take Whiffer to training classes. After six weeks of yelling at Whiffer to stay, sit and roll over, Bertie had given up. Whiffer was about as obedient as a Brussels sprout. All the same, Bertie only wanted him to fetch a ball – surely
any
dog could manage that?
Bertie led Whiffer down the garden to where there was a gap in the fence.
“Ball,” said Bertie. “Go on, Whiffer, fetch the ball!”
He pointed to the Nicelys’ garden. Whiffer jumped up at his hand, thinking it was a game.
Darren sighed. “You’re wasting your time! Just get it yourself.”
“Yes, and get a move on before anyone comes,” said Eugene anxiously.
“He can do it,” Bertie insisted. “Watch this.”
He looked around and found a stick. “Fetch, Whiffer! Fetch!” he cried, throwing it with all his might. Whiffer gave a bark and raced off after it. A moment later he was back with the stick in his mouth. He dropped it at Bertie’s feet and barked excitedly.
“See, I told you!” said Bertie.
“Yeah,” said Darren. “If we need any sticks we know who to ask.”
“Darren’s right,” said Eugene. “It’s a football. He can’t even pick it up.”
“Want to bet?” asked Bertie. He led Whiffer back to the fence and helped him squeeze through the hole. “Good boy, bring the ball,” he whispered.
Whiffer ran off and vanished into next-door’s bushes.
“It’ll never work,” said Darren.
“Not a hope,” said Eugene.
“You wait,” said Bertie. “He’s smarter than you think.”
There was a rustle in the bushes and a patter of feet. Whiffer came flying through the hole in the fence. He dropped something at Bertie’s feet and wagged his tail.
“Fantastic,” groaned Darren.
It was another stick.
CHAPTER 3
Bertie was left with no choice – he’d have to sneak next door himself. They’d wasted precious minutes already. At any moment someone might come out and then it would be too late.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“Filthy,” said Eugene.
Bertie had mud smeared over his faceso he’d be less easy to spot. It always worked in spy films.
“Keep a look out,” he said. “If anyone comes, give the signal.”
The other two nodded.
Bertie wriggled through the gap in the fence. Once next door, he crouched in the bushes, his heart beating loudly. There was no sign of the enemy. He could see the greenhouse – but now he had to make it across the lawn.
He crawled forward on his belly, passing a statue of a small fat angel. Halfway across the lawn he froze – someone was coming! A moment later Mrs Nicely appeared with a magazine and a steaming mug of coffee. Bertie looked round in panic. He rolled over and crouched behind the statue – it wasthe only hiding place. With any luck Mrs Nicely would go back inside.
But instead she came down the steps and settled on a bench. Bertie rested his head against the statue’s bottom. Now what? He was trapped! And if Mrs Nicely looked up from her magazine she’d spot the broken window.
Bertie looked back at Darren and Eugene peeping through the fence.
“DO SOMETHING!” he mouthed.
Darren frowned.
“DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING!” Bertie mouthed again.
He tried to think. What would distract Mrs Nicely’s attention so he could escape? An earthquake? An alien invasion? What were the chances! Wait – Whiffer! Mrs Nicely flew into a rage whenever he got into her garden.
Bertie tried to signal to his friends. He stuck out his tongue, panting like a dog. The other two stared back.
“What’s he doing?” whispered Eugene.
“No idea,” said Darren. “Maybe he feels sick.”
Bertie scratched his ear and pretended to wag his tail.
“Is he all right?” asked Eugene.
“If you ask me, he’s gone bonkers,” said Darren.
Bertie might have been stuck there forever but just then Angela appeared. “Mum! Where are the chocolate biscuits?” she called.
Mrs Nicely groaned. “Can’t I have five minutes’ peace and quiet? Look in the cupboard.”
“I did.
any
dog could manage that?
Bertie led Whiffer down the garden to where there was a gap in the fence.
“Ball,” said Bertie. “Go on, Whiffer, fetch the ball!”
He pointed to the Nicelys’ garden. Whiffer jumped up at his hand, thinking it was a game.
Darren sighed. “You’re wasting your time! Just get it yourself.”
“Yes, and get a move on before anyone comes,” said Eugene anxiously.
“He can do it,” Bertie insisted. “Watch this.”
He looked around and found a stick. “Fetch, Whiffer! Fetch!” he cried, throwing it with all his might. Whiffer gave a bark and raced off after it. A moment later he was back with the stick in his mouth. He dropped it at Bertie’s feet and barked excitedly.
“See, I told you!” said Bertie.
“Yeah,” said Darren. “If we need any sticks we know who to ask.”
“Darren’s right,” said Eugene. “It’s a football. He can’t even pick it up.”
“Want to bet?” asked Bertie. He led Whiffer back to the fence and helped him squeeze through the hole. “Good boy, bring the ball,” he whispered.
Whiffer ran off and vanished into next-door’s bushes.
“It’ll never work,” said Darren.
“Not a hope,” said Eugene.
“You wait,” said Bertie. “He’s smarter than you think.”
There was a rustle in the bushes and a patter of feet. Whiffer came flying through the hole in the fence. He dropped something at Bertie’s feet and wagged his tail.
“Fantastic,” groaned Darren.
It was another stick.
CHAPTER 3
Bertie was left with no choice – he’d have to sneak next door himself. They’d wasted precious minutes already. At any moment someone might come out and then it would be too late.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“Filthy,” said Eugene.
Bertie had mud smeared over his faceso he’d be less easy to spot. It always worked in spy films.
“Keep a look out,” he said. “If anyone comes, give the signal.”
The other two nodded.
Bertie wriggled through the gap in the fence. Once next door, he crouched in the bushes, his heart beating loudly. There was no sign of the enemy. He could see the greenhouse – but now he had to make it across the lawn.
He crawled forward on his belly, passing a statue of a small fat angel. Halfway across the lawn he froze – someone was coming! A moment later Mrs Nicely appeared with a magazine and a steaming mug of coffee. Bertie looked round in panic. He rolled over and crouched behind the statue – it wasthe only hiding place. With any luck Mrs Nicely would go back inside.
But instead she came down the steps and settled on a bench. Bertie rested his head against the statue’s bottom. Now what? He was trapped! And if Mrs Nicely looked up from her magazine she’d spot the broken window.
Bertie looked back at Darren and Eugene peeping through the fence.
“DO SOMETHING!” he mouthed.
Darren frowned.
“DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING!” Bertie mouthed again.
He tried to think. What would distract Mrs Nicely’s attention so he could escape? An earthquake? An alien invasion? What were the chances! Wait – Whiffer! Mrs Nicely flew into a rage whenever he got into her garden.
Bertie tried to signal to his friends. He stuck out his tongue, panting like a dog. The other two stared back.
“What’s he doing?” whispered Eugene.
“No idea,” said Darren. “Maybe he feels sick.”
Bertie scratched his ear and pretended to wag his tail.
“Is he all right?” asked Eugene.
“If you ask me, he’s gone bonkers,” said Darren.
Bertie might have been stuck there forever but just then Angela appeared. “Mum! Where are the chocolate biscuits?” she called.
Mrs Nicely groaned. “Can’t I have five minutes’ peace and quiet? Look in the cupboard.”
“I did.
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