Werepuppy and the Werepuppy on Holiday Read online

  ‘You’re not a boring old dog, are you,’ Micky whispered into Wolfie’s whiskery grey ear. ‘You’re my own special werepuppy – and we’re going to get into lots and lots of scrapes together, aren’t we, boy?’

  Wolfie woofed delightedly. Micky looked deep into his glowing amber eyes and saw his own small face grinning happily back at him.

  THE WEREPUPPY ON HOLIDAY

  1…

  ‘Right, everyone,’ said Miss Monk. ‘Time to start clearing out your desks ready for the summer holidays.’

  Micky hummed happily as he scrabbled through the mini municipal rubbish dump inside his desk. He kept coming across long forgotten treasures underneath his school books and drawings and scribbled notes. And there was the yellow ochre that had gone missing from his best box of coloured crayons! He hadn’t been able to do a proper portrait of his pet, Wolfie, for weeks. Micky found a half-chewed Mars bar that had only gone a little mangy at the edges. He munched appreciatively as he riffled through his drawings, colouring in Wolfie’s yellow eyes. Each newly crayoned pair of eyes glowed at him gratefully.

  ‘Micky?’ said Miss Monk. ‘What are you up to?’

  Micky jumped, swallowed the last morsel of Mars, and choked.

  Darren Smith leant forward and thumped Micky on the back, much harder than was necessary.

  Micky coughed and spluttered, practically knocked head-first into his open desk by Darren’s assault.

  Micky and Darren Smith were Deadly Enemies.

  ‘All right, Darren, that will do!’ said Miss Monk.

  ‘But he’s choking, Miss. I’m helping him, Miss. That’s what you do when someone chokes, you thump them on the back like this, see.’ Darren demonstrated vigorously.

  ‘Darren! Stop it. You get on with tidying up your own desk,’ said Miss Monk, walking over to them. ‘OK now, Micky?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Micky mumbled, sitting up straight.

  He stopped choking but he was still bright red in the face. He adored Miss Monk with a devotion that was almost painful. She looked especially lovely today in her blue summer dress and her long black hair tucked back behind one ear with a little bluebird slide.

  Micky didn’t know how he was going to stand not being in Miss Monk’s class after the summer holidays. He was going to miss her so much. He wished he had a present to give her. He’d given twenty pence to bossy Judy the form monitor when she went round collecting and she had given Miss Monk a big bunch of flowers, but that was from everyone.

  Micky fumbled in the depths of his desk, hoping that he might find another Mars bar, preferably unchewed, to give to Miss Monk.

  She was peering at Micky’s chocolatey mouth, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Have you been eating in class, Micky?’ she said.

  ‘Why do you think he was choking, eh, Miss?’ Darren hissed. ‘Eating gungy old chocolate that’s been mouldering in his desk for months. It’s probably all gone rancid and poisonous by now and he’ll be sick any minute.’

  ‘You mind your own business, Darren,’ said Miss Monk. ‘And you stop eating all your old forgotten snacks, Micky, and get on with tidying your desk. No more drawing either – not just now.’

  Miss Monk tried to sound stern but her mouth was all smiley round the edges. She bent forward, her shiny black hair brushing Micky’s cheek, her lovely lilac smell making his nostrils twitch.

  ‘You really are good at drawing, Micky,’ said Miss Monk, smiling properly at his pictures.

  Micky suddenly had a brilliant idea.

  ‘Would you like to pick one as a goodbye present, Miss Monk?’ he suggested.

  ‘Oh Micky. That’s a lovely idea,’ said Miss Monk.

  She picked out a picture of Micky running along with Wolfie. Wolfie was on his lead but he was way in front, pulling Micky along. Wolfie generally took charge of Micky when they were out. When they were in too, as a matter of fact.

  ‘I’d like this one, Micky, if that’s really all right,’ said Miss Monk. ‘I’ll pin it up in my flat and then I’ll always think of you when I look at it.’

  Micky went redder than ever, this time with pride.

  ‘Here, Miss, how about having one of my pictures?’ said Darren, offering her a whole sheath of scribbles. ‘So you can remember me too, eh?’

  ‘I think I’ll always remember you, Darren,’ said Miss Monk, laughing. She stretched and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘It’s been quite a busy term one way and another. I’m looking forward to the holidays.’

  ‘Me too, Miss. We’re going to Florida,’ said Darren proudly. ‘To Disneyland.’ He leant forward and gave Micky another poke in the back. ‘To see Micky Mouse.’

  Micky wriggled away from Darren’s sharp finger. Darren and all his gang were forever calling him Micky Mouse. It got on Micky’s nerves. He did his best to ignore Darren and got on with sorting his drawings. He stroked the shiny crayon portrait of Wolfie with one finger.

  The other children were all chatting excitedly about their summer holidays. Two of the girls were also going to Disneyland, and one boy was going to EuroDisney in France. There were going to be a lot of people wearing Micky Mouse ears during the summer.

  Some of the children were going to Spain and some were going to Greece. One girl was going to Cornwall, one boy was going to Blackpool. Several children were going to stay with their gran or their aunty, and bossy Judy was going on a special summer camp in the country.

  ‘Where are you going, Micky?’ asked Miss Monk.

  ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ said Micky.

  Micky was part of a big family. Much too big, Micky often thought. He had three elder sisters, Meryl and Mandy and Mona. Then he had a little sister, Marigold, and she was a right pain. Mum was OK but Dad could get ever so cross and tetchy at times. Especially nowadays, as the firm he worked for was nearly going bust and Dad was worried he might lose hisjob. He’d had to take a cut in his wages already.

  ‘We can’t afford to go on holiday this year,’ said Micky.

  ‘Oh Micky, I’m sorry,’ said Miss Monk.

  ‘I don’t mind, honestly,’ said Micky. And he didn’t. He was desperately looking forward to six long weeks at home with Wolfie.

  Micky loved Wolfie more than anyone. Even Miss Monk. And yet not so long ago Micky had been terrified of all dogs, even the silliest, squattest old lady’s corgi. That’s why Mum had taken him to Webb’s Dog Shelter to pick out a puppy.

  She had felt it was the best way to cure Micky of his fear of dogs.

  Micky hadn’t been at all keen on the puppy idea. But then he had spotted Wolfie, a strange mangy grey pup, very wild and whiney and bad-tempered. Marigold had tried to pat him and Wolfie had practically chewed her finger off. Micky had taken to Wolfie in a big way after that.

  Micky was the only one who realized the most amazing thing about this weird little puppy. He had watched Savage Snarl, the famously scary film about werewolves. Wolfie wasn’t a puppy-dog. He was a baby werewolf. A werepuppy.

  That was why Wolfie got into so much trouble and simply refused to be properly trained. He couldn’t help creating havoc. He terrorized half the neighbourhood and Micky’s mum and dad were forever threatening to send him back to the dog shelter. Micky knew he’d have to take Wolfie properly in hand this summer. (And Wolfie thought he’d have to take Micky properly in paw.)

  ‘I’m going to have a smashing summer, Miss Monk,’ said Micky. ‘I’m going to take Wolfie to the park every day.’

  The last time Micky had taken him to the park, Wolfie had picked a fight with every dog in sight, barked hysterically at the ducks on the pond, and snatched an ice-cream from a small child’s hand and swallowed it in one gulp. The ice-cream, not the hand. Wolfie was actually quite gentle with most little children. Apart from Marigold.

  ‘I’m going to spend the summer getting Wolfie to obey all my orders,’ said Micky, with unreasonable optimism.

  Mum brought Wolfie with her when she came to meet Micky and Marigold when school broke up. Wolfie came flying