by Ben Fogle
But Mr Dog could hear the warning in the howls the pack threw after him: ‘We won’t always be on the lead. Just you wait, scruff-bag – we’re going to get you and that hog … and there’ll be no humans to stop us!’
Mr Dog carried Hog delicately between his teeth for what had to be more than a mile before finally he stopped on high ground further round the coast. His jaws were aching and his tongue was sore from prickles. Trying not to pant, he listened hard but could hear only the roar of the sea below, crashing on rocks somewhere in the darkness beneath.
The stars were bright and the moon was up now, and full. Mr Dog padded over to a hunched-over tree and gently placed Hog beneath it on a bed of leaves. As far as he could tell, the little hedgie was uninjured. To keep Hog safe, he covered him over with more leaves and then lay down beside him, exhausted.
Soon Mr Dog fell into an uneasy sleep, ears twitching for any sound of the hounds. He was fond himself of hunting about after interesting smells, and knew that some hounds – particularly in more remote places – were bred to do nothing else. However, he knew that a few liked to hunt so much that they got overexcited, determined to catch their prey whatever it took. That made them dangerous to anyone who got in their way.
He jumped at the sound of movement beside him, but it was only Hog wriggling into sight through the leaves.
‘Oh, what horrible dreams I’ve had,’ squealed the hedgehog. He sniffed and stared about. ‘Where are my friends? Where am I?’
‘I wish I knew,’ said Mr Dog. ‘I’m a stranger here myself.’
‘Aaaagh!’ Hog squealed like a little siren going off. ‘It’s you! I remember. You tried to eat me!’
‘I only picked you up so I could carry you to safety!’ Mr Dog let his tongue dangle from his mouth. ‘I got prickled by a prickle too.’
But the little hedgie was in another panic. ‘I won’t let you bite me!’ His tiny legs propelled him out of the leaves and he scurried up the grassy slope towards a rocky ledge. ‘I’m off!’
‘Hog, wait,’ Mr Dog yelped. ‘It’s not safe!’
The panicking hedgehog was running straight for the edge of a cliff!
Chapter Four
HELPING HOG
Mr Dog raced after him and barked, ‘STOP!’ Such was the power in that ear-shaking woof that the hedgehog jumped, skidded and spun round. He found himself on one paw, teetering on the edge of a long drop down to the rocky shoreline far below.
‘Eep!’ Hog shut his eyes. ‘Come here, small one.’ Mr Dog’s teeth once again closed gently round Hog’s middle, lifted him from the dangerous ledge and carried him down to safety. The moment Mr Dog placed him back on the ground, Hog tucked himself back into a trembling ball.
‘We’re close to the cliffs, you silly spiky thing,’ Mr Dog scolded. ‘You really must trust me. I’m a friend to all animals.’
‘All right.’ Hog poked out his nose and opened one eye. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude. But you sniffy dogs are very scary to a little hedge like me. Not just your teeth. Those dirty great paws of yours could squash me flat.’
‘Dirty paws? How dare you! I’m extremely clean.’ Mr Dog wiped his front paws in the dew and kicked up some grass with the back ones. ‘See? I promise not to squash you, Hog. I just want to get you to safety. Now where do you live – under that hedgerow?’
‘Nope. I don’t really have a home.’ Small tears welled up in Hog’s beady black eyes. ‘I usually just wander about, sometimes with my friends. But that was until something awful happened …’
Mr Dog lay down beside him. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘I was out with some friends, looking for food,’ Hog went on, unfolding himself as he talked. ‘Sprackle said that he knew a field full of caterpillars, and Tucker thought we might even find some wader eggs.’
‘From wader birds?’ Mr Dog was surprised. ‘You eat eggs?’
‘Well, not me personally,’ Hog admitted. ‘But Sprackle and Tucker think they’re the most delicious food ever. We thought that hunting for some would be a good adventure.’ He snuffled quietly. ‘But fog blew in from the sea and I lost my way. I couldn’t find Sprackle and Tucker. Then I heard them cry out for help …’ Hog quivered so much he almost curled up again. ‘I looked for them, but couldn’t see them anywhere. When the sun came up, I hid under that hedgerow and slept.’
Mr Dog nodded sympathetically. ‘What about your family? Where are they?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Hog. ‘A hoglet leaves his family behind when he’s five or six weeks, and I’m nearly four seasons old now.’
‘Well, Hog, they do say that travel broadens the mind, and I’m sure it sharpens the prickles too.’ Mr Dog wagged his shaggy broom of a tail.
‘I’m here to help you. Perhaps we can find—’
Hog sprang up in the air. ‘A BEETLE.’
Mr Dog was confused. ‘Well, I suppose we could find a beetle, but I actually meant—’
‘No, I mean, I just heard a beetle.’ Hog was already snuffling away through the grass, licking his lips. ‘Mmmm, come to me, beetle … OM, NOM, NOM!’ He munched the insect down. ‘It may not be a wader egg … but it’s delicious!’
Mr Dog smiled down at the scatty little hedgie. He wondered what on earth cute animals like this had done to get Mrs Maitland cross enough to send out hunting parties. ‘They don’t belong on the Isle of Evan,’ she’d said – but WHY didn’t they?
‘As I was saying,’ Mr Dog went on, ‘perhaps we could find a lady called Lizzie Toddy who lives on this island. She came over on the same boat as me and she seemed to like hedgehogs.’
‘What’s a boat?’ Hog asked.
‘It’s a thing humans use to travel over water,’ Mr Dog explained. ‘Lizzie had all sorts of crates and cases for carrying hedgehogs, and wanted to stop the hunt. Perhaps if we find her, she will help you.’
Hog looked up at Mr Dog, his black eyes wide and bright. ‘Do you really think she would?’
‘I think it’s worth a try.’ Mr Dog sighed. ‘Unfortunately, I have no idea where she is or how we can find her.’ He brightened, licking his chops. ‘Still, the island can’t be that big, can it? And she was in a big red pick-up, so she must live near a road …’
‘Roads are a bit scary,’ said Hog. ‘They have big metal things on them that roar and try to squish you.’
‘We’ll take extra care,’ Mr Dog assured him. Then he held up a paw for quiet. Distantly, blown on the wind, he could hear the bark and yap of excited hounds. ‘Uh-oh. Sounds like the pack is back.’
‘EEEEP!’ Hog had already rolled himself up into a ball.
Mr Dog smiled down at the little hedgehog. ‘We’d better get moving.’
Hog pushed out his nose. ‘But where to?’ he twittered.
‘Perhaps down to the beach.’ Mr Dog walked carefully back to the ledge of the cliff and surveyed the steep descent. ‘A dog can manage a tough climb, but the hounds’ human handlers won’t want to chance it. They’ll hopefully give up and leave us be—’
‘Leave us BEETLE?’ said Hog excitedly.
Mr Dog frowned. ‘No. Just leave us be.’
‘Oh.’ Hog stuck out his tongue. ‘Bees don’t taste very nice. I much prefer beetles.’
‘Escape first,’ said Mr Dog, ‘beetles later.’ He paused. ‘Do you think you could try not to curl up while I carry you? My tongue could use a rest from prickles.’
Hog shifted uncomfortably but nodded. Mr Dog delicately picked him up in his jaws and set off, taking a careful path down the steep, muddy hillside. The dark sea frothed and hissed as it slapped against the strip of stony beach that huddled between this cliff face and the next. Surely the hunters couldn’t possibly follow their hedgehog trail down here!
Mr Dog was just congratulating himself on his cleverness when a tuft of turf gave way beneath him.
He scrabbled at the wet mud and rock but couldn’t get a paw-hold, and started sliding down the steep slope towards the sea!
‘What’s happening?’ squeak
ed Hog.
‘Hold on!’ Mr Dog groaned through a mouthful of prickles, paws still scrabbling at stone and grass as he picked up speed. ‘Looks like we’re taking the quick way down!’
Chapter Five
EGG-STRA SPECIAL
Mr Dog gave a howl of fear as he slid faster down towards the stony beach. Suddenly, he hit a grassy outcrop that sent him tumbling head-over-paws. To his horror, Hog had slipped from his mouth! The little hedgehog was bouncing off a boulder and flying up into the air. Mr Dog spread out his legs beneath the airborne hedgehog and flattened himself down on the ground to catch him. He gave a sigh of relief as the hedgie landed on his back!
‘EEEEP!’ Hog’s little teeth chomped into Mr Dog’s necktie and he clung on for dear life.
A jagged rock sticking out from the cliff face loomed in front of Mr Dog. Desperately, he pushed off from the rock with his paws to avoid hitting it full-on …
For a few moments, all he could feel was cold air ruffling through his fur, nothingness beneath his paws, and then …
SPLASH!
Mr Dog and Hog plunged into freezing water. Everything was black, and all noise was muffled. Doggy-paddling furiously, he broke the surface of the water. The sea roared in his ears and the air was filled with salty spray.
‘Hog?’ barked Mr Dog. ‘Where are you?’
‘Right here!’ came the little squeak of a voice in his ear. Hog was still clinging on with paws and jaws to Mr Dog, shaking with fright. ‘What is this giant, angry, salty puddle?’
‘It’s the sea,’ Mr Dog spluttered, striking out for shore. ‘It’s all around the island.’
‘The sea? I see. Mr Dog, are you my boat?’
‘That’s right, Hog! Just hold on tight and we’ll be back on dry land in two shakes of a soggy tail!’ Swimming with all his might, Mr Dog reached the pebbly shore and dragged himself onto it. His body felt bruised and sore, and his tummy was red with scratches from the long slide down. Hog clambered over Mr Dog’s head on to the wet beach. Then he waddled round and squeezed up against him, shivering with the cold. Mr Dog put a protective paw over him, his pads shielding him from the prickles.
They lay like that for a few minutes, then Mr Dog got up and led them to shelter at the base of the cliffs. High above, he could hear the yips and yaps of the hounds, and saw the blazing beams of the humans’ hand-held searchlights.
‘I don’t suggest you follow us down here!’ Mr Dog muttered.
After a few minutes, the searchlights faded and the barking died away. The hunters had moved away from the ledge.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Hog through tiny chattering teeth.
Mr Dog considered. It was an impossible climb back up. ‘I think we had better try to walk round the shoreline for a while. It’ll keep us out of the way of those hounds at least!’
Luckily, the tide was going out, so by splashing through the rockpools at the edge of the little cove, carrying Hog between his teeth, Mr Dog was able to reach the neighbouring beach. Mr Dog walked across the lonely stretch of sand, the sea hurling spray as it surged in and then hissed back out. He stopped for a brief rest, and looked at the craggy solitude around him. The sky was lightening, and seabirds wheeled and called from the cliffs as they woke and began their days.
Hog yawned. ‘I should be asleep,’ he said.
‘That’s why we have to keep moving now,’ Mr Dog explained. ‘The hounds won’t be looking for you in daylight. It gives us more time to find Lizzie.’
But Hog wasn’t listening. He had fallen asleep on the sand, snuffling and snoring. With a smile, Mr Dog gently picked up the little hedgie with his teeth and, with some difficulty, tucked him inside his red-and-white neckerchief. Then he set off again.
The day warmed up as Mr Dog made his way round the coast, his tiny rider puffing in his ear with each snoozing breath. Eventually, the cliffs gave way to lower-lying dunes lined with sea kelp. A beautiful scent teased Mr Dog’s nose, and as he climbed to the top of the dunes he found a spectacular carpet of wild flowers of all different colours: vivid reds, cheery yellows and bold purples. Sand flies spun in a haze above the flowers, and the sweet-smelling grass seemed alive with insects. That perhaps explained the sheer number of wader birds gliding and striding about – Mr Dog spotted dunlins and plovers and coots and many more he didn’t recognise. The air was filled with trills and tweets and piping calls of strange and unusual breeds.
Then he spotted some wooden shelters set up further inland with slits in the walls. Hides, thought Mr Dog. Human bird-watchers must use the hides to watch the birds here without disturbing them. I suppose there must be rare birds around here.
Thirsty and hungry from all his exertions, Mr Dog lapped some dew from the grass beside a small mound. A bird with a bright red neck burst out from behind it with a sharp, screeching cry, and Mr Dog jumped. Then he noticed a small, untidy nest in the flowery grass. Four splotchy olive eggs sat inside it.
Hog started to wriggle in the grip of his raggedy collar. ‘Ooooh! What’s that whiff in my nose?’ The little hedgie pulled himself free and dropped down to the fragrant turf. ‘Oooooh, something smells delicious.’
Mr Dog frowned. ‘The eggs, you mean?’
‘EGGS!’ Hog wiggled towards the eggs with startling speed. ‘At last. My friends said wader eggs were the best. Now I can taste them for myself!’
‘Hog, wait!’ Mr Dog stuck his nose right up to the hedgehog and nudged him aside. ‘You shouldn’t eat that egg. There’s a little chick growing inside it!’
Hog tried to push past Mr Dog, his mouth watering. ‘Pardon?’
‘Well, would you like it if a bird ate a little baby hoglet?’ Mr Dog demanded. ‘Eat a bug or a beetle instead. They lay many more eggs at a time.’
‘But hedgehogs are always eating bird eggs,’ Hog protested. ‘They’re this island’s top tasty treat! We’ve been eating them for ages.’
Mr Dog gasped. ‘Hog … perhaps that’s it!’
‘That’s what?’ said Hog, puzzled.
‘The reason you hedgies are being hunted,’ said Mr Dog gravely. ‘I think I’ve worked it out!’
Chapter Six
DANGER IN THE FIELDS
‘You told me that you hedgehogs keep eating wader eggs,’ Mr Dog reminded Hog. ‘Well, I’m a well-travelled animal and I don’t recognise a lot of the birds here. I think there must be many rare breeds – which means they only lay their eggs in a very few places …’
‘Oh. Oh, dear. I see what you’re saying.’ Hog looked up at Mr Dog, wide-eyed and prickles pointing. ‘If hedgehogs eat all those eggs, there’ll be no more new chicks hatching.’
‘And the rare birds get even rarer,’ Mr Dog agreed. ‘The humans could be trying to protect them.’
‘By getting rid of hedgies?’ said Hog sadly. ‘But we’re only following our instincts. How could we know that some of these eggs are special?’
‘I know,’ said Mr Dog. ‘And I still don’t understand what Mrs Maitland meant when she said you hedgehogs didn’t belong here.’
‘It makes me want to hide away forever.’ Hog looked up at Mr Dog. ‘Perhaps I could pretend to be a hedge again? I know I didn’t fool you, but then you are extra clever.’
‘True.’ Mr Dog grinned. ‘But I don’t think anyone will believe you’re a hedge. Now, come on. We have to try and find Lizzie Toddy “Busybody”, and hope she’s not too busy to help you and your friends!’
Mr Dog let Hog fill up on insects and caterpillars, and even munched on a couple of crickets himself. Then he carried the little hedgehog away through the thick carpet of flowers. A stream cut through the moorland, sloping sandy banks on each side. At last Mr Dog could drink and bathe the sore spots on his tongue from all of Hog’s prickles.
They travelled along the hedgerows, so Hog could warn any hedgies hiding there to watch out for dogs, and Mr Dog could demonstrate what a dog actually looked like. By the middle of the afternoon, Hog had snuffled out the hiding places of twenty-seven hedgehogs a
nd had had a quiet word with each, telling them to keep close to cover, avoid eggs and pass on the information to other hedgehogs.
‘One last thing,’ Hog said solemnly at the end of every warning. ‘Don’t pretend to be a talking hedge – it doesn’t seem to work!’
As they walked through the fields, Mr Dog kept his ear cocked for sounds of traffic, but there were none.
‘The nearest road could be miles away,’ Mr Dog muttered.
‘Why are roads so important?’ asked Hog, looking up at him.
‘They lead to farms and houses. I might pick up Lizzie’s scent on a road – or even spot her pick-up truck out and about. After all, this is only a small island.’
He spoke with as much confidence as he could, trying to reassure the little hedgehog. But really he knew they might wander the island together, lost, for days and nights. In the meantime, for all the hedgehogs they were warning, many more would be hunted by hounds and be at Mrs Maitland’s mercy.
They stopped for a rest in a grassy field in which small sheep with black faces and brown tufty coats were grazing. The nearest ewes backed away at the sight of Mr Dog. One of them, braver than the rest, stamped a hoof.
‘I’m too tired to chase you,’ Mr Dog assured her.
‘Hey, are you thirsty?’ Hog was peering across the field and sniffing the air. ‘I think there’s a stream around here.’
‘There is.’ With his keener eyesight, Mr Dog could see the stream, cutting through the bottom of the field. Then he heard something – a low chugging and popping noise. It sounded like an engine!
‘Get into a ball, Hog,’ Mr Dog instructed. ‘An engine means a vehicle – and that means a road. We need to see where it’s coming from.’
