by Scilla James
He had to do something about it. Leaving Snip behind with instructions to distract Mr Trundle if he started to want his dogs, he took himself off the following evening to try a bit of home-made therapy. As it happened, Mr Trundle’s daughter Mary had once studied psychology at the Open University, and Charlie had overheard many of the (rather boring) quotations which she’d read to her father while he slept by the fire. Now he tried to remember the basic rules for dealing with a phobia, in this case a phobia about rats, and he worked out a programme for himself:
Evening 1
1.Find a rat
2.Look at it
3.Come home again
Evening 2
1.Find a rat
2.Look at it
3.Touch it
4.Come home again
Evening 3
1.Find a rat
2.Look at it
3.Catch it
4.Come home again
He called his system ‘Charlie’s Courage by Stages’, or CCBS for short, and he set off for the back of Dr Gilligan’s house without delay – a place bound to offer the practice he needed. And sure enough, he’d not been there two minutes when a particularly challenging example – long whiskers, fat tail – came skittering along in the ditch.
Charlie gave it a hard stare and ran home. So far, so good.
All night he imagined himself to be brave. In waking dreams he pounced first on a mouse, then on a hamster, two weasels, one stoat, and finally a large grey rat.
The following evening, scared but determined, he arrived at the same ditch just in time to hear Emily Featherstone saying, ‘OK Dora, that was just great. Well done for catching all seven of them!’ His heart sank.
Charlie tried to pretend he’d just been passing by in a hurry, but Emily nabbed him.
‘Hey there! It’s Charlie isn’t it? Oh, I’ve heard so much about you! Mayor Barnsley was telling Dad what great ratters you and your friends have been, and I must say you’re very handsome.’
Emily leaned down to stroke Charlie’s head.
‘Have been? Have been?’ Charlie couldn’t bear it. STILL ARE! He wanted to shout, as he heard a snuffle of laughter coming from Dora.
‘I wish we had this boy as well, don’t you?’ Emily carried on talking to her dog. ‘Just think what a team we’d make!’
Emily missed the fits of giggles this brought about in Dora. And missed too the furious look on Charlie’s face, as he could hardly answer back, and nor could he carry on with Stage 2 of Charlie’s Courage by Stages. He ran home in a rage to find Snip.
‘We are at war.’ he said when he got there, and flopped down on the rug. But whilst he may have sounded war-like, inside he felt very sad.
While Charlie was trying to deal with his fear of rats, Spud was on a mission of his own. Getting to know Allie. Instinctively Spud knew that if the rest of the gang even heard that he liked her, they would have a good old laugh at his expense. Look how they treated his wonderful stories about his own wonderful parents? They laughed, or fell asleep.
So once Herbie was safely watching detective stories on telly with Mrs Nockerty, he would slip out and hurry the short distance to the Featherstone house, to see if he could talk with her. Funnily enough she was often hanging about with her sister Meg at the end of the long back garden at the same sort of time, doing very little. Her sister Meg would see him first, and she would nudge Allie, then tactfully wander off to leave them alone together.
Allie would pretend not to care that Spud had turned up again, and was often rude, but he had seen her looking at his ears and surely there was admiration in her expression? He thought her perfect.
‘Och, hello there,’ he would say.
‘What d’you want? You were here last night in case you don’t remember.’
‘Fancy a walk up the back field?’
‘No I don’t.’
‘There’re loads of rabbits there.’
‘Oh alright, if you’re scared.’
And the two terriers would trot off up the track in the summer evenings, chatting together about Scotland, and what it’s like having your portrait painted. Allie was a tough dog, and she wasn’t easily impressed, but she could see that Spud was a strong dog too, and that he admired the same qualities in her. But one evening Dora was in the garden as well.
‘So you’re one of Charlie’s Gang,’ she said to Spud. ‘Scared-of-rats Charlie!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Spud, appalled. ‘Charlie’s one of the best ratters in the country, and he knows more about tactics than anyone. We’re a team. And we’d be grateful if you’d stop pinching our jobs.’
‘Now look here,’ said Dora, crossly. ‘It’s hardly our fault if we keep getting sent to sort people’s pests out. We can’t help it if we’re better than you lot.’
Spud was torn between his fury at what Dora had said and his anxiety to get on well with her as the mother of his future partner. He tried to explain.
‘Of course you’re not better!’ he said, ‘but pest control is our business. You’ve seen what it says on the company’s van. NO PEST TOO BIG and THAT is the TRUTH!’ (Actually, as we know, it said ‘no pest too small,’ but never mind.)
Stung by Dora’s attitude, Spud went home. What can Allie’s mother have meant? Surely Charlie wasn’t scared of rats. How could he be?
8
Rat Hall
Poor Beattie knew nothing of Rat Hall. She’d heard Darren boasting to Andy and Mike that he had a very good chance of a pest control job already, and that he was going to see the place on Saturday so he could put in a bid for the work. He said he expected to earn £20.00 an hour, and that ‘that stupid dog had better look sharp,’ and not do the work too quickly so he could knock up a lot of money. But this meant nothing to Beattie. She was so unhappy. Whenever Darren took the removal van out, she sat sadly by the sitting room window, wondering whether to try and set off for Brian’s flat, even if she would probably lose the way. Anything, she felt, would be better than being locked in this lonely cottage, permanently hungry and often thirsty too. But now that Darren had plans for her, he no longer left windows open through which she might escape, and he kept an eye on her once he was home.
Saturday dawned chilly and damp. The forecast was for wet weather. Darren normally slept in late at weekends, coming grumpily down to the kitchen at midday, but this morning he was up by 8 o’clock.
‘Right you horrible little dog!’ he said to Beattie, ‘it seems I’ve only got one more week before your precious owner wants you back. So you haven’t got long to make up for all the trouble you’ve caused me over the last few weeks.’
Beattie’s spirits soared as she took in this news. Brian was better! In spite of hating everything about Darren, she couldn’t help wagging her tail.
‘You’re a Jack Russell terrier, right?’ he went on, ‘well, I’ve heard about dogs like you, and you’d better be as good as the ones I’ve heard about. So get in the van.’
Beattie did as she was told, but was only thinking of Brian. Would he come and collect her? Or would Darren drive her back? Oh, she was so thrilled - she couldn’t wait. One week - that wasn’t long!
Darren, not knowing that Beattie could understand everything he said, thought the wagging tail was for him. ‘Good, I’m glad you’re pleased. Because today you’ll be eating rat for breakfast!’
Eating them? thought Beattie, I don’t remember Mum mentioning that. But she certainly felt hungry enough to give rat a try.
‘Now, according to what I’ve been told,’ said Darren, as he started the engine, ‘Snare’s Farm is just about a mile up the lane and turn left and up the hill and then right and down near the river. Must be a rich man, this Mr Featherstone. Bet he’s got fishing rights. Bet he doesn’t get carted off in a police car when he wants to do a bit of fishing.’ Darren spat out of the open window as Beattie remembered Darren getting a visit from a policeman when he’d been fishing in a part of the river that had a great big Private Fishing notice st
uck on the riverbank.
Darren was a bad driver and Beattie was glad when she could stop sliding around in the back of the van. Darren never let her sit in the front as Brian always had.
Darren parked and opened the door, holding tightly onto Beattie’s lead as the two of them gazed at the buildings in front of them. ‘Spooky!’ muttered Darren. ‘Think I’ll just put you in and stand outside myself. You can catch a couple of rats and then I’ll see how many are left. Hope there’s enough for me to make a few quid.’
The large three-storey farmhouse had crumbling brick chimneys at either end of a moss-covered roof. Half the tiles had slipped and were lying in broken heaps on the ground, in amongst long grass and weeds. Ivy covered the walls, and open windows on the upper floors creaked as they swung in the breeze. Blackened spiders’ webs hung in loops like curtains behind cracked window panes.
Two outbuildings stood gloomily to one side. One looked as if it had been a cowshed and the other a hay barn. An old dust covered cart containing mildewed harness stood halfway under the low roof of the barn, which appeared to Beattie to be leaning down to whisper some sort of warning to the cowshed. Perhaps that it was about to fall down altogether.
As they stood there staring, the wind got up and Darren swore as rain began to fall. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘over to you.’
Beattie was astonished. What was she supposed to do? And what was Darren going to do? Was he not coming into the building with her? If he wasn’t, perhaps this would be her chance to get away? With this thought in mind she trotted beside him willingly as he pushed his way through the waist-high weeds to what had once been a solid oak door. It was solid still, but with rusted lock and hinges, and the lock gave way as he kicked it hard with his right foot, opening just enough for a small Jack Russell to get through.
‘I’ll just have a ciggy while you have a little practice. Then I’ll come in and take a look, and work out a price to tell this Featherstone bloke. So if you can catch, say, two rats every five minutes, no, one rat every five minutes and there are, say, 20 rats in there, that’ll be 100 minutes which is one hour 40 minutes which at 20 quid an hour isn’t nearly enough so take 10 minutes over each rat and if there are 20 rats that’s 200 minutes which is 3 hours 20 minutes which is more than 60 quid which is much more like it so take 10 minutes for every rat and look sharp.’ Darren pushed Beattie through the gap, rubbing his hands with pleasure at the thought of all the money he could so easily make. ‘Lots of dosh for me and none for you. Ha ha.’ Beattie heard him say as the door was pulled shut behind her.
Beattie could hardly see where she was. She seemed to be in some kind of entrance hall, but there was very little light. She might have expected the empty building to be silent, but it was filled with a constant high pitched squeaking noise which appeared to come from every floor at once, and there was the sound too of fat little bodies shuffling and scurrying about. Beattie realised that the place was absolutely, and literally, full of rats! She thought back to her mother’s teaching, and remembered that teamwork had featured in every single example of successful rat catching that Dora had given. But where was Beattie’s team? She cowered down and pressed herself against the back of the door through which Darren had just pushed her.
Beattie was a brave little dog. Dora had always told her that she would have to be, because courage was one of the main principles of the hallowed Society of Superior Jack Russells. But nothing in her short life had prepared her for this. So for a long time she sat there, too scared to move.
She wondered if she should try and catch a rat. But how could she even start? Her presence wasn’t bothering the rats one bit, as several of them, looking almost as if they were chatting together as they went, passed by the front door without giving her a second glance. And Beattie saw that a single Jack Russell, whatever Superior Society it belonged to, would simply not be able to tackle such a project.
Darren hadn’t taken long to have his cigarette, and this time he kicked the door much harder so that it opened quite wide. Seeing daylight, Beattie tried to make a dash for it but he pushed her back in and stepped into the hallway himself.
And then he shrieked! ‘What?!! This place is crawling with rats! I can’t even see how many! I’m out of here. It’s just horrible!! He swore at the top of his voice as he shot back out of the door. Beattie tried again to get out but he pushed her back with his foot and shouted. ‘Get back in you! Make a start and I’ll come for you later. I’m not even looking in there again until you’ve got rid of some. I’ll ring this Feather man and tell him I want £300 quid and the job’ll be done. So show me what you can do and I’ll be back for you later.’
Of course Beattie could do nothing. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she began to breathe more steadily. She remembered the open windows she’d seen from outside, and thought that she might be able to squeeze through one of them and leave. She began to creep quietly from one room to the next, starting on the ground floor. But all the ground floor windows had been boarded over and there was no way out. Taking her courage in her paws, she began to climb the stairs to the first floor. Even the dusty old stairs were inhabited by rats, and many slinked past her as she went, on their way up or down. They seemed busy, and although one or two of the larger ones flashed their yellow teeth at her, none took much notice. She knew though, that were she to threaten one of them with her own sharp teeth, she would be in big trouble.
As she moved from one room to another, she saw that although a few windows were unboarded, she was too high up to jump. The third floor was lighter with several windows hanging open and there were fewer rats, but of course from here it was impossibly far to the ground outside. But she did come across an old frying pan full of rainwater, lying beneath one of the many gaps in the roof tiles, and she was able to take a long drink.
Shivering with cold and very scared, Beattie jumped onto one of the window ledges by an open window on the top floor. Darren would be back for her and she would just have to wait, and face his temper when he found that she’d done nothing at all.
9
Charlie
Charlie was worried about Mr Trundle. He talked to Snip about it.
‘He’s not even eating much,’ said Charlie, ‘that Featherstone woman’s driving him mad.’
‘She lends her dogs out for free,’ said Snip, ‘so she can make friends in the village. But it’s worse than that. She’s made friends with the Mayor and he’s decided to let her girls do the Council’s pest control work instead of paying us. The old man was on the phone about it the other day. He sounded like he was going to cry.’
Charlie told Snip what he’d heard in the shop that morning. But was Mrs Featherstone really lending out her terriers for nothing? He hadn’t realised that. He’d even wondered secretly to himself whether his own fear of rats was actually known around the village and was putting people off. How he wished he liked ratting. Worse still, he had to face the fact that he was still stuck on Stage 1 of his home-made therapy.
In his dreams he was fearless, and when he woke in the mornings he would lie in his basket picturing himself tackling a room full of rats without batting an eyelid. He really could do it! One by one, and faster than the blink of an eye, he would sort those horrid creatures out. His gang would gaze in admiration, wishing they could be as skilful.
But then he would get up, stretch, go outside, and wait for news of the day ahead, only to feel scared all over again.
But Mr Trundle had to get his business back, as, after all, they needed to eat.
‘It’s time for a consultation with the boys,’ said Charlie now, ‘I’ll see if we can get down to visit them urgently.’
He began to limp as he went into the house to find Mr Trundle, who was sitting staring out of the front window. The old man looked up as Charlie dragged his leg and whimpered, but for once he didn’t reach immediately for the phone.
‘We’re in trouble Charlie boy,’ he said, ‘Mrs Amanda Blinking Featherstone is lending her gir
lie dogs out all over the village and charging nothing for them. I’m running out of funds.’
So Snip was right, thought Charlie. Outrageous, but at least it’s not down to me.
‘And Rat Hall has sold at last,’ Mr Trundle went on, ‘and guess who to? Yes! Mr Featherstone! He’s hardly going to pay a pest control professional when he’s got his own dogs is he? Or his own girlie dogs indeed. And I’ve heard these females can be better than you’d expect, though personally I’d be surprised.’
Charlie had never seen Mr Trundle looking so upset. He determined to help. After a minute or two he pushed against the old man’s trousers, fell over dramatically, waved all four legs in the air and let out a pitiful howl.
Mr Trundle was on the phone in moments. ‘Mabel? Charlie looks as if he might die! We’re on our way. Oh dear and now this!’ He lifted the whimpering Charlie in his arms, called Snip, and the three of them were in the van in no time.
Charlie sensed that he needed to take a little longer to recover on this occasion, so he allowed Mrs Nockerty to massage his tummy gently and breathe endearments into his ears. He waved his back legs and gazed at her pathetically. He accepted a small piece of bacon, and only when he was sure that she wasn’t going to give him another, he gave an all-over shiver, and tried to stand.
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ said Mr Trundle, awestruck at his friend’s skill. Charlie shook himself, licked Mrs Nockerty’s hand in thanks, and jumped up to join the other three terriers on the sofa.
‘Right you lot,’ he said, ‘Trundle’s in trouble and we’ve got to help. We’ve got no work and those Feather terriers are taking all our trade. They’re even going to do Rat Hall. We’ll have to go to war and send them back where they came from.’ He looked round at his gang. ‘Prepare yourselves for a fight!’ Three pairs of ears pricked up, and the gang looked expectantly at their leader.
But Spud spoke first, an image of the beautiful Allie floating in front of his eyes,
‘Och though, might it not be better to try and make peace with Mrs Feathstone’s girls. We could maybe come to an agreement with them and share the work? Or even work together why not?’
