by Jill Harris
Harriet is missing her brother. She wants him to return to his untidy bedroom and make her parents happy again – like they were before he went away.
Gus and Max keep the neighbourhood dogs in order – a kind word here, and a firm one there. Keeping out of the clutches of the dog catcher is crucial. When Harriet and Honey join them, things heat up. Who is the mystery benefactor who leaves them presents in the letterbox? Is the Old House really empty? And most important of all, will Toby ever come back?
A warm-hearted story about the healing powers of man’s best friend.
For Rufus – a dog with attitude, and Stephen and Rodney who loved him.
Acknowledgements
To family and friends, for your encouragement and perceptive input, and to Longacre Press for the usual excellent editing, many thanks.
I am grateful for the assistance of Creative New Zealand, the Arts Council of New Zealand, for a grant that made this novel possible.
Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgements
Dedication
1. Trouble in the Library
2. On an Errand
3. Stranger
4. First Meeting
5. Surprise in the Letterbox
6. Beginning of the Partnership
7. Attack
8. Calling Toby Home
9. Cautious Approach
10. Caught
11. To the Rescue
12. Hero
13. Red Jersey
14. Harriet Turns Vet
15. Break-through
16. The Greatest
17. Cracker of a Throw
18. Tussle of Wills
19. The Slip
20. Special Help
21. In the Old House
22. Awesome Foursome
23. Farewell
24. Afterwards
25. Note to Harriet
26. Mystery Solved
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
Trouble in the Library
Since Toby had gone away, school was horrible. Harriet tried everything to be allowed to stay home, but her parents hardly ever let her. They weren’t mean about it – they just said they knew it was tough, but they all had to keep going.
Today was as rotten as every other day, except for what happened at lunchtime; that wasn’t just rotten, it was catastrophic!
Harriet got through playtime by pretending she was busy writing in her notebook. When Amanda walked past her twice (she could tell it was Amanda by her shoes), Harriet kept her head down.
Lunchtimes were impossibly long, though; too long for pretending. She ate lunch in the seniors’ area now, which meant seeing the boys Toby used to hang around with. That made her stomach hurt and she couldn’t finish lunch.
Quite often, she went to the library and pretended she was looking for a book, and that’s what she did today. But when she walked in, she saw them. Toby’s special friend, Tim, was playing chess with that new boy. The blood rushed to Harriet’s face. She took several angry paces across to their table. She glared at Tim.
“Toby’s the person you play chess with!” Harriet said loudly. “What will you do when he comes back?”
The library went quiet. She saw Mrs O’Brien coming out from behind the counter. Harriet swept the chessboard off the table. Chessmen scattered in all directions.
“That’ll teach you to play with someone else!”
Mrs O’Brien took her arm. Harriet shook her off and looked around wildly. Everyone was watching. Where could she go?
“Come into the workroom,” said Mrs O’Brien quietly. She took Harriet’s arm again and led her behind the counter. “Sit here for a little while, dear, until you feel better. I’ll pop back in a few minutes.”
Harriet’s face felt hot and stinging. A huge sob forced its way into her throat. She mustn’t cry – not here. She gripped the chair until the sob went away. The bell went and she heard everyone clattering out of the library talking loudly. About me, I bet, she thought. How can I go back to class now?
Mrs O’Brien came back. She put her arm around Harriet. “You’re having a hard time, Harriet. Don’t feel too bad about what happened with Tim. That can be put right.”
Harriet said nothing. She didn’t know how to explain the tsunami of feelings she’d had when she saw Tim. Mrs O’Brien waited quietly. Finally Harriet took a deep breath.
“Why does everyone behave as though Toby’s not coming back? He is coming back – soon. He’ll be missing us.”
Mrs O’Brien was quiet again. Then she said: “Your mother’s coming to take you home, dear. You can wait in the library. I’ve got a new book here – would you like to take it home?”
Harriet’s mother walked in soon after. She’d already collected Harriet’s bag and coat. As they went out, Mrs O’Brien called: “Come and tell me about that new book as soon as you can.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” asked Harriet’s mother in the car.
Harriet’s face was still burning. She would never, ever go back to that school again, no matter what her parents said, so what was the point of talking to her mother? She shook her head and stared out the window. When they got home, she went upstairs to her bedroom.
She flopped on the old armchair and picked up the cushion she’d had since she was five. She ran her finger and thumb along the piping – in places it was so worn the cord had fallen out. That’s because I used to suck it, she thought. Until Toby told her about GERMS, and she’d stopped.
She suddenly realised the dog next door wasn’t barking. What a relief! Mrs Martin must have come home early.
Crossing to the window she looked down into the yard next door and was surprised to see three dogs. Brutus, of course, brown and black, but who were the others? A big, smooth, solid, black dog and a small, shaggy, gingery one were standing with Brutus – side on to one another – ears half back and tails straight out behind; except the gingery dog, whose tail had a sideways kink. The ginger dog seemed to be showing something to Brutus about his collar. He rubbed his head backwards along the edge of the kennel and Brutus copied him until he pulled his collar over his ears. Smart, thought Harriet. But what would Mrs Martin do when she came home and found out?
With his collar off, Brutus was free to play with the other dogs. They pranced around, barking, and mouthing each other. Were they playing or fighting, wondered Harriet. It was soon clear it was supposed to be friendly: when Brutus nipped the ginger dog, the black dog barked at him sharply.
Mrs Martin drove through the gateway and Brutus darted to his collar and pushed his nose in. He jiggled it as far as his ears but no further, and rubbing his head along the kennel didn’t help. Harriet held her breath. Would he get it back on in time? Then the black dog took the collar in his mouth and pulled. It slid over Brutus’s ears and Brutus dived into his kennel. The other dogs made for the hedge. They know where the hole is, thought Harriet, and she watched them squeeze through.
In a moment Brutus’ll start howling, Mrs Martin will shout at him, he’ll stop for a while, then start up again. Harriet sighed. It was such a bothersome sound, partly because it was so unhappy. I already feel sad enough, she thought. And she knew it made her mother’s headache worse.
Where did the other dogs come from? The business with the collar was intriguing – had they come to show Brutus how to get free so he could play? Did dogs do things like that? Surely not – it was just a fluke. She would ask Toby about it when he came home.
She walked along to his room. They’d turned it into a sunroom. If Toby did come home, where would he sleep? They’d have to put all his things back. She stood in the doorway remembering. The bed had been against the wall on the left – always co
vered with clothes. The green sofa, which could turn into a bed – a rather saggy one – was on the opposite wall. Toby dumped his stuff there. Under the window was the worktable where he made models: cars, planes, and ships, hanging from the ceiling and sitting on every shelf – no room for any books. What had they done with the models? They had taken his very best one of the Cutty Sark to the hospital so he could see it when he opened his eyes. Where did it go afterwards? Harriet wanted to confront her parents: “Put his things back! How dare you move them without asking him? What do you think he’ll feel like when he comes back and finds you’ve changed his room?”
“Harriet,” called her mother up the stairs. “I haven’t heard you do your practice yet.”
Harriet frowned and went downstairs. Her mother was in the kitchen. Would she smile if Harriet told her about the dogs? Probably not.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
“Help yourself to something from the cupboard,” said her mother vaguely.
“There’s nothing there,” said Harriet.
“Isn’t there? Oh, Harry, I’m sorry. What about a banana?”
Another banana, thought Harriet, but she took one and went into the sitting room. I hate practising in here, she thought. There are four photos of Toby and one of me. If I was more like Toby, they’d probably have another photo of me, too. It was just one more thing she couldn’t talk about, in case her mother started crying.
She opened the piano lid. I bet the others are at the park, she thought. Then she remembered what she’d done in the library – she’d never be able to show her face at the park again.
She played some scales and the little silver dog on her bracelet jingled. Harriet liked her mystery charm. She’d found it in the letterbox but had no idea how it got there.
“Thread it on your bracelet,” said her mother. “Somebody might recognise it.”
But nobody had claimed it, so far.
When she’d finished, Harriet went upstairs and looked down into the Martins’ yard. Brutus was standing outside his kennel looking towards the hedge. The car was gone. She went downstairs and slipped out of the front door. Mum won’t miss me, she thought as she let herself into the next-door garden through the side gate. She was nervous. She’d met Brutus only once before. What if he snarled or barked? As she turned the corner of the house he was looking at her, his ears pricked. “It’s OK, Brutus,” she called, “I just want to be friends.”
Brutus flattened his ears and narrowed his eyes. Harriet stood still. He didn’t look friendly, though maybe he was just scared. She took a step towards him and he made a low growl. “Don’t come any closer,” he seemed to be saying.
“OK,” said Harriet. “I get the message. We’ll have to do this slowly. Maybe I can come back when your friends are here.” She backed away till she reached the house and turned through the gate. Her knees were trembling. Baby! she said to herself. Toby wouldn’t have been scared. She walked to the swing and sat on it, scuffing her feet in the dirt. Shadow and sunlight moved in a pool around her like restless water. “I wish Toby would come back,” she said.
On an Errand
Gus was grumpy. He wrinkled his face. “Why do some people get a dog at all? You heard what he said – never gets a walk, on the chain all day except for letting go in the garden – when his owner remembers to take him.”
“Hardly any water in his bowl,” added Max. “No shade. Nothing to do. And he’s got no idea how to play – he actually nipped me.”
They paused under the hedge and peered out. All clear. They crossed the road and ducked behind some bushes.
“We’re OK here for a moment,” said Gus, sitting down with a grunt. “He was round this morning so he won’t be back till tomorrow – or the day after, with a bit of luck. And the Rush is still a while off.” He nodded towards the hedge on the other side of the road. “He’s young enough to learn, but will he be given the chance?”
Max licked his front paw. “Drew blood, he did. He won’t get away with that next time.”
“We need to think about this one,” said Gus slowly. “It’s the main road and we have to come out in the open. At least two houses can see into the yard. Anyway, how much can we actually do?”
The two dogs were thoughtful. Gus stood and shook off the leaves. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s get back before the Rush starts.”
They moved along the road, never far from somewhere to hide, sometimes ducking down alleyways and along the backs of gardens. Several dogs began to bark as they approached, but stopped as soon as Gus gave his gruff call: “It’s only us.”
Ngaiwi Street ran off the main road at a right angle. It had the usual jumble of houses painted in different colours. They all had gardens, most behind fences and hedges, but a few had lawns in front. The houses with fences and hedges looked secret and interesting; those without looked open and friendly. There were plenty of trees, which were shady on hot days, but dripped on wet days.
Max and Gus lived next door to each other at the far end, on the way to the park. Gus was panting by the time they reached home. “My hip,” he said, “doesn’t like going so far.”
They nosed along until they reached a large clump of hydrangeas, hiding a gap in the hedge. They slipped through, Max to the left and Gus to the right. “See y’ later,” said Max.
Gus padded heavily, almost limping, to the porch. He drank deeply from his bowl and flopped in the shade of a deck chair. A hand tickled his ears. “Where’ve you been, old sport? Out on your errands again? Could have chosen a cooler day.” The hand went limp and Gus waited for the snoring to begin.
Next door, Max too was lapping up water. He shook his head and droplets flew out like chips of diamond. He went into his kennel and got his collar, attached to a rope. He nudged his nose in, tilted his head up so the collar slid down as far as his ears, then rubbed his head along the kennel until the collar slipped over. Then he stretched out on the warm tiles with his nose on his front paws.
Max lay there thinking.
What could they do for the new dog? ‘Brutus’, he said his name was. Funny coat – not brown or black, not smooth or long. An in-between sort of dog, bigger than Max, but not as big as Gus, and still growing. Can’t control his mouth yet, Max thought: that’d be lesson number one. Helping him would depend on the collar. If the dog couldn’t learn how to get it on again, they couldn’t do much.
Max thought it through. Bit of a walk to get there, specially for Gus. Tricky going in broad daylight, while the owner was away. What about those houses next door – who might see them? Play-fighting was the way to go. You learnt a lot that way – what Gus had done for him in those lonely, early weeks. It might work, mused Max. Have to chew it over with Gus tonight, and they might pick up more from the others tomorrow morning. At least Brutus had stopped barking.
He heard the car coming. The garage door groaned. Doors opened and closed. Just the two of them, he thought, and they’re carrying a load. They came around the house, holding supermarket bags. Could be a bone in there, thought Max, but too many smells for him to be sure.
“Gidday, fella,” said the man as he jiggled the key in the door.
“Hello, Maxie,” said the woman scratching him under his chin. Mmmm, nice, thought Max, keep it up; but they carried their bags inside and he heard them filling the kettle. They’re so predictable, but I’m fond of them. Nothing wrong with habits: that’s how I get looked after so well. Pity the world’s not full of predictable owners – it would make things easier for me and Gus.
The woman came and untied him. He ambled to his spot at the end of the garden. After turning round several times, he wriggled into the dry leaves. It was the only place where he was allowed to fossick. It was where he hid his smelliest, most favourite balls. Only Gus was allowed to lie there, too, and that was a squash.
On the main road the Rush came and went, filling the air with unpleasant smells. The streets came alive with kids’ and dogs’ voices. Every so often Max did his rounds check
ing the smells.
After dinner the man came out and they knocked around with a ball for a while, then he was tied up for the night. Max waited for the house to go quiet and dark. Finally Gus called quietly, “OK here,” and Max slipped out of his collar, dragged it inside the kennel, and trotted over to see Gus.
Stranger
It was early morning. The car turned into the street and slowed down. As it approached the park entrance it came almost to a standstill. A large pair of hands holding a small, wriggling, whining dog thrust out of the passenger window.
“Outsky!” A laugh, and the dog was thrown on to the grass verge. She yelped with pain as she skidded along the ground. The car picked up speed and drove away.
For a moment the brown and white dog – not much more than a puppy – lay still. Pushing herself shakily to her feet, she limped a few steps, whined softly and licked at a raw patch on her shoulder. She sniffed. Nothing smelt familiar; she’d never been here before. Her ears were pricked for danger.
She was on her own. She belonged to nobody. No one would give her food or water, shelter or companionship. She limped in through the park gates. Rubbish bins told her humans came here with food, but other creatures would also be after it. She would have to fight for herself. She whined again.
On the edge of the trees, behind a tree trunk, someone saw what had happened; and that someone moved deeper into the trees to avoid being seen.
When the woman opened the door later that morning and untied him, Max thought good, she’s doing the walk. I’ll have plenty of time to pick up the Woof.
“Do your business, Max,” she said, “then we can go for a walkie.”
Max sighed. He didn’t have to be told every morning, and he did so wish she wouldn’t use baby-talk. However, he put on his “Wow, a walkie!” look and trotted across to the fence.
