Werepuppy and the Werepuppy on Holiday Read online

  Marigold would normally have sensed a secret by now, but she had made friends with a whole gaggle of little girls that she met on the beach every day, and she was so busy giggling with them all the time that she hardly spent a minute with the family. They were all looking forward to the special seaside festival fete on Friday. There was going to be a fancy dress competition and a talent contest. Marigold was determined to win both. So were all her friends. They all wanted to dress up as princesses or pop stars and they all wanted to sing and dance in the talent contest. A whole troupe of plump ungainly little girls pranced up and down the sands, singing their hearts out.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Marigold, give it a rest!’ Dad begged, trying to have a little snooze in his deck-chair.

  But Mum and Gran had decided there was no reason why they couldn’t go in for the talent contest too, so they started practising a souped-up version of’How Much is that Doggy in the Window’.

  Meryl and Mandy and Mona decided to try a little number of their own, and came up with a very rock’n’roll raucous version of ‘Hound Dog’.

  Dad couldn’t work out why most of his womenfolk seemed obsessed with doggy themes, and he didn’t appreciate any of their acts.

  ‘Pipe down the lot of you!’ Dad begged. ‘Can’t a man get a bit of peace for five minutes?’ He caught Micky’s eye and sighed. ‘Women!’

  ‘Yeah, Dad. Women,’ Micky agreed, wishing they’d all stop nudging each other and giggling whenever they sang the word dog, just in case Dad cottoned on. Micky decided he had too much on his plate trying to keep tabs on Wolfie to go in for the talent contest himself, and he certainly didn’t care for the dress idea, fancy or otherwise. He’d seen on a poster that there was also a dog obedience competition at the fete, but he knew there wasn’t much point entering Wolfie.

  Micky chuckled at the very idea.

  ‘You’ve certainly perked up a lot, son,’ said Dad. ‘You’ve had a good holiday, haven’t you?’

  ‘Mmm, yes, Dad.’

  ‘There. I told you so. I don’t want you to think I’m heartless, pal, but you can’t let your life be ruled by your pets,’ said Dad.

  There was a faraway familiar barking.

  ‘That’s right, Dad,’ said Micky. ‘Er… I think I’ll just take a little walk along the beach, OK?’

  He hurried off towards the barking. Wolfie was in trouble again. He’d pounced on someone’s Frisbee, mistaking it for a large white pancake. Wolfie was very partial to pancakes. There wasn’t much of the Frisbee left.

  ‘Who on earth is the owner of this wretched animal?’ said the someone’s dad angrily. He spotted Micky running up. ‘Ah, is this your dog?’ he demanded.

  Micky hesitated. Wolfie caught on at once. He changed gear from welcoming barks to hostile growls, baring his teeth at Micky.

  Micky acted frightened, backing away.

  ‘My dog?’ he said. He wasn’t exactly telling a fib. And anyway, Wolfie wasn’t a dog at all – he was a werepuppy. And he was certainly acting like it too.

  Wolfie ran away, spitting out gobbets of Frisbee. Micky ran away too, in the opposite direction, but he circled round when he got to the promenade. Wolfie circled too and they met in the middle, as if they were performing an elaborate dance routine. Wolfie woofed delightedly, shards of Frisbee still in his teeth.

  ‘No, Wolfie, you’re very bad and naughty,’ said Micky. ‘You’ve got to stop getting into trouble like this.’

  Wolfie put his head on one side and showed all his teeth in a challenging smile.

  There was a full moon that night. Micky peered out of the window anxiously as he went to bed. He knew there was every possibility of trouble. Wolfie might very well end up having a far more substantial snack than a Frisbee. He might chomp up a pet chihuahua, munch on a mongrel, gollop half a Great Dane. There was no holding him back when moon madness struck him.

  ‘I’ve got to stop him,’ Micky muttered. ‘He’s mine, so it’s down to me.’

  He parcelled up his duvet under one arm and then slyly seized Marigold’s skipping rope. She was nearly nodding off to sleep – but she still saw.

  ‘What are you doing with my skipping rope?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Micky, stuffing the skipping rope inside his grubby pyjama jacket. ‘What skipping rope, anyway?’ He unthreaded Granny’s belt from her red dressing-gown, snaffled her scarf, and pulled out the cord from his anorak.

  ‘Granny!’ said Marigold, her eyes round. ‘Micky’s gone mad!’

  ‘Now you settle down to sleep, pet. Granny will tell you a story. Never mind about Micky. He’s off on a little errand, that’s all. I daresay it’s necessary,’ said Granny Boot.

  ‘Oh it is, Granny. Very,’ said Micky.

  He rushed off before Marigold could fuss further. He went out into the garden in search of Wolfie – and found him in the absolute nick of time. He was growling and slavering at the foot of a fruit tree while a terrified ginger torn teetered in the branches, emitting agonized yowls.

  The cat was fat and the branch was brittle. There was a snap and a mew and a bark – but just before Wolfie chewed the torn into catburger Micky pounced. He threw his duvet over Wolfie, upturned him, and wrapped him up like a giant sausage roll. Wolfie growled and howled, but Micky hung on, tying him up with all his different cords and belts. He felt inside to make sure Wolfie’s head wasn’t bent and his paws were quite comfy, and got badly scratched and nipped for his pains.

  ‘You bad bad boy!’ said Micky crossly. ‘Look, I don’t want to truss you up like this, but it’s the only way we’ll avoid a full-scale seaside slaughter. Stop struggling so, Wolfie! I’m not hurting you, am I?’

  Micky might not want to hurt Wolfie, but Wolfie was doing his best to hurt Micky.

  ‘Ouch!’ Micky squealed, as Wolfie’s snapping jaws poked out of the duvet.

  He ended up tying Granny’s scarf round Wolfie’s head to stop him biting. He looked as if he had toothache – and howled accordingly through gritted teeth.

  Granny came creeping out to see what was going on. She was ready to be cross with the pair of them but she got the giggles when she saw Wolfie.

  ‘He looks just like the wolf pretending to be the granny in Little Red Riding Hood,’ she spluttered. ‘Oh, if only we could enter him in the fancy dress competition!’

  She made Micky come back to bed once they’d both double-checked that Wolfie was safe and secure inside the duvet but Micky barely slept. Granny Boot made him have her duvet and tucked herself up into her dressing-gown but Micky still couldn’t cuddle up and get comfoftable. He kept tossing and turning and twisting Granny’s duvet into knots, so that he fell asleep and dreamt he was trussed up himself – and then he woke to hear Wolfie’s indignant wailing outside. He must have chewed his way right through Granny’s scarf.

  Micky wasn’t the only one Wolfie woke. Half the hotel heard the howling. Meryl and Mandy and Mona and Granny and Mum knew who was responsible. Little Marigold sat up straight in her bed and snapped her fingers. She put two and two together.

  ‘I get it,’ she said. ‘I know who that is. And I bet he’s been hanging around here for days. That’s what they’ve all been going on about. Cheek! Why didn’t they tell me? I bet Dad doesn’t know. I’m going to tell.’

  Marigold burst into Mum and Dad’s bedroom in the morning, reading to spill the beans. But Dad was already up and downstairs. He’d had very uneasy dreams all night long.

  ‘I kept having nightmares about that dratted dog for some unknown reason,’ Dad told Mum. ‘I kept dreaming that he was howling away, desperately unhappy.’

  ‘I wonder why you dreamt that, dear?’ said Mum.

  ‘And then I couldn’t get back to sleep but I was in such a state that I still thought I heard him howling,’ said Dad. ‘Look, I think I’m going to ring that dog shelter after all. I know it’s crazy, but if that wretched mutt really is pining I want to know. He drives me crazy but I’d still never forgive myself if anything happened to h