by Murphy, Jill
Books by Jill Murphy
(Titles in reading order)
THE WORST WITCH
THE WORST WITCH STRIKES AGAIN
A BAD SPELL FOR THE WORST WITCH
THE WORST WITCH ALL AT SEA
THE WORST WITCH SAVES THE DAY
THE WORST WITCH TO THE RESCUE
DEAR HOUND
PUFFIN BOOKS
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First published 2009
Text and illustrations copyright © Jill Murphy, 2009
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author/illustrator has been asserted
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book
ISBN: 978-0-14-193256-9
Jill Murphy
PUFFIN
For dear
Sue king
from all our
dear hounds
DEERHOUND DETAILS
There are a few things you ought to know about deerhounds before you read this story about Alfie.
1. EARSTYLES
They have the most expressive ears in the dog world. See the picture ‘Deerhound Earstyles’.
2. SPEED
They can outrun a car at speeds up to forty miles per hour.
3. DEAR HOUNDS
They are the sweetest, most gentle of hounds, always anxious not to offend their owners.
4. FOOD
Their best dinner is tripe and their favourite snack is cheese – any type, the smellier the better. They can detect someone opening a packet of cheese-and-onion crisps two doors away!
5. NOSE PERISCOPE
They can bend the tips of their noses round the corner.
6. SMILER
Some of them smile when pleased to see you.
7. NEAT EARS
Deerhounds are supposed to have the outer layer of grey fur stripped from the ears, revealing the soft, short black hair beneath.
8. LEANING
They like to lean on people – especially people they love.
9. GARDENING
They are great hole-diggers. Once they’ve started a hole, they don’t stop till Australia.
10. COUCH POTATOES
They are comfort freaks. Only a sofa or bed will do – see picture ‘Favourite Deerhound Fairytale’.
11. THE SERPENTINE GROVEL
When especially pleased to see you, or anxious that they’ve done wrong, they go into a serpentine grovel, almost tying themselves in a knot. They sometimes twist their head so far towards their tail that they overbalance and fall over.
It was the start of a perfect autumn day. The sort of day that called you to be up and outside. The sort of day when only good things should happen.
Two cats were hunched on top of the garden wall between their houses. One was a brown-and-cream ragdoll cat named Florence and the other was a black-and-white ‘no-particular-breed’ named Humbug. Both cats sat perfectly still, faces turned to the rising sun, their fur ruffling in the gentle breeze.
‘How’s it going with the monster, then?’ asked Humbug.
‘Better,’ said Florence, blinking her swimming-pool-blue eyes. ‘I had a chat with him last week – made a sort of bargain – and now he’s a changed dog. Just as well, really. It was beginning to drive me nuts, all that noise and chasing me round the garden.’
‘How did you do it?’ asked Humbug, intrigued. ‘I can’t imagine what bargain you could possibly make with a deerhound.’
‘It was quite easy, actually,’ explained Florence. ‘He’s scared of thunder, and I mean really scared, so I promised I’d always snuggle up with him in the kitchen when there’s a storm if he promised never to chase me ever again – or anyone else for that matter – and it worked like magic.’
‘Cool,’ said Humbug admiringly.
The sun had made its way up above the roofs and treetops and the two cats heard the first people getting into their cars and setting off to work. Florence stood up and stretched herself thoroughly. ‘I think I’ll go home for some breakfast,’ she said.
‘Hope it’s something nice,’ said Humbug.
‘It’s always the same dried stuff,’ called Florence over her shoulder. ‘But it is nice. See you around.’
‘Mmm,’ purred Humbug.
In the kitchen, Alfie the deerhound puppy was curled up in a tight ball, fast asleep on an enormous, squashy beanbag. He was in the middle of a delightful dream in which he had just chased Florence to the top of a very bendy tree at the end of the garden. Alfie was standing on his hind legs and pushing the tree with his front paws so that Florence was beginning to lose her grip among the sparse branches.
‘Surrender!’ barked Alfie.
‘Never!’ yowled Florence.
The cat-flap banged as Florence arrived in search of her breakfast and Alfie awoke with a start. For a moment he forgot his bargain and scrambled off the beanbag, barking wildly and sliding about on the tiled floor. Florence jumped up on to the nearest worktop.
‘Steady on, kiddo,’ she said sternly. ‘Haven’t you heard the weather forecast? We’re in for a freak storm over the next couple of days. We made a deal, remember?’
Alfie remembered and slunk back to his beanbag, ears flopped over his forehead in embarrassment.
‘Sorry, Florence,’ he mumbled. ‘I was dreaming. I only forgot for one moment. I won’t do it again, I promise.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ said Florence huffily. ‘I’ll let you off this time. What’s happened to your ears?’
Alfie looked puzzled for a moment.
‘One’s smooth and black,’ explained Florence, ‘and the other one’s hairy and grey like it usually is.’
‘Oh, that,’ mumbled Alfie. ‘Well, deer-hounds are supposed to have stripped ears so you can see the black fur underneath. Charlie said it shows you’re a grown-up dog when you have your smooth ears done, but it hurt and I only lasted for one ear so they gave up – anyway, no one’ll notice.’
‘I’ve noticed,’ said Florence, ‘and it looks truly bizarre. Oh well, never mind. Move along and I’ll cuddle up with you to keep warm. It’s a bit chilly in here with all these tiles and they might not be up for a while yet.’
Upstairs, Alfie’s young master, Charlie, was also asleep, dreaming of scoring the perfect goal in a football match with all the best players in school. In the dream, Charlie pulled his shirt over his head and ran about the pitch shouting and yelling for joy, other players grabbing him and thumping him on the back.
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‘Charlie! Charlie!’ His mum’s voice blasted him awake. ‘You’re all tangled up in your bedclothes! What on earth were you dreaming about? Come on, we’ve overslept.’
Charlie pushed himself up on one elbow and laughed. ‘Gosh, Mum,’ he said ruefully, ‘that was some dream. I wish it was true.’
‘No time for dreaming!’ said his mum. ‘We’ve got loads to do. There’s breakfast for all of us, then we’re off to cousin Chloe’s wedding, so we’d better get a move on.’
Charlie groaned. ‘Oh, Mum,’ he said. ‘I wish we didn’t have to go.’
They padded downstairs together.
‘I know,’ said his mum. It’s such a gorgeous day and I’m not crazy about going anywhere except out with Alfie, but I’m sure it’ll be fine when we get there – oh, look!’
They had opened the kitchen door, revealing Alfie and Florence curled up together on the beanbag, looking like a picture on a greetings card.
‘I knew they’d get along in the end.’ Charlie beamed, plonking himself down on the edge of the beanbag and waking them up with a hug.
‘Hey, steady on, Alf! And you, Floss!’ he laughed as Alfie started madly licking his young master’s face while Florence leapt into Charlie’s arms and was head-butting him under the chin.
‘Are you sure Alfie’s going to be all right with this lady you’ve found?’ asked Charlie through a mouthful of toast.
‘Absolutely,’ said his mum reassuringly. ‘She’s called Jenny. I rang her advert in the local paper and she sounded so nice. I even went to have a look at the set-up, just to make sure. She’s been looking after other people’s dogs for years. She’s got a dear little house – with a walled garden and two huge sofas for the dogs to sleep on – oh, and there’s a huge field in a nearby farm with a high hedge and a big gate to keep the dogs safe when they’re out walking. So you see it’s perfect. It’ll be like a holiday for our dear deerhound. In fact, she’ll be here in ten minutes, so we’d better get a move on.’
‘How come there’s a farm?’ asked Charlie. ‘There aren’t usually any farms in a city.’
‘It’s on the outskirts of the city,’ explained his mum, ‘where the houses meet the countryside, next to Hawkland Heath – we used to go there sometimes when you were little.’
The doorbell rang.
‘That’ll be her!’ said Charlie’s mum. ‘Run and let her in. I’ll keep Alfie in here so he doesn’t knock her flying.’
Jenny was nice, and brilliant with Alfie. Everyone chased each other around the garden and Alfie was thrilled to find that their visitor had a pocket full of his favourite dog biscuits. He wasn’t so thrilled when she put him on a lead and set off with him down the path to the van. He splayed out his paws like a donkey and turned his head back towards Charlie, yelping and barking like a demented sea-lion.
‘Perhaps you both ought to come out to the van,’ suggested Jenny. ‘He’ll follow along if he thinks you’re coming too.’
Charlie and his mum hurried down the path lugging Alfie’s beanbag between them. They opened the van door and laid the beanbag inside.
‘Come on, Alf,’ coaxed Charlie, perching on the back step of the van and patting the beanbag. ‘In you hop.’
Unable to resist a comfy bed, especially his own, Alfie sprang nimbly over Charlie’s knees into the van and curled up on the beanbag. Quick as a flash, Charlie jumped up and Jenny slammed the door.
Heartrending howls and yelps started up immediately.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jenny shouted, trying to make herself heard above the noise. ‘He’ll be fine once we get back to my place – they always are.’
‘LET ME OUT!’ barked Alfie. ‘PLEASE LET ME OUT! I’M SORRY I CHASED THE CAT! I’M SORRY I STOLE THE SANDWICHES!’
‘Oh, Mum,’ said Charlie anxiously as Jenny got into the driver’s seat. ‘He really doesn’t want to go.’
Jenny laughed. ‘Stop worrying,’ she said soothingly. ‘He’ll have a brilliant time.’
‘NO I WON’T’! Alfie was barking himself hoarse. ‘I’M SORRY I ATE YOUR MUM’S HANDBAG! I’M SORRY I DUG UP ALL THE FLOWERS LAST WEEK – I’LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN! PLEASE LET ME OUT. PLEASE DON’T SEND ME AWAY! PLEEEEEEASE!’
Charlie and his mum held on to each other as they watched the van drive off. They could still hear the desperate howling two streets away.
‘I didn’t know he’d make such a fuss,’ said Charlie. ‘He’s so upset.’
‘Not as upset as Florence,’ said Charlie’s mum, laughing. ‘Look!’
Florence was strutting indignantly around the kitchen, looking for the beanbag.
Charlie’s mum closed the front door and shooed Charlie upstairs.
‘He’ll only be there for one night,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful, ‘and it’s like dog heaven at Jenny’s cottage – he won’t want to come home! Now, then, best outfits on or we’ll miss our train and be late for this wedding!’
The van door opened with a clatter. ‘Come on, Alfie,’ said Jenny kindly. ‘Out you get. Come and meet the gang.’
Alfie stayed on his beanbag, ears flopped over his eyes, one paw over his nose pretending that he wasn’t really there. Jenny leaned in and pulled him out firmly.
Alfie looked around miserably. They were in the driveway of a small house with very high gates, securely closed behind them, and an equally high fence enclosing the paved front garden. Jenny led Alfie into the house.
As soon as they opened the front door, a barrage of dogs appeared, hurling themselves at Jenny and sniffing the newcomer all over. Alfie cringed nervously into a corner.
‘OK, you lot,’ laughed Jenny. ‘Out you all go and make friends with our new boy, while I get the kettle on.’
She shooed them all through the sitting room and kitchen, which led directly into a paved back yard, also with a high fence round it. Alfie could see that escape was impossible. Meanwhile, the other inmates surged around him, barking and sniffing.
‘How long are you in for?’ asked a large, bouncing German shepherd called Boris.
‘I don’t know,’ said Alfie. ‘I don’t even know why I’m here. I think it might be because I stole my boy’s school sandwiches last week.’
‘Oh dear,’ barked a black-and-white border collie named Folly. ‘Sounds as if you might be in for life, then.’
‘Life!’ gasped Alfie.
‘Did you do anything else bad?’ asked Folly.
‘Only a few things,’ whimpered Alfie. ‘I suppose the worst was eating his mum’s handbag.’
‘Definitely life, then!’ said Folly, with a wink at Boris. ‘Don’t you agree, mate?’
‘Definitely,’ woofed Boris. ‘They won’t be wanting you back in a hurry.’
‘Oh, stop it, you two!’ barked a dainty black-and-grey spaniel named Dixie. ‘You’re frightening the life out of the poor darling. Don’t listen to them, dear.’ She nuzzled up to Alfie and put a feathery paw on to his huge knuckled foot. ‘We’re only here for a little while: just a few days, or a week, or sometimes longer, but they always come back for us. You’ll see. We’re only here while they’re off doing people-things where we aren’t allowed.’
Jenny opened the garden door and called everyone inside. She sat down on one of the two sitting-room sofas, which were covered in rugs. After a few seconds, they were also covered in dogs, except for Alfie, who was too nervous to barge his way up with the others. There were six dogs altogether: Alfie, plus Boris, Folly, Dixie and two identical West Highland terriers who barked a lot – telling the bouncy Boris and the huge Alfie not to tread on them. One of the West Highland terriers settled, like a cat, on to Jenny’s lap. The other dogs did a lot of noisy leaping about, then collapsed into their regular places on the sofas. Jenny had brought Alfie’s beanbag into the room and he curled up on it gratefully in a surprisingly tidy ball. He was so tired after all the frenzy that he began to drift off to sleep.
Aloud knocking set all the dogs barking and diving off the sofas to hurl themselves at the f
ront door. They went mad with delight when they saw it was Jenny’s friend Rita, who always came with them for walks.
Alfie’s ears sprang into the Full Rabbit as he woke with a start.
‘Come in here, Rita,’ Jenny was saying. ‘We’ve got a baby deerhound come to stay. He’s a bit nervy.’
Alfie looked up mournfully from his beanbag.
‘Oh, what a darling,’ said Rita, crouching down and smoothing his head. ‘Look at your funny ears! Don’t worry, boy. We’re all off for a nice walk. Then there’s dinner later and nice friends to play with. It won’t be five minutes before they come to take you back home again.’
Jenny and Rita put all the dogs on to their leads. Jenny held on to the spaniel, the German shepherd and Alfie, and Rita took the two West Highlands and the collie. When they left the front garden, Alfie saw that on one side they were next door to a farmhouse, surrounded by large fields, with lots of grey outbuildings and farm machinery parked in the concrete yard. On the other side was a normal road, full of cottages and parked cars, leading towards a railway station and a small parade of shops. It really was the very edge of the city.
The exercise field, which Charlie’s mum had described, was next door to the farm. The dogs all knew where they were going and nearly yanked Jenny and Rita’s arms out of their sockets as the field gate came into view. Alfie didn’t pull; he hung back, trying to writhe his head out of his collar, but it was too tight to slip over his ears. ‘We’ll have to watch this one, Rita,’ called Jenny, bundling him through the gate with the others and bolting it behind them.
‘Off you go!’ she said, unclipping all their leads.
