a long time, wishing Missis and all the puppies could be with him in the firelit kitchen. He strolled over and looked at the two puppies asleep with Perdita, and felt proud and protective—and extremely sorry for Perdita. Really, she was a very pretty girl—if not a patch on his Missis.

Then he went back to his basket, had a last wash, and settled down. The fire sank lower; soon the kitchen was lit only by a faint light from a street lamp on the Outer Circle. Pongo slept. Perdita slept. And the two puppies, who had come successfully through their first day in the world, slept as peacefully as if they had been with their own mother.

Up in the cupboard, Missis had just served supper for eight and was a trifle tired. Mr. Dearly had just served supper for five and was so exhausted by his day of puppy-feeding that he had to crawl out of the cupboard on his hands and knees. Mrs. Dearly got him to bed and fed him with hot milk from a Thermos. They slept with their door open, in case Missis needed anything, but she was very peaceful—though just before she fell asleep she did wonder a little about the strange female down in the kitchen with Pongo. She didn’t worry , exactly; she just wondered .

On the top floor, Nanny Cook slept dreaming of Dalmatian puppies dressed as babies, and Nanny Butler slept dreaming of babies dressed as Dalmatian puppies.

What with four humans, three dogs, and fifteen puppies, it really was a very sleep-full house.

The next day five more puppies were brought down to Perdita, and she fed them splendidly. So Mr. Dearly went to his business. He hurried back early to do some pup-feeding and found that Mrs. Dearly was feeding the upstairs puppies and the Nannies were taking it in turns to feed the kitchen puppies. He was a little jealous but soon got over it—for he knew that what really mattered was that pups should get plenty of milk without exhausting Missis and poor, thin Perdita too much.

Perdita now had her bed in the dresser cupboard, where there would not be too much light for the puppies’ eyes. These began to open in eight days. And a week after that, the puppies’ spots began to show.

What a day it was when Mr. Dearly sighted the first spot! After that, spots came thick and fast, though they would not all be through for some months. In a very few days it was possible to recognize every pup by its spots. There were seven girls and eight boys. The prettiest of all the girls was the tiny pup whose life Mr. Dearly had saved at birth, but she was very small and delicate. When pigs have families, the smallest, weakest piglet is often called the cadpig. Mr. Dearly always called the tiny puppy Cadpig, which can be a nice little name when spoken with love.

Patch, the pup born with a black ear, was still the biggest and strongest puppy. He always seemed to be next to Cadpig, as if these two already knew they were going to be special friends. There was a fat, funny boy-puppy called Roly Poly, who was always getting into mischief. And the most striking pup of all was one who had a perfect horseshoe of spots on his back—and had therefore been named Lucky. He was terrifically energetic and showed from the beginning that he was going to be the ringleader of all his brothers and sisters.

A few days after the first spots came through, something very upsetting happened: Perdita’s milk supply failed. She was miserable about it because she loved the seven pups she had been feeding as much as if they were her own. And she was very, very frightened. Now that she was no longer useful, why should the Dearlys keep her in this warm, comfortable house where—for the first time in her life—she had been given enough to eat? But it was not the food and warmth that mattered most to her. It was the love. She had been treated as one of the family. The thought of leaving it all was more than she could bear.

And what happened to dogs nobody wanted? All sorts of fears awoke in her heart.

The morning she found she had no milk to offer at all, she crept unhappily out of the dresser cupboard and saw Mrs. Dearly having a mid-morning cup of tea with the Nannies. Mrs. Dearly held out a biscuit. Perdita did not take it. She just laid her head against Mrs. Dearly’s knee and gave a little moan.

Mrs. Dearly stroked her and said, “Poor Perdita! I wish we could explain to her that we are helping to feed her seven puppies, so she doesn’t need to worry. Darling Perdita, you are washing them beautifully and keeping them warm at night. We couldn’t possibly do without you.”

She had no hope of being understood; she just thought her sooting tone would be comforting. But Perdita was picking up more and more human words every day and understood perfectly. She was wild with relief. For the first time she showed really high spirits, jumping up and kissing Mrs. Dearly, then dashing back to wash the puppies all over again.

Not many days after this, all pups began learning to lap milk for themselves and could soon eat milk puddings and bread soaked in gravy. They were now much too big to go on living in cupboards. Missis and her eight were moved down to the laundry, while Perdita’s seven had the run of the kitchen—where they got terribly under the Nannies’s feet.