Labradoodle on the Loose

by T. M. Alexander

  ‘You’re going to have to confess in the end, but for now why don’t I tell you something?’ said the policewoman. ‘A little girl has been reported missing. She was in the play area with a lot of other children from the Blue Skies Nursery. They were about to head back when they noticed she wasn’t there. A missing child is a very serious incident.’

  As I heard the words and strung them together to hear them again in my head I couldn’t believe that I’d been so stupid. There was a kidnap. And a kidnapper. And I knew exactly who he was.

  My Friend Is Completely and Utterly Mental

  ‘I didn’t kidnap her. You can’t kidnap your own sister,’ shouted Fifty.

  ‘You took her from the play area without permission when she was in the care of the nursery,’ said the police-woman. ‘That’s kidnap. On top of which you’ve caused a lot of distress, and wasted our time.’

  ‘It was Rose who was distressed. And if they were looking after her, how come I walked into the play area and chatted to her and brought her out here without anyone noticing?’ Fifty, my small friend who usually avoids trouble, stared straight up at the two police officers. ‘How come?’

  It just shows you how much he loves his sister. Nothing else would have made him so brave, or reckless, or completely and utterly mental. I held my breath, waiting for the handcuffs. Copper Pie put his head in his hands. The Tribe picnic really wasn’t going that well – a lost dog, a Triber about to be arrested, Probably Rose drowning in chocolate mush, and Bee and Jonno scouring the streets for Doodle (I assumed that’s where they were).

  ‘I don’t like your attitude, laddie.’ The big one stepped round the policewoman to be closer to Fifty.

  ‘I don’t care. You’re not taking my sister.’

  Watching Fifty being ruder and ruder made me realise I had to do something before he was thrown in the back of the cop car and never seen again. Fifty’s just not logical when it comes to Rose. I took a deep breath, but I was still full of the last one so I coughed, and accidentally spat out some cake – a bit of brown sludge landed on the big policeman’s black trousers.

  ‘Fifty, they won’t take Rose anywhere. Just tell them what you did. Tell them . . .’ I forgot for a second that I was trying to get him out of trouble and let rip. ‘. . . tell them that you’re a complete idiot and you should never have taken Rose from the play area. I bet she wasn’t even upset – you just didn’t want her to go back to Blue Skies. It’s not normal to make such a fuss about a toddler going to nursery. We all went.’ I stopped. Even though I hadn’t meant to say what I really thought, it seemed to work. Fifty didn’t look mad any more, he looked . . . wobbly, like he might cry or faint or wail.

  ‘She did look a bit sad,’ he said quietly, eyes firmly fixed on the ground. ‘She was sitting on the grass doing nothing.’ I didn’t point out that there’s not an awful lot you can do when you’re not even two years old. She was hardly going to be reading the paper or playing Mario on her DS.

  The third policeman appeared from the direction of the play area. ‘So, here’s the missing Rose, I see.’ He smiled. He was obviously the nice cop in the good cop/bad cop routine. It must have been him that the policewoman bleeped with her radio when she saw Rose with her Blue Skies polo shirt on. ‘You gave those nursery girls a fright. They thought they’d lost her. Searched the playground, then called us. They’re all in tears, even though it’s all over. Good job we bumped into your friends or there’d have been a whole heap of trouble.’ That didn’t make any sense to me. Or to Copper Pie.

  ‘But we didn’t know Rose was missing,’ he said. ‘We thought you were looking for the missing dog.’

  ‘Yes, but when I asked you who else you were with,’ the policeman stared straight at Copper Pie, ‘one of the names you said was “Thomas Baines”.’ It was odd hearing Fifty’s real name. No one uses it.

  ‘And the missing girl was Rose Baines,’ I said, working it out aloud.

  ‘So we thought the missing girl just might be with her brother.’

  Everyone looked at Fifty, who had stopped looking like an angry pit bull terrier and now looked more like a lost puppy. (I wished I hadn’t had that thought. It reminded me about Doodle.)

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said. ‘And I suppose . . . nursery wasn’t really that bad.’

  TRIBERS’ BEST NURSERY MEMORIES

  KEENER: The mattresses they put out after lunch in the quiet room for napping.

  COPPER PIE: Scaring everybody by hanging upside-down on the monkey bars.

  FIFTY: The water toy outside, with canal boats and a system of gates and locks.

  BEE: Making an Advent calendar out of boxes from the junk pile that was bigger than her. In each box she wrote a message that no one could read because she hadn’t learnt to write yet.

  JONNO: Everything at his Montessori nursery was kid-sized. Ace.

  ‘Am I in big, big trouble?’ said Fifty with his best puppy-dog eyes.

  The Verdict

  We waited to hear what the three police officers would say.

  ‘Shall we leave it to you, Sarge?’ said the policewoman.

  ‘Yes,’ said the nice one. ‘I can handle this lot.’

  ‘We’ll be off then,’ said the scary one. Phew! ‘Try and keep out of trouble, you lot. We don’t want to see you again. Do you hear?’

  The three of us nodded. Rose noticed, so she did it too. That would normally have made Fifty go over the top about how great she is, but he stayed quiet. Good move.

  ‘OK.’ Our nice policeman sat down on the rug. ‘I’m Sergeant Farrow. Or Rob as most people call me, except the ones in handcuffs.’ He laughed. I wanted to laugh too but didn’t think I should. ‘Looks tasty,’ he said, looking at what was left on the picnic rug.

  ‘Would you like a cake?’ said Fifty.

  ‘I would.’ He reached out and took the last one. Rose mewed again.

  ‘She’s a cute little bundle,’ said Sergeant Farrow.

  ‘She’s really clever,’ said Fifty.

  ‘Doesn’t take after her brother, then.’ He winked.

  ‘I didn’t think,’ said Fifty. ‘I never would have taken her if I’d thought they’d call the police.’

  Idiot, I thought. They were hardly going to go back to the Blue Skies Nursery minus one child, were they?

  ‘Well, you and I had better take Rose over to the play area so she can go back to the nursery with the others.’

  Fifty nodded. Maybe he was in the clear – not arrested, not even a warning. It was brilliant that Rose was found, not that we knew she was missing, but what about Doodle? I needed a genie to grant me a wish.

  WAYS TO MAKE A WISH (no guarantee offered)

  Throw money in a well.

  Win a wishbone battle (chicken required).

  Blow dandelion seeds.

  Catch a falling leaf (or a star, but that’s unlikely).

  Blow out birthday candles (but not someone else’s).

  Find a genie.

  Or maybe I just needed a policeman. Sergeant Farrow finished the cake, brushed the crumbs off his lap and stood up. I had to say something before he went away.

  ‘There’s another problem.’ I could feel the usual rosy glow of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks. I carried on anyway. ‘The problem I thought you were here about.’ He waited for me to go on. ‘The dog. He’s lost.’

  ‘Ahh!’ said the nice policeman. He turned towards Copper Pie. ‘The girl you were with earlier, she mentioned her dog was gone.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Copper Pie.

  I waited to hear what the plan was. It was great knowing we had an adult to help. And not just an ordinary adult – a sergeant with three stripes on his shoulder.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry. I expect he’ll turn up. Pets usually do.’

  I couldn’t believe what he’d said. I repeated it in my head. It didn’t get any better. He was leaving it to us. He cared about missing babies, but not missing dogs. Missing dogs could form a pack and eat stray kittens, terr
orise old ladies by barking at their thick brown tights, be made into burgers – it didn’t matter to him.

  So that meant one thing and one thing only – Tribe was on its own. I thought back to all the amazing things we’d done since we became Tribe and knew that the only way to get Doodle back safely was for the Tribers to work together. I started shoving everything into my rucksack.

  ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve got to find Bee and Jonno, and then we’ve got to find Doodle. Are you coming, Copper Pie?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ said Fifty. ‘I’d better . . .’ He tilted his head to one side.

  ‘Tribehouse,’ said Copper Pie.

  ‘What time?’ said Fifty.

  I checked my watch. It was bang on twelve o’clock. ‘Three o’clock.’ That gave us plenty of time to scout around for dog tracks before heading over to Tribe HQ in Fifty’s garden, hopefully with Doodle trotting along with us. Making a plan of action made me feel better. I had Copper Pie by my side. A belly full of food. And a job to do.

  I was ready.

  The Tribe Ideas Machine

  We didn’t have to look very hard for Bee and Jonno. We left the park heading towards the café and saw them coming back towards us. No dog. I was a bit worried Bee would blank me, I mean it was all my fault, but she just shrugged.

  ‘No luck, then,’ said Copper Pie.

  ‘Nope,’ said Jonno. ‘But we’ve only done school and the alley.’

  ‘So where next?’ said Copper Pie.

  Bee shook her head.

  ‘I know it seems hopeless. He could be anywhere. But we’ve got to keep looking, haven’t we?’ said Jonno.

  She nodded. I felt really bad. I tried to think of something that might cheer her up. If only the policeman had offered to help. With the siren on, nee naw nee naw, they could have raced around the streets in no time.

  ‘OK,’ said Jonno. ‘Let’s have one of Fifty’s brainstorms and see if we can think of any better way to find Doodle.’

  Fifty taught us how to do them. There are rules. We can say whatever we like but no one’s allowed to criticise. No ‘that’s rubbish’ or ‘it won’t work’. The idea is that if you know no one is going to make fun of you, your imagination works better. The trouble with Tribe brainstorms, though, is that we end up with a list of crazy ideas and no answers. But we keep trying.

  ‘I’m in,’ said Bee.

  Copper Pie nodded.

  ‘OK,’ I said. You never know, I thought. This could be the one time it works. We sat down on the grass: me, Bee, Copper Pie and Jonno. And looked at each other. I was really hot. Everyone says we have rubbish summers but it hadn’t rained for ages. I know because it’s my job to water Mum’s rockery when it looks dry, and that’s every day. I helped her make it, lugging all the rocks, and she planted it. Bet nothing will grow. Mum’s fingers are green – it’s just a pity they’re arsenic green.

  Bee sighed, swished her fringe out of her eyes and started us off. ‘Doodle likes food. He’d head for food.’

  That was it – we were off, Tribe style.

  ‘The butchers.’

  ‘There isn’t one round here.’

  KILLER WALLPAPER

  Wallpaper used to be dyed green using arsenic. If the room was damp the arsenic produced a gas that killed people. So children with green bedrooms were more likely to die than children with blue or red, or in fact any other colour bedrooms. (Don’t worry if your room’s green. They don’t use it any more.)

  ‘The supermarket then.’

  ‘It’s quite a way from the park.’

  ‘And smells of plastic, not food.’

  ‘Shoe shops.’

  ‘Dogs don’t wear shoes.’

  ‘He chews them.’

  ‘Bone shops. He chews bones.’

  ‘What about pet shops?’

  ‘Does he like fish?’

  ‘Only cooked.’

  I’m sure you get the idea. Our brainstorms just don’t work. I zoned out and tried to imagine what Doodle would do, let off his lead for the first time in his short life. It was difficult. Dogs walk on four legs, not two. Dogs don’t use knives and forks. Dogs poo wherever they want, not in toilets. Dogs don’t wipe. I was wondering whether Doodle’s idea of family was the same as a human’s when Bee called a halt to the list of unhelpful suggestions.

  ‘It’s no good. We’re not going to find Doodle sitting here. And if I go home without him Mum’ll have a fit. So we may as well walk.’

  Bee had spoken. She’s boss. We all stood up.

  Telephone Numbers

  Bee walked fast (only stopping to collect litter).

  ‘Doodle,’ she shouted. ‘Doodle!’

  Jonno did the same. ‘Doodle!’

  So did Copper Pie. ‘Doodle!’

  Oh well, I thought, and joined in. ‘Doodle!’

  We decided to use the telephone method to choose our route. It seemed as good a way as any of finding a runaway labradoodle.

  On the way C.P. and I filled Bee and Jonno in on the ‘kidnap’.

  Bee was shocked. ‘Imagine the trouble Fifty’d have been in if they hadn’t found her.’

  Walking was dull. We finished Copper Pie’s phone number, which he couldn’t remember but I could, quite

  THE TELEPHONE NUMBER METHODOF GOING FOR A WALK

  Pick a telephone number, e.g. 358179. Take left and right turns based on the order of the numbers, ignoring any zeros. So . . .

  Take the 3rd right.

  Take the 5th left.

  Take the 8th right.

  Take the 1st left.

  Take the 7th right.

  Take the 9th left.

  near Fifty’s road so we decided to go to the Tribehouse early. We were meant to be meeting Fifty at 3 p.m. It was 2.42 p.m. Doodle had been missing for four hours.

  Fifty was there already. I asked him if Rose was OK. He nodded. I asked him if he was OK. He nodded. Fifty is usually talkative. I asked him if his mum knew about the kidnap. He nodded. That explained it.

  ‘I went back to the Blue Skies Nursery with Rose. The policeman came too. They called Mum from there and she came and picked us both up.’

  ‘Was she cross?’

  ‘Not really. She was how she always is.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Jonno. I didn’t need to ask, but Jonno’s only been at our school for less than a term so there’s still stuff he doesn’t know. (Although we’re teaching him, using the famous, and funny, Tribe fact files that we keep in the safe in the Tribehouse with titles like Things Tribers Are Scared Of and Tribers’ Embarrassing Moments.)

  ‘Whenever I do anything wrong, instead of a straight-forward telling off, I get “quality time” with Mum. If anything goes wrong, she thinks it’s her fault because she hasn’t “parented” me properly. I’d rather have a few swishes of the cane. But no, I get days and days of me-and-mummy chats.’ Fifty sighed.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been parented,’ said Bee with a small grin. It was the first smile since she found out Doodle was gone. It soon disappeared.

  ‘Lucky you. Being parented is like being in a zoo – she watches me all the time, checking for weird behaviours.’

  ‘Like what?’ said Jonno.

  ‘Twitching, rocking backwards and forwards, maybe dribbling,’ said Fifty. He demonstrated and rolled his eyes at the same time. It was funny.

  ‘You’re mean,’ said Bee. (She really likes Fifty’s mum.) ‘Your mum’s nice. She’s just a bit too . . . involved in your life.’

  ‘She thinks I’m “too fond” of Rose.’ Fifty’s face looked really serious. ‘How can you be “too fond” of your sister?’

  Good question, I thought. But I had a better one. How can you be ‘fond’ of your sister at all? Sisters are not my favourite thing.

  TRIBERS’ BROTHERS AND SISTERS

  KEENER: One small, irritating sister, Flo, and one big, irritating sister, Amy.

  COPPER PIE: Little brother, Charlie, who he tortures and call
s ‘Snot’.

  JONNO: Doesn’t have any, would like one (but why?).

  BEE: Two brothers (twins), about 20, who live with an actress in Stoke Park.

  FIFTY: One precious, clever, marvellous, fantastic, awesome sister (he thinks).

  There was a bit of a silence and then Fifty stood up (he was sitting on the safe – his usual spot) and showed us the piece of paper he’d been keeping warm under his butt. It was a poster. There was a drawing of a dog in the middle and a great big heading: HELP, WE’VE LOST DOODLE.

  ‘It’s what people do when they lose cats,’ he said.

  Bee said, ‘Thanks, that’s great.’ I was glad she’d spoken because I was trying not to laugh at the two-legged swollen-headed sheep crossed with a rabbit that was meant to be Doodle. No chance of anyone recognising Bee’s labradoodle from that picture.

  ‘We’ll need more,’ said Jonno. ‘One for every lamppost.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Fifty. ‘I wanted to show you before I made copies.’

  ‘We should add where and when he was lost and a phone number to call,’ I said.

  Fifty added all the details at the bottom. I was glad I’d said something useful to show Bee how much I wanted to get Doodle back.

  ‘Anything else?’ We shook our heads. Fifty disappeared.

  Jonno winked at us all. We all winked back.

  ‘It didn’t look anything like my dog,’ said Bee.

  ‘It didn’t look like a dog. Full stop,’ said Jonno.

  ‘Looked more like a chicken with ears,’ said Copper Pie.

  Bee put her finger on her lips – we didn’t want Fifty to hear us.

  ‘Couldn’t we get a photo instead?’ I said.

  ‘Not without going to my house,’ said Bee. ‘Without a dog.’ Good point.

  ‘What else can we do?’ said Jonno. ‘Posters are great but there must be more.’

  ‘We could check Doodle’s not gone home?’ I said.

  Bee made a face. ‘Same problem. How do I do that without letting Mum know what’s happened?’