The Hundred and One Dalmatians Modern Classic. Dodie Smith
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a doll’s feeding bottle and a fountain-pen filler. And then Mr Dearly and the Nannies took turns at feeding puppies. Mrs Dearly fancied this job herself but was busy telephoning, trying to find a foster mother. The Nannies were too fat to be comfortable in the cupboard, so soon Mr Dearly got the feeding job all to himself and became very good at it and just a bit bossy. Of course he couldn’t go to business, which was awkward as he had an important business deal on.
Luckily there was a telephone in the Dearlys’ bedroom and it had a long cord to it. So Mr Dearly was able to telephone while he was feeding the pups. There he was, in a dark cupboard with Missis, fifteen puppies and the telephone. He nearly upset his important business deal by holding a pup to his ear and giving the telephone a drink of milk.
No sooner had Mr Dearly put the telephone down than the Splendid Vet rang up to say he had not been able to find a foster mother. Neither had Mrs Dearly, anywhere in London. She now started to ring up Lost Dogs’ Homes outside London. It was late afternoon before she heard of a mother dog with some milk to give, nearly thirty miles from London. And this dog had only just been brought in and would have to be kept some days in case she was claimed.
Mr Dearly put his head out of the cupboard. After being up all night and feeding pups all day he was beginning to feel pretty tired, but he was determined to go on helping Missis until the foster mother arrived. ‘Why not go and see if you can borrow that dog?’ he said. ‘Say we’ll give it back if its owner turns up.’
So Mrs Dearly got the car from the old stable at the back of the house and drove off hopefully. But when she got to the Dogs’ Home she found that the mother dog had already been claimed. She was glad for the dog’s sake, but terribly disappointed. She thought of poor Missis getting exhausted by too many puppies, and of Mr Dearly, who might easily refuse to come out of the cupboard for a good night’s sleep, and she began to think she never would find a foster mother.
It was now almost dark, a gloomy, wet October evening. It had been raining all afternoon, but Mrs Dearly hadn’t minded when she was feeling hopeful. Now, as she started back for London, the weather made her feel more and more depressed. And the rain got so heavy that the windscreen wiper could hardly keep pace with it.
She was driving across a lonely stretch of common when she saw what looked like a bundle lying in the road ahead of her. She slowed down and as she drew closer she saw that it was not a bundle but a dog. Instantly, she thought it must have been run over. Dreading what she might find, she stopped the car and got out.
At first she thought the dog was dead, but as she bent down it struggled to its feet showing no signs of injury. It was so plastered with mud that she could not see what kind of dog it was. What she could see, by the light from the car’s headlights, was the poor creature’s pitiful thinness. She spoke to it gently. Its drooping tail gave a feeble flick, then dropped again.
‘I can’t leave it here,’ thought Mrs Dearly. ‘Even if it hasn’t been run over, it must be near starvation. Oh, dear!’ With seventeen dogs at home already she had no wish to take back a stray, but she knew she would never bring herself just to hand this poor thing in at a police station.
She patted it and tried to get it to follow her. It was willing to, but its legs were so wobbly that she picked it up and carried it. It felt like a sack of bones. And, as she noticed this, she also noticed something else. Hurriedly, she laid the dog on the seat of the car, on a rug, and turned on the light. Then she saw that this was a mother dog and that in spite of its starving condition it still had some milk to give.
She sprang into the car and drove as fast as she safely could. Quite soon she was in the London suburbs. She knew it would still take her some time to get home, because of the traffic, so she stopped at a little restaurant. Here the owner let her buy some milk and some cold meat and lent her his own dog’s dishes. The starving dog ate and drank ravenously, then at once settled to sleep. The nice owner of the restaurant took back his dishes and wished Mrs Dearly luck as she drove away.
She got home just as the Splendid Vet was arriving to see Missis and the puppies. He carried the stray dog in and down to the warm kitchen. After a careful examination he said he thought her thinness was due more to having had puppies than to long starvation and that, if she was fed well, the milk intended for her own puppies might continue. He guessed they had been taken away from her and she had got lost looking for them.
‘She ought to have a bath,’ said Nanny Cook, ‘or she’ll give our puppies fleas.’
The Splendid Vet said a bath was a good idea, so the dog was carried into a little room which had been fitted up as a laundry. Nanny Cook got on with the bath as fast as she could because she was afraid Mr Dearly might want to do the job himself. Mrs Dearly had gone upstairs to tell him what was happening.
The stray seemed delighted with the warm water. She had just been covered with soap when Pongo came back from a walk with Nanny Butler and ran through the open door of the laundry.
‘He won’t hurt a lady,’ said the Splendid Vet.
‘I should hope not, when she’s going to help nurse his puppies,’ said Nanny Cook.
Pongo stood on his hind legs and kissed the wet dog on the nose, telling her how glad he was to see her and how grateful his wife would be. (But no human heard him.) The stray said: ‘Well, I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything.’ (No human heard that, either.)
Just then Mr Dearly came hurrying in, to see the new arrival.
‘What kind of a dog is she?’ he asked.
At that moment, Nanny Cook began to rinse off the soap – and everyone gave a gasp. This dog was a Dalmatian, too! But her spots, instead of being black, were brown – which in Dalmatians is called not ‘brown’ but ‘liver’.
‘Eighteen Dalmatians under one roof,’ said Mr Dearly, gloatingly. ‘Couldn’t be better.’ (But it could, as he was one day to learn.)
Wet, the poor liver-spotted dog looked thinner than ever.
‘We’ll call her Perdita,’ said Mrs Dearly, and explained to the Nannies that this was after a character in Shakespeare. ‘She was lost. And the Latin word for lost is “perditus”.’ Then she patted Pongo, who was looking particularly intelligent, and said anyone would think he understood. And indeed he did. For though he had very little Latin beyond ‘Cave canem’, he had, as a young dog, devoured Shakespeare (in a tasty leather binding).
Perdita was dried in front of the kitchen fire and given another meal. The Splendid Vet said she ought to start mothering puppies as soon as possible to encourage her to provide more milk, so after she was quite dry and had taken a nap, two puppies were removed from the cupboard while Missis went out for a little air. The Splendid Vet said she would not know they had gone – which is possible, as she could not count as well as Pongo could. But she knew all about those puppies going because Pongo had told her and she had sent polite messages to Perdita. Missis felt a bit unhappy about giving any puppies up but she knew it was for their good.
Before leaving, the Splendid Vet warned the Dearlys that if Perdita could not feed the puppies they must not be returned to Missis, for her sense of smell would tell her that they had been with some other dog and she might turn against them. And this does happen with some dogs. It would never have happened with Missis, but it will already have been seen that she and Pongo were rather unusual dogs. And so was Perdita. And so, if people only realised it, are many dogs. In fact, usual dogs are really more unusual than unusual dogs.
Anyway, Perdita was able to feed the two puppies. Pongo went upstairs and told Missis so (though to the Dearlys it only sounded like the thumping of his tail). Then he said goodnight and went back to the kitchen, where his basket was ready for him. Perdita had the basket Missis usually slept in. She had fed and washed the two puppies and was now having a light supper. (The Splendid Vet had said she must eat all she possibly could, to get her strength back.) Pongo had a snack himself, to encourage her. Then the Nannies went to bed and the kitchen was left in darkness except for the glow from