Mr Dog and a Deer Friend Read online

  Now I know where to find the lord of the manor, thought Mr Dog. And when I do perhaps I’ll find some answers too!

  Chapter Four

  VISITORS IN THE NIGHT

  Mr Dog crept cautiously through the manor’s private estate. He didn’t want to run into the angry bucks again. Ordinarily he could expect to smell them coming, but right now his nose was overwhelmed with the scent of deer. He had never found so many cooped up in one forest before.

  ‘No wonder there’s not enough food to go round,’ he muttered. ‘Whatever is this new lord of the manor thinking of? The number of deer living here has got out of hand.’

  He reached a fence made from wood and wire netting. Like everything else in the forest, it hadn’t been looked after. Finding a spot where the netting had come away, Mr Dog pushed his way through on to a wide snow-covered lawn and trotted across to the long, winding driveway that snaked round the manor house – an imposing old stone building with large windows and huge arch-shaped doors.

  There were lights on inside. The lord of the manor was in.

  Mr Dog circled the house, looking for an open window. He longed to jump in and have a nose about! Round the back he found the food-recycling bin almost overflowing and helped himself to some tasty titbits. He gulped up some snow too, letting it melt to water in his mouth to satisfy his thirst. Then he resumed his search for a way in. No luck!

  *

  As the pale sun edged towards sunset, Mr Dog was ready to give up. Then the noise of an engine caused his ears to prick. He scampered round to investigate.

  A shiny black Range Rover was rumbling towards the manor.

  Mr Dog watched as it stopped outside the front door and a short, stocky man got out. He rang on the bell. A tall man with a neat beard opened the door.

  ‘Hello, Martin,’ said the stocky man. ‘How are you doing, my old friend and the lord of the manor?’

  So, the new lord of the manor is called Martin, Mr Dog noted.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Bedderbrite,’ said Martin. ‘I was just about to start dinner.’

  ‘Great,’ said Mr Bedderbrite with a grin. ‘We can eat and then go over the plans. I want to make sure you’re completely happy with what I have in mind.’

  Martin opened his front door and waved the shorter man inside. ‘So long as I can’t see anything from the grounds, Joe, you can do what you like.’

  The door closed behind them.

  ‘Plans, eh?’ Mr Dog growled softly. ‘I think I’d better listen in and see what those plans might be!’

  Night settled, dark and silvery over the manor and its grounds. Mr Dog sat outside the kitchen door with one ear raised while Martin made the evening meal. ‘I’m afraid the cook I’ve hired doesn’t start until next week,’ he said.

  The man called Joe chuckled. ‘With the money you’re making on this deal, you’ll be able to hire as many cooks as you like!’

  So Martin is getting a lot of money, thought Mr Dog. What’s going on here?

  The two humans left the kitchen to dine and discuss their plans. Mr Dog raced round the outside of the house to the dining room, hoping to overhear their conversation. But the windows and curtains were closed against the cold night, and even his quick canine ears couldn’t catch more than a mumble.

  Suddenly Mr Dog heard an animal creeping through the bushes towards him. He spun round. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Have you seen any worms?’ came a deep voice from the darkness.

  Mr Dog got up, shook snow from his belly and peered into the night. A long black-and-white animal with a stripy head was peering around.

  A badger!

  ‘Hello, there, badger,’ said Mr Dog politely. ‘It’s not good weather for hunting worms, is it? They burrow deep down when the soil freezes over.’

  ‘Very inconvenient,’ the badger agreed glumly. ‘I don’t normally come this close to the house, but Martin throws away a lot of scraps …’

  Mr Dog smiled sheepishly. ‘Indeed he does. I’m afraid I’ve already helped myself.’

  The badger sighed and drooped his head.

  ‘However,’ Mr Dog added quickly, ‘he’s made a meal this evening so I’m sure there’ll be plenty to tuck into later!’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said the gloomy badger. ‘I recognise that car. It belongs to Joe Bedderbrite, the builder. He’s a big hungry fellow. Oh! Poor me. There won’t be much food left after he’s eaten …’

  Mr Dog raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘Joe Bedderbrite’s a builder, is he?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said the badger. ‘He’s buying the manor forest from Martin. He’s going to build new houses on it.’

  ‘He’s what?’ woofed Mr Dog in alarm. ‘What about the deer?’

  ‘If they’ve any sense, they’ll leave before the bulldozers come along!’ The badger sighed. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must take a look at those bins …’

  Mr Dog was left speechless as the badger beetled away. The forest was to be flattened? No wonder it wasn’t being looked after.

  ‘Those poor deer,’ he muttered.

  Suddenly there was rustling in the bushes and a noisy, rasping barking started up. Mr Dog realised it was a doe! She had two fawns with her, both crying out in fear and excitement. He knew that does were very protective of their young.

  Sure enough, the doe was chasing the poor badger away.

  ‘Get away from my fawns!’ she shouted.

  ‘I’m not bothering you!’ the badger grumbled, bundling past Mr Dog. ‘You shouldn’t be here anyway. How did you get out of the forest?’

  ‘We broke through the fence, looking for food!’ the doe bleated, stamping her foot. ‘Now, clear off!’

  Mr Dog saw the porch light come on. ‘Please, everyone, keep the noise down!’ he woofed. ‘Martin has heard you. What if he—’

  Comes out, Mr Dog had been going to say. But Martin had already shoved open the front door and was marching outside – holding a shotgun!

  The badger wiggled away at speed and Mr Dog ran for cover – but the doe and her fawns seemed rooted to the spot with fear.

  ‘You dreary deer!’ Martin shouted. ‘I’m going to get rid of you all!’

  Chapter Five

  FOLLOW THE FAWN

  Before Martin could raise the shotgun, Mr Dog jumped up at him. The lord of the manor fell on his side in the snow.

  ‘Sorry about that!’ woofed Mr Dog. ‘But the D-O-G in my name could possibly stand for Don’t Own Guns!’ He charged over to the doe. ‘What are you waiting for? Run, before he gets up!’

  By now Joe Bedderbrite the builder had come out too. He helped Martin to stand, who brushed the snow from his clothes.

  ‘This way, everybody!’ Mr Dog ran off along the driveway, and the doe and her two frightened fawns followed.

  Mr Dog waited for them at the fence to the forest. ‘Are you all right?’

  The doe stayed some way back, but nodded. ‘Yes, thank you. I’m sorry to make so much noise.’

  ‘I know a doe is very protective of her little ones,’ said Mr Dog. ‘That’s why I feel so bad for poor Bobbin, who lost her mother. Did you know Betty?’

  The doe nodded. ‘I tried looking after Bobbin when she came into the forest and poor Betty went away.’ She nuzzled up to her young fawns. ‘But it’s hard enough finding food for these two and myself, let alone any extra.’

  Bobbin needs her own mother in any case, thought Mr Dog. He bowed his head to the doe. ‘I hope you find some food, my deer. Do steer well clear of the manor house, won’t you? I have a feeling that Lord Martin is not in a good mood!’

  The doe looked pensive. ‘What did he mean, he was going to get rid of us all?’

  Mr Dog was about to tell her that the whole forest was in danger. Then he closed his mouth. The facts would only frighten the poor doe. She would spread the word to the other deer and soon everyone would be panicking.

  Things are hard enough already, thought Mr Dog. I will keep my muzzle zipped until I think of a way to help. He nodded to hims
elf and set off through the forest. ‘It’s high time I got back to Bobbin,’ he murmured instead. ‘She must be wondering where I am!’

  Mr Dog yipped his farewells to the doe and her fawns, then hurried away through the freezing forest. There seemed to be fewer deer about than there had been.

  He soon found out why.

  The paddock where he’d left Bobbin was now knee-deep in deer! They had broken in through the split in the fence. Now they were everywhere, cropping the snowy grass and tugging at any undergrowth within reach.

  ‘Bobbin?’ called Mr Dog. ‘Where are you, Bobbin?’

  The bucks he’d run into before looked over, still chewing on what was left of an old shrub. ‘Bobbin?’ said the biggest buck. ‘That little twig-stealing squirt?’

  ‘She ran away when we knocked down the fence,’ said the other buck. ‘We could smell lots of lovely things growing here. Why should she have it all?’

  Mr Dog harrumphed. ‘Which way did she go?’

  The bucks pointed with their antlers to the far side of the snowy field. Padding over to look, Mr Dog could see markings made by Bobbin’s dainty hooves – her dancing trot made the trail very distinctive. Clearly she had jumped this high fence as easily as the last.

  Bobbin must have gone looking for her mum again, Mr Dog realised.

  He tried to climb the fence himself but it was too tall.

  I need a helping hoof, he decided.

  He barked at the nearest buck. The buck frowned and wandered over.

  Mr Dog jumped on to the buck’s back and used it as a springboard. With one mighty flying leap he cleared the fence and landed in a snowdrift.

  ‘Ooof. Success!’ With a grin Mr Dog climbed out of the drift and shook off his fur. The countryside looked magical and mysterious, moonlight reflecting off the snow. A row of tracks led away from the fence – each hoofmark with the two narrow slots of a fallow deer.

  Mr Dog put his nose to the ground and followed the fawn’s tracks through the night. He trotted over fields, ducked under hedgerows and even crossed a couple of frozen streams. Sometimes he found the trail had been trampled by other animals, and he had to cover the land in sections until he picked it up again.

  Hours passed. Then, as the sun began to rise, the snow began to fall in slow white flakes.

  ‘Oh NO!’ cried Mr Dog, racing to follow the little sharp-edged prints before they were buried in the snowfall. But the gentle drift was soon a fast flurry of whirling whiteness. Mr Dog could hardly see his own nose in front of him, let alone anything else!

  Uncertain now, he peered about for the tracks, darting one way then another. His heart was sinking.

  ‘It’s no use!’ Mr Dog whimpered as the snow went on falling. ‘I’ve lost the tracks, and I’ve lost Bobbin too – maybe for good!’

  Chapter Six

  STORM THE STALLION

  The snow came down for an hour or more. Mr Dog sheltered under a bush until the flakes finally slowed and stopped. Then he pushed out his nose, stretched and shook himself.

  ‘I can’t give up now,’ he said, and moved off in the direction Bobbin had last taken. ‘I told that fawn I’d help her find her mother, and I am a man of my word … or, rather, a dog of my woof!’

  But as Mr Dog carried on his way he felt far from hopeful. The sun came out and the white fields glittered in its light, but there was no one in sight, and he felt suddenly lonely.

  The snow was up to his tummy and it was hard work to walk through. So when Mr Dog saw a quiet country road running beside a field he decided to take it so he could move faster. He trotted on, ears pricked for the sound of approaching cars, and for the far-off cries of a fawn in trouble.

  What he heard was the laughter of human children.

  Mr Dog found a boy and a girl standing on a side road that led to a farm. The boy held a sledge, but the girl had a phone in her hand. She was pointing it at something in the field in front of them, and they were both giggling.

  I wonder what’s so funny? thought Mr Dog, and scampered over to see.

  There were four horses in the large field – three mares and a large white stallion. And the stallion was snorting and stamping his hoof at a small and unwelcome visitor …

  ‘Bobbin!’ barked Mr Dog in surprise. ‘There you are!’

  ‘Isn’t that fawn just so sweet?’ cried the girl as Bobbin dashed past the stallion and helped herself to a mouthful of hay from a snowy bale. ‘She runs like she’s dancing.’

  The boy nodded. ‘We should tell Dad she’s in our field,’ he said. ‘You know, she reminds me of that three-legged doe they’ve got at Cornfield Farm.’

  Mr Dog’s ears shot up in the air so fast they almost flew away. ‘Three-legged doe?’ He jumped up at the boy, tongue lolling. ‘You mean Betty? She lives around here? You’ve seen her?’

  But of course the boy couldn’t understand – he just saw an excited dog bouncing and woofing. ‘Where did you spring from?’

  ‘I can’t even begin to tell you,’ said Mr Dog. ‘I must go and tell Bobbin what you’ve just told me! Good morning!’

  ‘Ha! Now a dog is joining in the chase!’ The girl laughed. ‘I can’t wait to post this video online. It’ll get so many likes …’

  But Mr Dog could see that the stallion did not like Bobbin! The horse was watching out for his mares – and Bobbin had snuck into their field to help herself to their food. Now the fawn was dancing about dangerously close to the stallion as he tried to chase her away.

  Mr Dog flew across the field, kicking up clouds of snow. ‘Bobbin!’ he shouted. ‘Whatever are you doing?’

  ‘Go away!’ snapped Bobbin.

  Mr Dog blinked and skidded to a stop. ‘I beg your pardon? I’ve been looking for you …’

  ‘You left me all alone!’ cried Bobbin, upset. ‘And then those mean bucks came to the paddock. Everyone leaves me. But … I don’t care! I’ve decided I’m going to have to learn to look after myself.’

  The stallion interrupted with an angry whinny. ‘You’re going to have to learn some manners,’ he corrected her, ears flattened to his head. ‘How dare you come into my field, spooking my mares and taking our food!’

  ‘I asked for the food but you told me to leave!’ Bobbin retorted. ‘Why should I? It’s a free countryside!’

  ‘Er, Bobbin, that hay doesn’t grow here naturally like in the forest,’ Mr Dog tried to explain. ‘The horses’ owner leaves it for them! You can’t just help yourself.’

  The stallion rounded on him, nostrils flaring. ‘And who invited YOU into my field?’

  ‘I’m just trying to sort out a misunderstanding.’ Mr Dog sat down in the snow and gave his most winning doggy grin. ‘What’s your name, sir?’

  ‘Storm,’ said the stallion.

  ‘A fine name for a fine horse!’ Mr Dog bowed his head. ‘I’m Mr Dog and I’m a friend to all animals. Please forgive young Bobbin here. She has lost her mother. There’s no one to tell her what’s right and wrong.’

  Storm whickered and turned to Bobbin. ‘Is this true?’

  Bobbin sighed and nodded her head.

  ‘However!’ Mr Dog’s eyes shone. ‘I may have found a clue. Tell me, Storm, do you happen to know of a place called Cornfield Farm?’

  ‘Cornfield Farm?’ Storm turned to a dapple-grey mare. ‘Wasn’t that near your old place?’

  ‘Yes.’ The mare pointed her tail to the west. ‘Cornfield Farm is less than a mile that way.’

  ‘Thank you so much!’ Mr Dog ran up to Bobbin, panting with excitement. ‘See those children over there? They were admiring the way you move – it reminded them of a three-legged doe they’d seen at Cornfield Farm!’

  ‘A three-legged doe …?’ Bobbin boggled at Mr Dog. ‘That could be MY MUMMY.’

  ‘Indeed it could,’ Mr Dog agreed. ‘So what are we waiting for?’

  After bidding the horses goodbye, Mr Dog found himself running to keep up with his deer friend. Bobbin was bobbing even higher than usual as she ran, fizzing with exci
tement. ‘I’m sorry I was rude to you, Mr Dog. I really thought you’d left me.’

  ‘I was trying to learn all I could from Martin, the lord of the manor … his builder friend, Joe Bedderbrite … and a badger.’ Mr Dog stopped running for a moment, catching his breath. ‘I’m afraid it wasn’t good news.’

  ‘Oh?’ Bobbin raced about in a dizzy circle, then flopped down beside him. ‘What did you find out?’

  Mr Dog looked sadly at Bobbin. ‘I’m afraid that Martin is selling off your forest. It will be cleared, and human houses put up in its place.’

  ‘Really?’ Bobbin stared. ‘But what will happen to all the deer?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ Mr Dog shivered. He didn’t tell Bobbin that hunters liked to shoot deer, and that butchers sold deer for food. ‘Don’t worry, Bobbin. I’m sure your mother will think of a good i-deer with us to help your fellow fallows!’

  Bobbin brightened. ‘Do you really think my mummy’s at the farm, Mr Dog?’

  He grinned. ‘There’s only one way to find out!’

  Chapter Seven

  THE DISAPPEARING DEER

  Mr Dog and Bobbin travelled onwards through the fields of white. The sun was climbing into the sky. Melting snow dripped from the tree branches around them as they reached a path beside a fence.

  Breathlessly Mr Dog ran along the path until he saw a sign half revealed by the thaw. He wagged his tail to brush the rest of the snow clear – and gave a bark of happiness.

  ‘We’re here!’ Bobbin leaped over the fence and bobbed about in little excited circles. ‘This is the place, this is the place!’ She accidentally bashed into the farm’s letter box. ‘Whoops!’

  ‘Now, wait a moment, Bobbin,’ said Mr Dog firmly. ‘There will be lots of humans on this farm. They might not be pleased to see a dog and a deer trespassing on their property.’