Trixie Fights For Furry Rights

“I’m really sorry about that,” I said, trying to put an arm round her. “I said I was sorry. It was an accident.”

I could see the edge of the piece of paper Mum had tried to cover up. It said DELICIOUS PUPPIES FOR.

“Delicious puppies for what?” I demanded, wrestling with Mum to pull the paper out. No prizes for guessing what it said.

DELICIOUS PUPPIES FOR SALE

“MUM! We haven’t discussed this properly! You said you were going to have another think about it!”

Mum sighed. “No, I didn’t. And if I had, what happened yesterday settles it. Look, Trix, you’re being really silly about this. All puppies have to leave home and we’ve already kept them too long. They’ll eat us out of house and home – and who’s going to take SIX huge dogs for a walk? They won’t be puppies for ever you know. Soon they’ll be huge, like Harpo. Just imagine!”

I looked at humungous Harpo. It was hard to imagine six of her in one room, but I managed. “It’ll save on electricity,” I said hopefully.

“What ARE you talking about?” Mum looked exasperated.

“Well, I read that seven people in a room make so much heat you don’t have to have the central heating on. So six Harpos would keep the kitchen cosy all through winter…”

“What about all the rest of the house?” Mum asked, rather sarkily. I couldn’t think of an answer to that.

“I haven’t got time to argue about this and I’m surprised you’re worrying about the bills for the first time in your life, especially after what happened yesterday.”

“But you CAN’T write that!” I shrieked. “Not DELICIOUS puppies!”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“They’ll be bought by dog thieves and baked in a pie!”

Mum struggled not to laugh. “Maybe delicious is a bit silly, but everyone always puts ‘adorable’ or ‘cute’. I wanted to make it different, so people would—”

“Be more likely to take them! Mum! We’ve raised them from the day they were born. How can you be so UNFEELING?”

But she was looking at her watch and scooping up Tomato and heading for the door.

“You’re always in a hurry! There’s never time for a proper conversation,” I complained. Then, to make her feel really guilty, I added, “Except you always have time to talk to parents at parents’ evening, or the silly headmistress!”

“This isn’t a conversation, Trix. That’s when two people listen to each other. You’re just trying to bully me into doing what you want. When you’re a grown-up, you can decide to keep a hundred Harpos and their puppies if you want to, and pay for their food and vet bills and all the rest. But for now, I make the decisions. I will write out the advertisement tonight and it will be in the newsagent’s window tomorrow, and that’s final.” And off she went.

I turned to Dad, who was pretending to examine a tap.

“Don’t know why it’s always dripping,” he muttered when he caught me staring at him.

“It’s not,” I said. “You’re just trying to keep out of the arguments as usual. Surely YOU don’t want to sell the pups, do you?”

“Erm…um. Let’s talk about it later. You’ll be late for school.”

It’s always the same. School just plonks itself in the way of real life every single day. Horrible looming boring school with stupid sums and tests, and Orrible Orange Orson lurking in the toilets and Ghastly Grey Griselda waiting to slam doors on your fingers, and the gimletty laser-eye of Warty-Beak waiting to BORE a hole into your soul as if you are a useless worm. I am going to create a world without school where children and puppies can run free and play all day and the streets are made of grass and sweeties grow on trees…

On the way to school next day I kept seeing notices for lost cats stuck to lampposts.

“Do you think someone is cat-napping them and turning them into hats? Like when Grandad was a lad?” I asked Chloe later in the playground.

“I don’t think so,” she replied in her usual cautious way. “Although come to think of it…”

“What? Come to think of what?”

“The dog next door to us has gone missing.”

“See? There’s a pet-napper on the prowl! If Mum advertises the puppies it’s like pointing an arrow straight at their hearts, saying ‘Get your new fur coat here’!”

“But it’s uncool to be seen in a fur coat these days, isn’t it? What with Animal Rights and all. People in woolly hats with banners would chase them down the street calling them nasty names.”

“What would they be doing in woolly hats?” I wondered. “They’re from animals too.”

“Well, they don’t have to be in woolly hats,” Chloe said. “Anyway, you just have to give sheep a haircut to get wool. You don’t have to murder them. It’s supportive. Probably Animal Rights people wear them to keep the sheep population in work.”

“Fur coat people wouldn’t worry about all that,” I said. “You never see them walking down the street, or at the checkout or whatever. They’re always behind darkened windows in a stretch limo.”

“Aren’t you two getting off the point?” said Dinah, who had joined us. “We need a plan. Where’s your mum going to advertise the puppies?”

“Mr Drugg’s noticeboard in his window,” I told her. Mr Drugg was the newsagent and sweetie man, not that he is very sweet himself.

“OK,” Dinah said. “Why don’t we just go down there and hide it? Chloe could keep Mr Drugg talking, he likes her. She pretty much keeps his shop going all by herself.”

Chloe gave Dinah an annoyed look. Well, as annoyed as she’s capable of, which isn’t very. “No good,” she said. “Your mum would notice.” (This would be Very Extremely soon, since Mum nips into Mr Drugg’s on a daily basis.)

“What about putting a sign saying SOLD on top of it?” I suggested.

“No good,” said Chloe again. “Your mum would see it and if the puppies weren’t sold she’d know it was us.”

We all shuffled about in silence, until Chloe squeaked, “I’ve got it! We’ll change one digit of the phone number. It would be easy to change 1189 to 7189. And your mum won’t notice for ages because the ad will still look nearly the same.”

“Chloe, you are a GENIUS!”

Chloe went red-as-a-beetroot and gazed at her feet. “I don’t know…” she murmured. “It’s breaking the law, really.”

“What law?” I demanded. “William The Conqueror’s Sweetie Man Protection Act of 1071? There’s no law that says you can get your head chopped off for making a mistake on an advert.”

“Yes, but it’s not a mistake, it’s a scam by us. We’ll be criminals,” Chloe moaned.

“Look,” Dinah said impatiently, “do we want to save these puppies or not? You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.”

Chloe and I looked blank.

“We’re not making an omelet, we’re saving my puppies,” I said. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. It’s something my dad says,” Dinah replied. “Anyway,” (she gave Chloe a big hug, which made her blush even more), “it’s an amazing idea. I had exactly the same one at the same time, actually.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chloe and I went. Dinah hates to be beaten at problem-solving.