Ralph received this news with a deep sense of shock. He knew all too well that his duties as a sheepdog were the only thing keeping him from the wrath of the Dobermans.
‘You . . . you can’t get rid of the sheep!’ he protested. ‘What about all the little lambs?’
Farmer Morton glared at him, his face red. ‘Don’t try and tell me what I can and can’t do!’
‘No,’ said Ralph. ‘I suppose that Kurt’s job.’
Farmer Morton glared at him. ‘How dare you!’ he said. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? Now get about your business before I take my stick to you!’
It was pointless arguing. Ralph set off for the sheepfold with a heavy heart and discovered that many of the flock had wandered out of their field in the night and were standing around in various groups, eating whatever they found. It took him hours to round up all the strays and get them moving in the direction of the high pasture and as ever, they started up their infernal racket of ‘Wheeeere are we going? Wheeeere are we going?’ but finally, he got them all up onto the hillside and was able to head back to the farm for his hard-earned meal. All he found waiting for him were a few scraps, including a couple of leftover sausages, which he left at the side of his bowl.
A bit later on, walking up by the sheepfold, he spotted Farmer Morton doing something over at the edge of the woods and he went over to investigate. Ralph was horrified to see that he was setting out a series of vicious-looking traps, hideous metal things with powerful jaws that would spring shut upon anything that happened to put a paw into them.
Farmer Morton looked up as he approached. ‘Get it done, did you?’ he asked indifferently.
‘Yes, but it wasn’t easy. Do you think you’ll be around to close the gate when I bring them down tonight?’
‘I expect so.’ Farmer Morton was using a metal bar to lever open the jaws of a trap, which he had placed on a narrow trail that passed between some bushes. The jaws snapped into position with a metallic click. He saw Ralph watching him and said, ‘Kurt noticed a couple of foxes hanging around here last night. This is just in case they come back. I don’t want them going after any stray chickens.’
Ralph nodded, remembering a time when Farmer Morton had told him he’d never resort to such a cruel trick. But that was back in the days when he had possessed something that resembled a conscience.
‘I don’t see how a fox could possibly get at the chickens,’ said Ralph. ‘They’re pretty closely guarded.’
Farmer Morton grunted. ‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,’ he said. ‘It seems to me you’ve too many opinions for a mere sheepdog.’
‘It sounds like I’m not going to be a sheepdog for very much longer,’ said Ralph. ‘If you really meant what you said about getting rid of the flock.’
Farmer Morton shrugged his shoulders. ‘I haven’t really decided yet,’ he said. ‘It’s just that Kurt pointed out to me what a lot of work they are for not much return. We could easily turn their field into another holding area for more chickens.’
‘More chickens?’ Ralph sighed. ‘Could you possibly process more than you are already? The factory is already running night and day . . .’
‘There you go again,’ said Farmer Morton. ‘Expressing your views. This is my farm and if it’s all right with you, I’ll make the decisions around here. And if I want to get rid of the sheep, I will.’
Ralph didn’t say anything else and simply walked away. It would have been pointless to argue the case when Farmer Morton was in such a foul mood.
When Ralph brought the sheep down from the high pasture that evening, Farmer Morton was there to close up the gate, but once again Ralph could see that he was the worse for drink. He was red in the face and could hardly walk in a straight line.
‘Happy now?’ he asked Ralph, as he latched the gate and Ralph nodded.
‘Perfectly.’
‘Then if it’s all right with you, I’ll get back to the house.’
Ralph watched as Farmer Morton weaved his way unsteadily back to his door.
As the days passed Farmer Morton did less and less around the place. He would stagger out in the morning to open the gate and he was there at night to close it again, but that seemed to be all the help he was prepared to give and Ralph began to feel worn out with the hard work he was obliged to do on his own.
Then one day, up by the sheepfold, he saw Farmer Morton staggering back from the edge of the woods, dragging the body of a young fox by its tail. He lifted it proudly to display it to Ralph.
‘Got one of them,’ he said, triumphantly. ‘That’ll make ‘em think twice about coming around here again.’
Ralph looked at the dead creature and couldn’t help feeling sad. He realised that the fox was supposed to be his greatest enemy, but all he could see was a beautiful, sleek, reddish brown creature, killed in the prime of his life and for no good reason. These days there was no chance in the world of a fox getting anywhere near the chickens. But Farmer Morton seemed delighted with what he had done. He hung the fox by its tail at the front gate of the farm, a warning to any other fox that might dare to come near.
Ralph felt very sorry for Farmer Morton for he barely recognised the kind, generous man he used to be. Ralph wondered what had caused such a terrible transformation in him and after some pondering decided that it must be guilt that made him act as he did. Deep down in his heart Farmer Morton must know that what he was doing was wrong. Yes, he was achieving the great success he had always desired, but at such a cost. And no amount of money in the world would ever make him feel better about what he had done.
Once again Ralph found himself thinking about running away. But the farm was the only place he had ever really known. It was his home. And what was the point of running away from his home when he had nowhere else to go to?
He awoke that night to the sound of several voices shouting. He sat up in the gloom of the barn, his ears pricked. He recognised one of the voices. It belonged to Agnes, but sounded quite unlike her, shrill and angry. The puppies around him were also waking up and they began to run towards the open barn doors to see what was going on. Ralph followed them at a short distance.
Agnes was standing at the entrance of the animal factory, still wearing her nightdress, as though she had woken in the night and run straight outside. She had thrown open the doors of the factory and chickens were milling about her feet, running in all directions. A couple of the white-suited workers were arguing with her, demanding that she go back into the house, but she was having none of it.
‘You have to stop this!’ she shrieked as Ralph crept closer. ‘I can’t sleep with the noise of it. It’s driving me mad! You have to let me get some sleep.’ She was acting very strangely, waving her arms above her head. Her grey hair was wild and unkempt and in the fierce light issuing from the factory interior her eyes seemed to blaze with madness.
‘Go inside,’ one of the men insisted. ‘We have to get on with our work.’
‘I’ve reported this!’ cried Agnes. ‘I’ve told the authorities all about it. Some of the things I’ve seen here are not legal. You can’t treat animals like this, you simply can’t.’ Her voice rose to a shrill scream. ‘It’s murder! Murder!’
The door of the farmhouse burst open and Farmer Morton staggered out, dressed in his pyjamas. Around him milled the black shapes of the Dobermans.
‘Agnes, what are you doing?’ he roared. ‘Get back in the house!’
Agnes looked over her shoulder at him and her eyes flashed. ‘Be quiet,’ she told him. ‘I’m not listening to anything you have to say. You’re a liar!’
‘Agnes, for God’s sake . . .’
‘I don’t care if you get into trouble,’ screamed Agnes. ‘I don’t care if they lock us both up and throw away the key. I won’t live like this any more!’ Now, she was flailing her arms, trying to scare the chickens back out into the yard. Factory workers scampered about trying to usher them back inside.
‘Run away!’ she urged them. ‘Run
away and save yourselves!’
Farmer Morton stumbled towards her, but Kurt was quicker. He issued a quick command to Fritz who raced forward and jumped up at Agnes, grabbing one of her arms in his powerful jaws. She screamed in terror and then there was chaos. Farmer Morton tried to run to her and was stopped by a couple of the Dobermans who ran to stand in front of him, snarling a warning at him. He froze in his tracks and now Fritz was pulling Agnes away from the doors of the factory and back towards her husband.
Ralph ran instinctively forward to help her, but instantly, three more Dobermans moved to block his path and he was unable to get any closer.
Fritz dragged Agnes forward and virtually threw her into Farmer Morton’s arms. There was a bright patch of blood on her nightdress and she was screaming hysterically.
‘Take her inside!’ snapped Kurt. It was not a request – it was an order.
Farmer Morton put his arm around her shoulders and led her back into the house, closing the door behind them. Now Kurt whirled around and shouted another order to his followers.
‘Round up these chickens and get them back into the factory,’ he roared and they ran to obey his command.
The task was achieved in minutes. The frightened chickens were rounded up and quickly marched back to their doom. The workers moved back inside, the doors of the factory closed and the engines resumed their awful grinding sounds. Kurt looked angrily about him. He paced around for a few moments, thinking furiously. Then he walked to the front step of the house and took up a position by the door.
‘This is not good,’ he announced. ‘This is not good at all. We shall have to take steps to ensure this never happens again. From now on, one of the chosen ones will guard this step night and day.’
‘Yes, glorious leader,’ snapped the Dobermans without hesitation.
‘What’s more, there will be a curfew. Nobody must be allowed to come in or out of this house after the hour of nine o’ clock. I will not have this kind of disobedience. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Fritz, without hesitation.
Ralph could stay silent no longer. ‘It’s not for you to make such decisions!’ he shouted. ‘This is Morton’s Farm. Only Farmer Morton can give commands like that.’
Kurt looked across the intervening space, his eyes like two spots of frost. He gazed around at his followers.
‘In normal circumstances, that would be the case,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s clear that the Mortons can no longer be trusted to act for the good of the farm. So from this moment I shall assume leadership. From now on, everyone here . . . including Farmer Morton, shall answer to me. Nothing must be allowed to interfere with our duties. We have a job to do: our task is to rid the world of as many chickens as we can and I shall see that it is accomplished to the letter.’
He looked around again. ‘Furthermore,’ he said, ‘I shall ensure that all disobedient elements are eliminated from this farm, once and for all.’ He looked in Ralph’s direction. ‘Beginning with the sheepdog known as Ralph.’ He studied Ralph for a moment and his mouth shaped itself into a cruel grin. ‘We all know that he is an enemy of the farm. He has done everything he can to hamper progress here. He has even made an attempt on my life. So . . . I shall personally give a reward to the animal who rids me of his presence. Brothers, sisters . . . who will be the first to spill his blood?’
There was a deep silence. Ralph stood, shocked to his very core. He saw that the Dobermans were turning now to look at him, delighted that the moment they had been awaiting so eagerly was now at hand.
‘You can’t do this,’ protested Ralph. ‘I demand that you call Farmer Morton.’
‘I think I have already explained,’ said Kurt. ‘I am in charge now. My word is law.’ He looked at his brothers and sisters. ‘Kill him!’ he roared.
The command stirred Ralph into motion. He turned and ran, horribly aware that the nearest Dobermans were only a few feet behind him. Jaws snapped at his neck, but he lunged to one side and instinctively ran into the barn. The whole yelping pack of them came hot on his heels. They thought they had him cornered, but he knew something they didn’t. There was a spot on the back wall where the wooden boards had rotted away and there was a narrow gap beneath them.
He ran straight for this and dragged himself under, the jagged wood scraping flesh from along his back and for a horrible moment he thought he was going to be trapped, but with one desperate lunge, he scrambled through, knowing full well that if the gap was so tight for him then the Dobermans were much too big to get through. He heard their frustrated barks from the other side of the wall and took off, heading towards the farm gates and the sheepfold. Behind him he could hear the cries of the Dobermans rising in volume and knew that they were spilling out of the front of the barn and coming after him.
He reached the sheepfold in minutes, his heart slamming in his chest and threw himself over the low fence, into the midst of the flock who scattered in all directions, yelling in alarm at such a rude awakening. He began pushing his way through them and could hear the Dobermans yelping and barking from somewhere behind him, asking each other which way he had gone.
To his horror, the sheep began shouting. ‘He’s heeeeere! He’s heeeeere!’
‘Shut up, you traitors!’ he yelped. ‘Don’t help them!’
They ignored him and carried on shouting so he ran onwards, pushing his way through them, heading for the far side of the field and the woods beyond. He heard yells of alarm from the sheep behind him and knew that the Dobermans had entered the sheepfold, but he was through the flock now and could see the hedge ahead of him. He tried to leap it, but in the dim light he missed his footing and collided with the tightly packed twigs and branches. He fell back with a yelp of terror, rolled over a couple of times and got back to his feet. He looked anxiously back and saw several lean dark shapes coming out from the scattered white of the flock. They were racing silently towards him, their eyes glowing malevolently in the moonlight, their sharp white teeth bared. He searched the hedge desperately and saw a narrow opening near the base. He thrust himself into the gap. Thorns stung his flanks and his hair snagged in several places, but terror lent him extra strength, and with a titanic effort he pushed through and scrambled out on the far side. He could see the dark cover of the woods some distance ahead of him.
As he raced for cover he became vaguely aware of a black shape soaring over the hedge. Something big and heavy came down on his back, knocking him from his feet and sending him tumbling across the grass. As he struggled upright he saw that it was Fritz and he was grinning triumphantly as he slunk forward to attack.
‘Now I have you, mongrel.’
Ralph knew he had but one chance and he took it, throwing himself forward and sinking his jaws deep into Fritz’s throat. The dog gave a gasp of surprise and tried desperately to pull away. Flesh tore and Ralph tasted warm blood in his mouth. Fritz made a horrible choking sound and fell back, onto the ground, his long legs kicking. Ralph didn’t wait around to watch him die. He turned away and raced onwards, aware now that more shapes were coming over the hedge. He could hear barks of dismay as the Dobermans saw Kurt’s most trusted follower writhing and struggling on the ground.
Ralph ran, using every last ounce of his strength. At the last moment he remembered the traps that Farmer Morton had set. He twisted out of the path of one of them and plunged into the undergrowth. He ran into the woods beyond, moving from trail to trail as he did so and when he came to a shallow stream he jumped into it and ran upstream, knowing it would eliminate his scent and make it harder for the Dobermans to follow his trail.
After he had run for several minutes, he jumped back onto dry land and headed for the deepest, darkest part of the woods. He was all but exhausted now and stopped to listen for the telltale sounds of his pursuers coming through the trees. For the moment there was nothing but a distant howling, the sound of the Dobermans lamenting their fallen comrade.
Ralph allowed himself to slow to a walk and, spott
ing a dense clump of brambles, he crawled deep inside, twisting around so that he was facing any attacker that might come at him, telling himself that if they tried to follow him in here they would have a hard time of it and that he would fight to the very death if he had to.
And it was here, hidden deep in cover, that he finally managed to snatch a few hours of restless sleep.
Chapter Twenty
Leah
When first light dawned, Ralph dragged himself cautiously out from cover to find a pair of keen yellow eyes regarding him with interest. For a moment, he almost broke and ran, until he realised the eyes did not belong to a Doberman.
A fox stood before him, gazing intently at him, a young female. She was in her prime, Ralph noticed, a lovely creature with a deep russet red coat, a thick brush of a tail and an intelligent face that seemed somehow to radiate kindness. He would have expected any fox to run away at the very sight of him . . . after all, they were supposed to be enemies, but this vixen seemed surprisingly sure of herself. She spoke to him in a calm, gentle voice and his natural anxieties vanished in an instant.
‘That’s an odd place to spend the night.’
Ralph looked at her. ‘I . . . I was lying low,’ he said. ‘Had a bit of trouble last night.’
‘So I see. Is that your blood or somebody else’s?’
Ralph looked down at himself and was surprised to see a crust of dried blood on his chest. He remembered the fight with Fritz and grunted. ‘Not mine,’ he said. ‘Though I’ve enough wounds of my own.’
The vixen studied him with those bright yellow eyes. ‘You do seem to have been in the wars,’ she agreed.
‘You have no idea,’ he told her. He looked quickly around. ‘Are you alone?’ he asked.
‘Not exactly,’ she said. She glanced over her shoulder. ‘You can come out now,’ she said. ‘I think it’s all right.’ Nearby, some bushes stirred and three tiny fox cubs trotted out into the open. They came to stand by their mother, examining Ralph with curious eyes. He found himself catching his breath. They were possibly the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen.
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