Rascal: Running For His Life. Chris Cooper
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Collect all of Rascal’s adventures:
First published in Great Britain in 2015
by Egmont UK Limited
The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN
Text copyright © 2002 Chris Cooper
Illustration copyright © 2015 James de la Rue
The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted
First e-book edition 2015
ISBN: 978 1 4052 7530 9
Ebook ISBN: 978 1 7803 1670 3
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
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For Judy and Art
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 1
It wasn’t the noise of passing traffic that woke Rascal. It wasn’t the brightness of the morning sun either, as it peeked out from behind the clouds, or the breeze that rustled the leaves of the bushes around him.
No, it was better than that. It was the smell of sausages. That and the wonderful sizzle they made as they cooked. To Rascal’s ears it was one of the best sounds in the world. It seemed to whisper, ‘Come and eat us, come and eat us! What are you waiting for?’
When a dog is as hungry as Rascal was, he doesn’t need a second invitation.
The sun was already quite high. Rascal had slept long after sunrise. He had arrived in this town late the night before. He was weak and exhausted and there was a little blood between the pads of one of his front paws. He had just wanted to slump in the nearest doorway and sleep, but he knew that he couldn’t do that. He’d tried that once before, a few towns back, and an angry shopkeeper had shooed him away first thing in the morning. It wasn’t the greatest way to wake up. Rascal knew now that he had to find a better hiding place before he could allow the blackness of sleep to fold itself around him.
So, when all he’d wanted to do was curl up and close his eyes, the dog had forced himself to pad around this strange new town in search of a safe place. There was a small park near the square. Rascal had found a clump of bushes there and dug his way inside them. It wasn’t very comfortable and it wasn’t very warm, but that didn’t stop Rascal from falling into a long dreamless sleep almost immediately.
The next thing he knew, it was morning and . . . that wonderful smell of sausages!
He wriggled forwards and peeked through the leafy branches. Like most dogs, Rascal’s nose was a perfectly tuned food detector and it didn’t take him long to spot where the smell was coming from – a hot dog stand just round the corner from the park.
Rascal was out of the bushes now. He gave his front paw a lick – it was still a little tender, but it wasn’t hurting too badly this morning. Then he stretched his back legs out. He cocked his leg against a tree, and then turned his attention back to the hot dogs. His stomach was demanding immediate action!
The man at the stand was humming as he sliced bread rolls in half while a row of hot dog sausages cooked next to him.
Since he had been on his own, Rascal had learned that some people were happy to give a stray dog like him a bite to eat. For some reason, others got angry and started shouting at him. You could never know for sure which kind of person it would turn out to be.
Rascal approached the hot dog stand slowly and let out a hungry whimper. He didn’t sit up and beg – his master, Joel, had no time for silly dog tricks like that – but the meaning was clear enough.
The man at