The Guard Dog Read online

  The guard-dog ate a hearty breakfast, and was a little surprised when the kennelmaid came to clean out his run, at the fuss she made of him. She cuddled and stroked and kissed him as if she would never see him again.

  Then he remembered what the smelly old terrier had said. This is my fourteenth day, he thought. Great! Someone will pick me out today! He sat, waiting for the time when the public were admitted, determined that today of all days he would leave no-one in any doubt as to the quality of his greatest asset. Other guard-dogs, he supposed, might act in other ways, by looking large and fierce (which he could not) or by leaping up and planting their feet on the shoulders of burglars and suchlike and knocking them flat (which he most certainly could not). He had only his voice, and when the door to the kennel block opened, he let rip, fortissimo.

  No-one even got to smiling at him that morning. Everybody kept as far away as possible from the dreadful sounds issuing from Number 25, and concentrated upon the other inmates. The guard-dog was left strictly alone.

  When at last the batch of would-be owners had left, some with new companions, some empty-handed, all mightily relieved to reach the comparative peace and quiet of the busy roaring street outside, the guard-dog sat silent once more. There was a puzzled look on his extremely small and hairy face.

  Can’t understand it, he thought. Nobody seems to want a decent guard-dog. But if fourteen days was the limit, then they’d jolly well have to find him somewhere to go today. Perhaps the man in the white coat would take him too – he’d seemed a nice sort of chap.

  He watched the door to the kennel block.

  It was not the man in the white coat who came in but the kennelmaid with a man with white hair, who walked with a stick with a rubber tip to it.

  “Would you like me to come round with you?” the kennelmaid said, but he did not answer, so she went away and left him alone.

  The old man walked slowly along the row of kennels, looking carefully into each with sharp blue eyes. At last he came to Number 25.

  Outside the door, the kennelmaid stood listening, her fingers tightly crossed. But then she heard that fearful noise start up and shook her head sadly.

  She went back into the kennel block to find the old man squatting on his heels. There was a grin on his face as he looked, apparently totally unmoved, at the howling bawling yowling squalling guard-dog. He levered himself to his feet.

  “I’ll have this little fellow,” he said firmly. “He’s the boy for me.”

  “Oh good!” cried the kennelmaid. “He’s lovely, don’t you think?” But the old man did not answer.

  He did not reply later either, when he had paid for the guard-dog and the kennelmaid said, “Would you like a box to carry him in?” And in answer to the manager’s question, “What are you going to call him?” he only said, “Good afternoon.”

  Light suddenly dawned on the manager of the Dogs’ Home. He stood directly in front of the guard-dog’s new owner so as to be sure of catching his eye, and said deliberately, in a normal tone, “That’s some dog you’ve got there. The worst voice in the world!”

  The old man put his hand up to his ear.

  “Sorry?” he said. “Didn’t catch that. I’m as deaf as a post and I can’t be bothered with those hearing-aid things – never been able to get on with them. What did you say?”

  “That’s some dog you’ve got there. The best choice in the world!” said the manager very loudly.

  The white-haired old man only smiled, leaning on his stick with one hand and cradling his purchase in the other.

  The manager shouted as loudly as he could, “He’s a dear little chappie!”

  “See that he’s really happy?” said the old man. “Of course I will, you needn’t worry about that. We’ll be as happy as two peas in a pod.”

  He fondled the puppy’s extremely small hairy ears.

  “Funny,” he said. “I fell for him though he wasn’t actually what I was looking for. I live all on my own, you see, so really it would have been more sensible to get a guard-dog.

  THE END

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  Doubleday edition published 1991

  Young Corgi edition published 1992

  Text copyright © Foxbusters Ltd, 1991

  Cover illustration copyright © Garry Parsons, 2006

  Inside illustrations copyright © Jocelyn Wild, 1988

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

  Cover illustration: Garry Parsons

  ISBN: 978-1-407-09945-3

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