Mr Dog and a Hedge Called Hog. Ben Fogle
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be carried off in style …
Sure enough, once the boat had moored up, Jed came aboard and helped frizzy-haired Lizzie shift the crates and cages out of the hold. It took several trips. Mr Dog held his breath as his own carrier was lifted up.
‘This one weighs a ton!’ Jed declared.
How dare you! thought Mr Dog with a secret chuckle.
As soon as his carrier was put down, Mr Dog cautiously nosed open the door and peered out. He was in the back of Jed’s pick-up truck, which was as red as Lizzie’s coat and parked on a pier beside a small rocky harbour. Suddenly, he heard angry voices from beside a dark green van parked close by. Lizzie was arguing with another woman, whose sharp features reminded Mr Dog of a hunting bird, and he raised his ears to listen in.
‘If I’d known you were only going over to the mainland to bring back more spotlights, Mrs Maitland, I’d have thrown them overboard!’ said Lizzie hotly. ‘What you’ve been doing to those hedgies is plain cruel!’
Mr Dog was puzzled. ‘Cruelty to hedgies?’ he murmured. ‘Whatever does she mean?’
Mrs Maitland remained calm and haughty. ‘They don’t belong on the Isle of Evan, Lizzie. We’ll get rid of them a lot faster by hunting them down than by taking them over to the mainland in crates …’
‘Rubbish!’ Lizzie insisted. ‘Your hunts are dangerous and unnecessary and they’re going to stop – mark my words.’
‘Are they indeed!’ Mrs Maitland sneered.
‘Is a hedgie like a hedge?’ Mr Dog wondered aloud (although to humans, of course, it came out as Grrr, wuff-wuff RUFF!). He jumped down from Jed’s pick-up truck and trotted past the other side of Mrs Maitland’s green van, shaking his head. ‘I should think it is unnecessary to hunt down a hedge – it just stands there and lets you find it!’
‘They’re not talking about hedges.’ A large, sturdy tan basset hound in a thick leather collar leaned through the van window. ‘They’re talking about hedgehogs.’
‘Hedgehogs!’ Mr Dog grinned. ‘Of course, that was the smell in those cages. Wait a moment. Why are hedgehogs being taken to the mainland? Why don’t they belong on this island?’
‘Who cares?’ said the basset hound. ‘If Mrs Maitland says they don’t, then they don’t. She’s my mistress, after all.’
‘So Mrs Maitland is hunting these hedgies?’
‘No, dogs like me are hunting them.’ The basset hound looked confused. ‘Aren’t you hunting them too?’
‘Goodness, no! The only things I’m hunting are happy memories.’ He raised a paw. ‘I’m Mr Dog, by the way.’
‘My name’s Dandy.’ The basset hound looked suspiciously at Mr Dog. ‘I’ve never seen you before on the island. Did you come over from the mainland with Lizzie? Or “Lizzie Toddy, busybody”, as my mistress calls her.’
Mr Dog was not impressed by name-calling. ‘I did come over from the mainland,’ he said, ‘but not with Lizzie. I just cadged a lift in the boat.’
‘Well, perhaps you’d like to join us on the hunt tonight?’ said Dandy. ‘It’s a good chase with all the other sniffer dogs, plus it’s even more fun in the dark.’
‘So that’s why you need the spotlights! Hedgehogs only come out at night.’ Mr Dog sighed. He always felt sorry for an underdog – or an underhog in this case. ‘Well, thanks for the invite to the hunt, but no thanks. I hope it all goes wonderfully well …’ As he turned, he added quietly, ‘for the hedgehogs!’
‘I heard that!’ Dandy’s hackles rose. ‘Well, just make sure you stay out of the way of my hunting pals and me … and don’t make friends with any hedgies if you know what’s good for you.’
‘Perhaps I should change my name to Mr Doog?’ Mr Dog grinned. ‘Then I’d know what’s good for me backwards!’
By now, Mrs Maitland had loaded her spotlights into her van and was clambering into the driver’s seat beside Dandy. ‘Stop grumbling, boy!’ she snapped at his low growls. ‘I’m the one who should grumble, having to deal with Lizzie Toddy, busybody …’
Dandy barked an ‘I told you so’ at Mr Dog. Then the van’s engine started and Mr Dog scampered away. Mrs Maitland and Dandy drove off, then Lizzie and Jed drove away in the opposite direction.
Mr Dog trotted up the nearest grassy hillside to take a good look around at his surroundings and plan his next steps. But, really, he already knew what he was going to do.
‘It sounds like the Isle of Evan’s hedgies could use a good friend,’ he declared. ‘Luckily, good friends don’t come any shaggier or waggier than Mr Dog!’
As the sun sank lower in the sky, Mr Dog made his way through sloping meadows that were carpeted with long grass and rich with flowers.
Wind-blown trees pointed inland, to where the fields were spread out like patchwork with thick hedges at their edges.
‘But are there any hedgies in the hedges?’ Mr Dog wondered aloud as he trotted onward. He wanted to warn as many of the little animals as he could about the hunt. It was a large island, though, and he didn’t even know where the hunt would be taking place.
Still, I have to try, he thought.
Once Mr Dog reached the first hedge, he pushed his nose underneath. He sniffed all the way along to the next field but couldn’t find any hedgehogs.
He caught a sniff of the little snufflers in the spiky hedgerow in the next field, but again he couldn’t work out their location. Sleeping by day, they were well hidden and safe from sight – but not from the sniffer dogs trained to hunt them down in the darkness.
As Mr Dog was wondering what to do, he spotted a hare hopping through the waving grass. ‘I say!’ he called. ‘Could I ask you for directions?’
‘To where?’ wondered the hare.
‘To the nearest hedgehogs!’ Mr Dog said with a grin.
The hare looked wary. ‘Ah. You must be one of those hunting hounds.’
‘Must I?’ Mr Dog frowned. ‘Why? Have you seen some hunting hounds out lately?’
‘I have, yes. Out on Fosset’s Moor,’ the hare went on. ‘I was chased by a ridgeback and a bloodhound there this morning. They told me they’d catch me if I was back again tonight. Well, not likely!’
‘That’s interesting.’ Mr Dog wagged his tail thoughtfully. ‘It sounds as if the hunt will be on Fosset’s Moor.’ He barked across to the hare. ‘If you tell me where Fosset’s Moor is, I’ll tell those hounds to leave you alone!’
‘Oh.