by Alan Nolan
‘They were all utterly useless?’ asked Sam, wiping her nose on Nanny Gigg’s cardigan.
‘No!’ cried Nanny Gigg. ‘They all came with easy-to-read instructions and a six-month guarantee. But even more important than that, they all – every single one of his inventions – WORKED.’ She smiled at Sam. ‘If the instruction manual says the Drain Slop 2000 needs four days to recharge, then you can bet your bippy that at the end of the four days the Grain Flop 4000 will be charged up and ready to go!’ She looked at her watch. ‘Tomorrow is Wednesday, so you don’t have to put up with being a dog for much longer. Just have an early night tonight and when you wake up, you’ll be ready to get that brain of yours into your own body.’
‘But I can’t have an early night!’ said Sam, her ears perking up. ‘I nearly forgot, I’m going on the TV tonight. I’m due to be a guest on Bryan Hoolihan’s Midweek Madness!’
‘Bryan Hoolihan’s Midweek Madness?’ said Nanny Gigg. ‘I LOVE Bryan Hoolihan’s Midweek Madness!’ That was no surprise; every older lady in Ireland was a huge fan of Bryan Hoolihan’s Midweek Madness. ‘C’mon Sam, let’s get the glad rags on. We have to look our best for gorgeous Bryan Hoolihan!’
Nanny Gigg grabbed Sam by the paw and dragged her upstairs to get glammed up for the TV show, leaving Ajay in the kitchen. Ajay shrugged and started to count the cash that was stacked up in piles on the kitchen counter. As he flicked through the banknotes, he didn’t notice two pairs of eyes watching him through the kitchen window.
Martha and Abbie watched Ajay count the money for a few minutes before creeping up the side passageway of Clobberstown Lodge and out the wonky front gate.
‘I KNEW IT!’ said Martha. ‘Sam Hannigan IS a dog!’
‘Ah, but it’s not her fault, Martha,’ said Abbie. ‘You heard her. She didn’t mean to get stuck like that, it was one of her grandad’s inventions breaking down.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Martha. ‘I KNEW she wasn’t dressing up, I KNEW her costume was TOO real.’ She smirked an evil smirk at Abbie. ‘And tomorrow in school, we’re going to let everyone know exactly what Sam Hannigan is: a no-good, cash-grabbing, Irish-dancing medal–stealing, low-down dirty DOG!’
Chapter Eight
Hoist The Jolly Roger!
At the other side of Clobberstown, Roger Fitzmaurice, the owner of Jolly Roger™ Dog Biscuit Enterprises, the manufacturer of the world-famous Jolly Roger™ Dog Biscuit, and, he was proud to say, the face of ‘Jolly Roger’ on the front of the Jolly Roger Dog Biscuit™ packet, picked up his copy of the Clobberstown Bugle from the lacquered surface of his expensive rosewood desk and sat back in his comfy green-leather-and-mahogony executive office chair to read.
The headline on the front page of the newspaper immediately caught Mr Fitzmaurice’s attention: ‘SIT UP AND BEG! LOCAL GIRL DRESSES AS DOG FOR CHARITY.’ He read though the article – some rubbish about a goonish girl who wanted to give free food to free-loading, mangy mutts – and then looked at the photo at the side of the article. He squinted his small brown eyes and looked harder. ‘Goggins!’ he shouted. ‘Bring me my magnifying glass.’
Immediately a butler entered the large office though a secret door disguised as a bookcase, walked to the rosewood desk, picked up a golden-rimmed magnifying glass that was lying about forty centimetres away from where Roger Fitzmaurice was sitting, and placed it into his master’s outstretched hand. ‘About time,’ said Mr Fitzmaurice without looking at his butler. ‘Now get out, Goggins. I don’t pay you to dilly-dally.’
‘Yes, master,’ said Goggins. ‘Thank you, master.’ Goggins exited the way he had come in, through the secret bookcase door.
Mr Fitzmaurice looked though the magnifying-glass lens at the photo of the girl dressed as a dog. Hmmm. Something didn’t look right. Fitzmaurice knew animals – in fact, he collected them. That, in his opinion, was the one great thing about being a millionaire businessman and dog-biscuit magnate: he had enough money to collect anything he liked. And what he liked were animals. He had a large mansion in the foothills of the Dublin mountains, not too far from Clobberstown, and in the spacious grounds of that stately home he kept a variety of exotic and not-so-exotic beasts from all corners of the globe. But what he liked best were animals that were unusual. Animals that were one of a kind. He peered through the magnifying glass at the picture of Sam. A dog that could talk – a REAL talking dog – would certainly fall into that one of a kind category. He stared at the picture of the dog until all he could see were the dots printed on the newspaper. If that’s an idiot child dressed up as a dog, he thought, I’ll eat my favourite wig.
Mr Fitzmaurice stood up, walked to the enormous bay window of his first-floor office, and gazed down at the huge garden that was home to his private zoo. He listened to the growls and shrieks and calls of the diverse range of animals in their pens below, and then turned around to face the bookcase.
‘GOGGINS!’ he bellowed.
Goggins stuck his head around the secret door. ‘Yes, master?’
‘What took you so long?’ said Mr Fitzmaurice, stroking his moustache. ‘Summon Wilson and Pike immediately.’
‘Here, sir,’ said Mr Wilson and Ms Pike together as they stuck their heads around the secret door.
‘You two blundering boneheads,’ said Mr Fitzmaurice, ‘get into my office now!’
He sat down on his green leather seat as Mr Wilson and Ms Pike entered sheepishly and stood before the desk.
‘Well, you knuckleheaded nitwits,’ snarled Mr Fitzmaurice, ‘in the last few days I’ve asked you to steal for me a white Persian cat and an ostrich, and what have you brought me?’
‘A hamster and a guinea pig?’ ventured Mr Wilson.
‘Shut up!’ roared Mr Fitzmaurice. ‘I’ll tell you what you’ve brought me – nothing but grief!’ He calmed himself and smoothed down his silk tie. ‘The hamster and the guinea pig are nice – in fact, they are lovely and cuddly and very nice – but they are most definitely NOT a white Persian cat and an ostrich.’
‘With respect, sir,’ said Ms Pike, ‘we fought off many foes and were chased by dozens of dangerous dogs to get that hamster and guinea pig.’
‘Claptrap and codswallop!’ bellowed Mr Fitzmaurice. ‘You bought them both in the pet shop – I found the receipt in their cage!’
Mr Wilson and Ms Pike looked even more sheepish. It was true – when they couldn’t catch the cat or the ostrich, Mr Wilson had panicked and caught the bus to the pet shop. Now they glanced at each other and then looked down at the expensive rug that covered the floor. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Mr Wilson, his eyes firmly on the patterned rug, ‘we could only afford to buy small animals. I wanted to buy you something more exotic, like a bearded lizard or a tarantula spider, but–’
Roger Fitzmaurice’s hands shot involuntarily to his mouth as he stifled a shriek, his eyes wide in momentary terror. ‘Mr Wilson!’ whispered Ms Pike, ‘Do shut up! You know the master is terrified of creepy crawlies!’
Mr Fitmaurice took several deep, shaky breaths before he continued. ‘Well, you dunderheaded dimwits,’ he said calmly, ‘you now have a chance to redeem yourselves. As you know, apart from (ugh!) disgusting insects, I love all animals. I especially love the exotic, the unusual, the rare … and the downright indescribable. That’s why I want you to kidnap me THIS!’
He held up the front cover of the Clobberstown Bugle, and Mr Wilson and Ms Pike leaned in to look at the photo of a very hairy Sam.
‘Let me get this straight, sir,’ said Mr Wilson, staring at the picture. ‘You want us to dog-nap a little girl dressed up as a dog?’
‘That’s no little girl, you pudding-headed pea-brain!’ shrieked Mr Fitzmaurice. ‘That is a talking dog. I simply must have it for my collection.’
Ms Pike took out a notepad and a pencil. ‘Where does this little girl, pardon me, talking dog live, sir?’
‘I haven’t the foggiest idea,’ said Mr Fitzmaurice. ‘But I do know where that incredible creature will be tonight – it
is appearing on the television show Bryan Hoolihan’s Midweek Madness.’ He checked his watch. ‘That show finishes at eight o’clock. If you two lame-brains are waiting at the stage door of the TV studio at quarter past, you won’t have to look for this marvelous mutt – he, she or it will stroll straight into your arms.’
‘And what about the dog’s friend?’ said Ms Wilson, pointing to the photo where Ajay was standing.
‘I couldn’t care less about humans,’ said Mr Fitzmaurice. ‘Crack him on the cranium with a crate of crisps for all I care. I JUST WANT THAT DOG!’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Fitzmaurice, sir,’ said Mr Wilson and Ms Pike together as they backed out of the room.
‘You know, Mr Wilson,’ said Ms Pike quietly, ‘for somebody whose alter ego is Jolly Roger, Mr Fitzmaurice doesn’t tend to be very jolly.’
‘No,’ agreed Mr Wilson, ‘he’s not very jolly at all.’
Mr Fitzmaurice stared at the photo of Sam in the paper. Oh yes, he thought, you will make a fine addition to my animal collection. If you survive the first day, of course …
Chapter Nine
Hot Digital Dog
At seven o’clock that evening, Sam, Ajay, Nanny Gigg and Bruno arrived at the studio in a huge stretch limousine that the TV production company had layed on for them. None of them had ever been in a limo before and they marvelled at the plush white leather interior, the crystal-clear sound system, and the little fridge that was full of fizzy drinks.
The driver wore a black peaked cap and was delighted to be bringing Sam to the studio. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I was the one chosen,’ he gushed at Sam as he held the back door of the limo open for her outside the wonky front gate of Clobberstown Lodge. ‘I mean, it’s not every day you get to drive around an internet sensation! My kids were watching your MyTube video over and over again last night. They can’t get enough of it!’
Bruno snorted. ‘Heh. Hear that, sis? You’re an internet frustration! Haw-haw!’
‘Don’t mind him, luvvy,’ said Nanny Gigg. ‘You and Ajay just sit back and enjoy the ride.’ She leaned in close to Sam. ‘And remember, tomorrow that Train Stop 5000 will be fully charged and you can be you again.’
So Sam did sit back, and she and Ajay both enjoyed the ride through Clobberstown, where the long, sparkling white car got loads of admiring glances from pedestrians all the way to the TV studio. There was a huge poster of Bryan Hoolihan at the studio gate that read ‘Watch Bryan Hoolihan’s Midweek Madness!’ On the poster, Bryan Hoolihan had a speech bubble above his head that made him look like he was saying his famous catchphrase: ‘Call me Hooley!’
The limo pulled up at the studio door and the driver hopped out and opened the back door for the passengers. ‘Best of luck, young lady,’ he said as Sam got out. ‘Here’s a little something for Doggie Dinners from me and the kids.’ He pushed an envelope into her paw. More money, Sam thought. This is getting ridiculous!
The door was opened by a smiling floor manager who introduced herself as Lucy, and, after many warm welcomes and hand (or paw) shakes all round, she showed Nanny Gigg and Bruno to their seats in the audience and brought Sam and Ajay backstage to the makeup department. The two friends sat up in high seats with black cloths covering their clothes (or in Sam’s case, her fur) as the makeup people and hairdressers fussed around them. They couldn’t put makeup on Sam because of the fur, so they satisfied themselves with putting curlers and ribbons into her fuzzy hair. Ajay, however, insisted on getting a full face of makeup, including blue eyeshadow and a roaring red shade of lipstick.
They were still sitting in the chairs, admiring themselves in the lightbulb-encircled mirrors, when Bryan Hoolihan himself strode in, his hand thrust out for a good shake. ‘Call me Hooley!’ he boomed in a very dramatic voice while vigorously pumping Sam’s paw. ‘You must be young Sam. Oh! Your costume is A-MAY-ZING! Do you know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were actually a dog?’
He turned to Ajay. ‘And who have we here? Oh, holy mother of Molly! That’s, eh, that’s a lovely paint job you’ve had done to you there.’ With a big fixed smile he looked at the makeup people and hissed quietly, ‘Would you get some baby wipes and mop that load of muck off his face? He can’t go on camera like that – he looks like my great-auntie Eileen!’ He turned back to the kids. ‘SO good to meet you both. I’ll see ye on set! Toodles!’
Sam and Ajay were the third set of guests on the show, after a model called Ivanka Petrovovovovich who was talking about her new book, Ivanka’s Dust and Carpet Fluff Diet, and an actor called Brad O’Brady who starred in the daytime soap Liffey Life.
As Brad was finishing his chat with Bryan Hoolihan, Lucy the floor manager hustled Sam and Ajay to the curtain at the side of the set. ‘Right, kids,’ she said, ‘the commercials are up next. We’ll get you on set and miked up while they’re on.’
There was applause from the audience as Brad O’Brady’s bit ended, and then a bell rang. ‘We’re clear,’ whispered Lucy into her headset. She brought Sam and Ajay on stage, where they sat on a long, pink sofa across from Bryan Hoolihan.
‘Don’t be nervous,’ said Bryan. ‘Sure it’s only a bit of fun.’
A sound girl quickly clipped a microphone to Ajay’s shirt collar and to Sam’s dog collar and backed off stage. ‘All right,’ said Lucy, ‘we’re back in three, two, one …’
A sign saying APPLAUSE lit up over the set, so the audience did what it suggested and clapped, hooted and squealed with delight. Nanny Gigg waved at Sam excitedly, her false teeth slipping loose as she tried to whistle, and even Bruno, although looking bored, managed a slow handclap.
‘Welcome back!’ said Bryan. ‘Next up we have a heart-warming story of a young girl who has pledged to dress up as a dog for four whole days for her favourite animal charity, and in the process has become an overnight internet smash – it’s Clobbertown’s own Sam Hannigan. Call me Hooley, Sam!’
‘Call me Hooley!’ repeated the audience, cheering and whooping.
‘Hi, eh, Hooley,’ said Sam.
‘Well, I’ve got to say, your costume is A-MAY-ZING. Isn’t it, ladies and gentlemen? What do you think of that costume, guys and gals?’ The audience whooped and clapped their appreciation. ‘Now, did you make that yourself or did you buy it in a shop? And if you bought it in a shop, you have to tell me which one – you just have to.’
‘I made it with my friend, Ajay,’ said Sam. She didn’t like to tell a fib, but she couldn’t tell the whole world – or at least the whole of Ireland – about Daddy Mike’s Brain Swap 3000. She was glad her face was covered in fur and nobody could see her blushing.
Ajay’s face was still covered in quite a thick layer of makeup, so blushing wasn’t an issue for him. Unfortunately, speaking was an issue for him. As soon as the red light switched on over the camera to let them know they were live on air, Ajay froze with terror.
Sam looked over at Ajay, hoping he’d jump in on the conversation, but when she saw he was paralysed with stage fright, she kept going. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Ajay and I made it from, em, fake fur left over from the last school fashion show and some fake plastic teeth we bought in the joke shop. Ajay’s mum helped with the sewing, she’s brilliant at sewing. Hi, Ajay’s mum!’ She waved at the camera and hoped that Ajay’s mum wasn’t watching. She was actually rubbish at sewing.
‘Now, Sam,’ said Bryan, ‘tell me all about your favourite charity, Doggie Dinners.’
‘It’s Dinners for Dogs, Bryan – sorry, Mr Hooley – sorry, Hooley.’ She let out a barky cough. ‘It provides stray, homeless and abandoned dogs with food and a place to sleep. Just until they get back on their paws.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ said Bryan. ‘I love dogs, they are just A-MAY-ZING.’
‘And it’s not just for dogs,’ said Sam. ‘It’s for all abandoned animals – cats, birds, monkeys, fish, lizards, snakes, insects – we aim to give a good home to them all.’
‘You are two wonderful human beings, just WON-DER-FUL,’ said Bryan. ‘
Now tell me, Sam, you’re wearing that dog costume twenty-four hours a day – does it get itchy?’
‘Not at all,’ said Sam brightly. ‘It’s almost like a second skin at this stage. I sometimes forget I’ve got it on!’
‘Fair play to you, FAIR PLAY. And if our audience or the viewers at home want to donate to Dinners for Doggies, how can they do that?’ smiled Bryan.
‘They can send money to our school, St Gobnet’s National School in Clobberstown,’ said Sam, ‘or they can send it to Clobberstown Lodge, Clobberstown Avenue, also in, em, Clobberstown.’ Sam thought she had said the word ‘Clobberstown’ quite enough for one day.
‘That’s fantastic. FAN-TAS-TIC. Well, the best of luck with it. I hope you raise a HUGE amount of money and that the doggies ALL get their dinner. That’s Sam Hannigan and Ajay Patel – lovely talking to you, Ajay – the internet sensations who are collecting cash in canine costume for Doggie Dinners. We’ll see you after the break!’
The audience applauded and a bell sounded. ‘You were brillant, kids,’ said Bryan as a makeup person dabbed at his face with a small sponge. ‘You’re naturals on TV, NAT-U-RALS. And SUCH a good idea! Leave your details with Lucy, won’t you? Let me know if you’ve any other great ideas in the future!’
Lucy brought them off the set and back behind the curtain, then went off to fetch Nanny Gigg and Bruno from where they were sitting in the audience. Nanny Gigg blew kisses to Bryan Hoolihan as she left her seat.
