by H. Y. Hanna
A large room with dark wooden beams across the ceiling and an orange glow at the fireplace.
A faded sofa in one corner and an old wooden table at the other end.
And a little girl sitting at the table.
She was looking up—probably because she had heard the bang from the window—and now her big brown eyes stared in surprise at Honey through the glass pane.
Then Honey’s paws slipped.
“Oomph!” Honey lurched forwards, smacking her chin on the windowpane, and fell to the ground in a tangle of legs and paws.
“You all right, mate?” Ruffster hovered over her. “What did you see?”
“A little girl,” gasped Honey, struggling to get back to her feet. “There’s a little girl inside—“
There was a creak next to them. They all whipped around. The front door of the cottage swung open.
SEVEN
THEY FROZE, EXPECTING Jones to come looming out of the doorway but what stepped out was hardly taller than Honey. It was the little girl.
“Oh!” She beamed in delight as she saw the dogs. “Hi!”
Honey and the other dogs looked at each other quizzically. Was this the trapped child prisoner? She looked so... happy. She clapped her hands and patted her knees, bending over and calling to them. Honey and her friends hesitated. Then they heard another voice calling.
“Suka! Suka!”
“That’s my Boy,” said Suka, pricking her ears and looking back towards the main school buildings. “He must have come looking for me.”
The next moment, a young boy emerged from between the hedgerow shapes. It was Suka’s Boy. His face lit up when he saw Suka and he rushed over to them.
“Suka! You naughty girl! I’ve been looking for you everywh—” He broke off as he saw the little girl standing next to the dogs. “Oh. Hullo.”
She smiled shyly. “Hello.”
“Are you... is this your house?”
“Yes. Well, actually, it’s my Grandpa’s house. But I’m staying with him.” She looked at him curiously. “Are these your dogs?”
“The Husky’s mine. Her name’s Suka. It means ‘fast’ in Eskimo. She’s really fast when she runs. Those are her friends. The big one’s called Honey—watch out, she drools an awful lot—and the Beagle’s called Biscuit; the little terrier there is called Tyson and this one’s called Ruffster. He’s a rescue mutt.”
“Wow.” The little girl’s eyes were envious. “I wish I could have a dog. But my mum and dad won’t let me. My Grandpa might... but I don’t usually live with him.”
“Where do you live?”
“In Oxford. We just moved there. But I’ve been staying with my Grandpa for the last few weeks. I’ve had glandular fever, you see. So I’ve had to miss school most of this term.” She smiled shyly again. “It’s been awfully lonely by myself in Grandpa’s cottage. All my friends are back in London. I don’t know anybody here. I was really glad to see the dogs. And... and you.”
Suka’s Boy grinned. “My name’s Tommy.”
“I’m Polly. Do... do you want to come in?” She held the front door open.
“Can the dogs come too?”
Polly hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, come on! My Grandpa’s not home anyway.”
They all trooped into the inviting warmth of the cottage. It was even more cosy than it had looked from the window. Honey hovered appreciatively by the crackling fire. She hadn’t realised how cold she had become standing outside. Now, her nose and paws were tingling.
“Hey, Honey! Come look at this!” Suka was standing by the old wooden table, peering at something on its surface. Tyson and Biscuit both hopped onto the chair by the table to look and Ruffster jumped up on his hind legs and put his paws on the edge of the table to see.
Honey walked over and stared. Scraps of paper covered the whole table, next to several books and a box of coloured pencils. The pieces of paper had black marks on them which looked familiar. Writing. She’d seen writing like that before.
“Holy liver treat, they... they’ve all got the same writin’ as the note we found!” said Ruffster.
He was right. Honey looked in bewilderment at the scraps of paper before her, each one displaying almost the same message:
SOME OF THEM HAD WORDS crossed out and written again. Some were written more clearly than others. Honey began to feel stupid as it dawned on her what the notes were. “She was practising... that’s why she wrote it so many times. These are all copies of the same letter.”
“Yes, a letter to Santa,” said Suka slowly. “My Boy’s done one of those too. He asked for a new football. But he had to copy it out in his best handwriting before my Boy’s Mother would post it.”
“Huh?” Ruffster looked lost. “But... I thought... what about the note askin’ for help?”
“That was just half the message. The scrap we got must have been from a copy that got torn in half and we only saw half the message. Look, see?” Honey nudged the note closest to her. They could see that if it was torn in half, the first part of each sentence would match the scrap of paper they’d found.
Honey hung her head, shamefaced. She’d always laughed at Suka for having an overactive imagination, but it was her own imagination that had taken them on a wild goose chase this time.
“But... but what about the clue?” insisted Ruffster. “The Latin name for reindeer?”
Honey looked at the piece of paper closest to her again. “Look—this one has some words written at the bottom too, under the message. See? Vulpes lagopus, Ursus maritimus... and here, Rangifer tarandus again...” Honey looked at the other scraps of paper on the table. Some of them had the same Latin words scribbled on them in the corners too.
“I think she was practising writing them too,” said Suka, her eyes going to a book lying open on the table. The title across the top of the page said Animals of the Arctic and several photos below showed various creatures wandering in a white wonderland.
Next to the book was an open notebook covered in childish handwriting. Sandwiched between the words were drawings that looked like the animals in the book. Honey recognised one of a reindeer with the words Rangifer tarandus carefully printed underneath in the same thin, squiggly writing. Next to it was a drawing of a big white bear with the words Ursus maritimus written next to it.
“It’s some kind of school work,” said Suka. “It looks like the stuff my Boy does sometimes. Like a school project. She was probably practising writing the words out on the scraps of paper before writing it properly in her notebook. The note that we found just happened to have Rangifer tarandus on it.”
Suddenly, they heard a loud rustling behind them. They turned back to see that Biscuit had climbed onto the middle of the wooden table and now had his head and shoulders deep inside a plastic bag.
“Biscuit!” Tommy ran over from across the room and yanked the Beagle out of the bag. He looked apologetically at Polly. “Sorry. He’s... he’s a bit of a pig, this one.”
“Oh, those are the Christmas treats my Grandpa bought,” said Polly. “I hope he hasn’t eaten them all. Some of them are supposed to be for the Christmas Fair tomorrow.”
“Hey... you know, I’ve been helping to decorate the school hall for the Christmas Fair,” said Tommy. “My mum’s probably wondering where I am now. D’you want to come back with me and help too?”
“Oh, can I?” Polly gave a delighted smile. “Yeah!”
The two children headed for the front door. Honey gave the scraps of paper on the table one last look, then turned to follow them. She had barely taken a few steps, however, when she heard a retching sound behind her. She turned to find Biscuit hunched over, gagging.
“Biscuit?”
Honey had seen Biscuit puke lots of times before. Regurgitating was a part of life when you were a dog. But this was different. Biscuit looked sick. He was panting and gasping and his tongue was lolling out. He heaved again and vomited a yellowish puddle onto the floor.
“Biscuit? What’s wrong?”
Honey rushed back to him. The others gathered close, nosing the shivering Beagle anxiously. Honey looked worriedly around, then her eyes fell on the plastic bag on the table.
“Is it something he ate? What was in that bag?” she asked.
Tyson jumped up onto the chair and climbed onto the table. He poked his nose into the bag and sniffed around, then drew his head out, his face grim.
“Chocolate,” growled Tyson. “Biscuit’s eaten chocolate.”
Honey’s heart lurched. Chocolate was poisonous to dogs. If they didn’t get help, Biscuit could die.
EIGHT
“QUICK! DO SOMETHING!”
Suka started barking frantically and Ruffster and Tyson joined in. The children turned around in surprise, then their eyes widened as they saw Biscuit. They rushed back and knelt down next to him, stroking him and making worried noises, but they didn’t seem to realise what was wrong with him.
“This is no good,” said Honey, pacing on the spot. “Children probably don’t know about chocolate being poisonous to dogs. We have to get an adult human!”
She whirled towards the front door and was relieved to find it ajar. The children must have opened it. She pushed her way out. A blast of cold air hit her in the face as she stepped onto the garden path, but she didn’t hesitate. Blinking against the falling snow, she raced past the hedge creatures, across the playground, and back into the main school building. The empty corridors echoed with the pounding of her paws as she galloped past the classrooms and finally skidded to a stop by the double doors to the school hall.
One of the doors opened and Olivia poked her head out. “What’s that racket?” Her face brightened as she saw Honey. “Honey! Where have you been? Where are the others?”
Honey looked at her, panting and trying to catch her breath. Drool was foaming at her mouth and hanging in long strings from either side of her jowls. She whined and turned back the way she had come, hoping that Olivia would understand to follow her.
Instead, her human made a face and said, “Look at all that drool, Honey! Disgusting! Let me get something to wipe your mouth.” She disappeared back into the school hall.
No. No. No! There’s no time!
Honey hurried into the room after her human. There seemed to be even more people in the school hall now, the place buzzing with laughter and conversation. Music blared in the background, a man’s voice singing along to the chiming of sleigh bells. Honey looked wildly around. Olivia was nowhere to be seen, but several of the other humans had turned towards her with smiles on their faces.
“Oh, it’s Olivia’s Great Dane!”
“She’s enormous!”
“You could put a saddle on her... Ha! Ha!”
“Aw, she’s gorgeous. What’s her name?”
“Look at the size of those paws!”
Where was Olivia? Honey whined and paced around the crowd, searching for a familiar face. Maybe Suka’s Boy’s Mother... or Biscuit’s Missus... or Ruffster’s Guy... or anyone, she thought desperately, trying to catch the attention of any human in the room. Trying to get them to follow her. But they all just laughed and patted her and chattered to each other. Honey wanted to howl with frustration. Every minute that passed was a minute that Biscuit could be getting worse...
Then somebody blocked her way. She looked down and saw a pair of heavy, black boots. She recognised those boots. She raised her head, her heart sinking, as she looked up at an old man with grey hair and scowling face.
Jones.
Honey gulped and scrambled backwards, trying to get away, but he reached out one large hand and took hold of her collar in a firm grip. Honey whimpered and squirmed. No! No! Let me go!
“What’s wrong, pup?”
The voice was surprisingly gentle and Honey stopped struggling in bewilderment. She looked up at Jones again and was even more surprised to see the scowl gone, replaced by gentle concern in his black eyes. Hope rose in her chest. She whined again, softly, then turned her head towards the door.
Jones let go of her collar and took a step towards the door. “Show me.”
Honey had never run so fast in her life as she led the way back to Jones’s cottage. They burst through the front door to find the children and the other dogs crouched around Biscuit, who had collapsed on the floor. His eyes were glazed and he was still retching. Polly was crying and Tommy was frantically calling Biscuit’s name.
Jones took one look at the situation and scooped Biscuit up in his arms. “This dog needs to get to a vet.” His eyes swept the room and fell on the plastic bag on the table. “Polly—did he eat the chocolates I bought you?”
“I... I... I don’t know.” Polly hiccupped, wiping her eyes. She went over to look in the bag. “Yes, Grandpa... I think so.”
“Then we have no time to lose.”
He kicked the front door open and carried Biscuit out into the snowy night.
NINE
THE SCHOOL HALL LOOKED amazing. Tinsel and fairy-lights festooned the ceiling, interspersed with garlands of silver stars and white snowflakes. Giant red and white stockings hung on the walls and holly leaves framed the doorway. The trestle tables in the corner were brimming with all sorts of Christmas goodies: mince pies glittering with sugar frosting, gingerbread cookies in a variety of shapes and sizes, chocolate pretzels and cinnamon cupcakes, and a darkly moist Christmas pudding, bursting with raisins.
All around the sides of the room were little tables where people had set up their stalls, selling things like home-made cakes, giant candy canes, knitted snowmen, and handmade Christmas cards. And in the pride of place in the centre of the room was the Christmas tree, glowing softly with dainty ornaments and sparkling baubles.
Honey sat by Olivia’s stall, where her human was taking photos of people in Santa hats, and looked around. It was heaving with people—talking, laughing, checking out the stalls, and humming along to the Christmas music playing in the background. Tommy and Polly were giggling next to the Christmas tree as they tried to pull a cracker, with Suka jumping around them, trying to help. Across the room from them, Honey could see Tyson lying with his head on his paws as he waited next to his people, who were doing face-painting for children.
“Any news, mate?”
Honey turned to see Ruffster standing next to her. In the stall, she could hear squealing and laughter as Ruffster’s Guy put on a Santa hat and made funny faces at Olivia.
She shook her head. “No. But I think he’s OK. I heard Olivia talking to Tyson’s folks earlier. They said—”
There was a commotion at the door and Honey turned eagerly. Jones walked through, followed by Biscuit’s Missus. And in Jones’s arms was Biscuit himself. Everybody cheered as Jones set the Beagle down onto the floor. He might have looked a bit subdued and his podgy tummy might have been a bit smaller, but otherwise he looked like the same old Biscuit. The same old Biscuit who immediately raised his head, his nose twitching, as he eyed the trestle table crammed with food.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Biscuit’s Missus said firmly as she shooed him away. “No more Christmas treats for you!”
Honey and the other dogs hurried across the room to greet their friend.
“Biscuit!”
“How’re you feelin’, mate?”
“What did the vet do?”
Biscuit made a face. “He made me eat this black stuff. Charcoal. It sticks to all the poisons in the stomach. And he made me puke. Lots.” He flattened his ears and added in a small voice, “He said I could have died—I was lucky I got to the vet hospital so quickly.”
“Ya got to thank Honey for that,” growled Tyson
“And Jones,” said Honey, looking across the room to where the old man was talking to Polly and Tommy. She felt ashamed for growling at him now. “He saved Biscuit’s life. I shouldn’t have jumped to think bad things about him the first time I met him.”
As if he knew that they were talking about him, Jones looked up and smiled at the dogs. He patted his knees and called to
them—and they all went over to join him and the children by the Christmas tree. Polly bent down to pat Biscuit, but stopped as her foot knocked against something on the floor. She looked down. The dogs all looked down. It was the strange bauble. It had been forgotten in the hall yesterday and must have rolled under the tree.
“Oh!” Polly stooped down to pick up the faded red ball. “I thought this was lost!” She turned to Jones. “Look, Grandpa! How did this end up here?”
“What is it?” asked Tommy.
Polly smiled at him. “It’s Rudolph’s nose. From our roof. Rudolph’s the reindeer at the front of the sleigh. His nose broke off and Grandpa was going to get some special glue to fix it back on, but then he got busy fetching the decorations for the school tree.”
“I thought I left it on the table in the cottage,” said Jones, frowning. “What is it doing here?”
Because it got put into the box of decorations by mistake, thought Honey. She sighed as she realised the truth. “The whole thing was a mistake,” she said, sitting back on her haunches. “That scrap of paper—the torn half of the note—must have gotten stuck in the hole on the side of the red nose when it was on the table. And then the nose got put into the box and brought here, where Olivia found it... and I thought it was a strange bauble with a hidden message. It wasn’t a bauble at all... or a secret message either.”
“So the clue was just a mistake too?” demanded Ruffster. “It didn’t mean anythin’ at all?” He groaned. “Festerin’ fleas, so I got scratched by some Psycho Kitty for nothin’?”
Honey thought back to the message on the note again. “I wish I could find a new friend.” Then she looked up at Polly who was talking and laughing with Tommy. She wagged her tail at the other dogs.
“No, it wasn’t for nothing,” she said. “I think we helped make a Christmas wish come true.”
