I COULD TELL Dad was excited about something. His face was shining like a light bulb.
âIâve got something for you, Ludo,â he said, looking at me and grinning.
I was with Mum in the kitchen. My baby sister, Ivy, was sitting in her high chair, making baby noises. Sheâd just learned how to make a raspberry sound, and that was her favourite. It went â
Ppprrrrraaaaaaaaapppppssssssst
â and she was very proud of it. It was quite similar to the sound of her filling up her nappy, but not as soft and squelchy, or as smelly.
Dad was late and weâd finished dinner. It was fishcakes, peas and chips. Dadâs dinner was on a plate in the oven, and it was all brown and shrivelled up, like it had been zapped by an alien death ray. Mum always burned Dadâs dinner when he was late. I think she did it on purpose as a way of helping him to remember to get home early.
âA present?â I asked.
âYes, sort of. Itâs just what youâve always wanted.â
Mmmmm . . . There were lots of things Iâd always wanted. A radio-controlled model helicopter, a Swiss Army knife, a crossbow, an air rifle, my own canoe, a robot that tidied my bedroom and did my homework and conquered my enemies using mind control. Any of those would have been good.
âWhat is it, Jim?â asked Mum. She didnât look like she thought it was going to be good. She looked like she thought it was going to be a disaster. Strange how mums always know these things.
âItâs in the car. Iâll go and get it.â Then Dad went out again.
Mum looked at me and shook her head.
The next bit of Dad I saw was his backside. Heâd pushed the door open with it, and was trying to drag in something heavy attached to a rope. The thing he was pulling made a noise that sounded a bit like â
Grrrrrlllllaaaahrachshtrsshh
â.
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It wasnât the sort of sound you wanted to hear, except maybe in a film where you like being scared. If I had to say what it soundedlike, Iâd say it sounded like a monster. A monster eating another monster.
Ivy said, â
Ppprrrrraaaaaaaaapppppsssssst
,â which I think was her way of talking to the monster. In baby language it probably meant something like, âI am the Leader of planet Earth. If you come in peace we will offer you the hand of friendship. But if it is war you seek, then planet Earth has powerful weapons and we will destroy you.â
Dad finally managed to pull the thing into the kitchen, and for a second I thought I was right. About the monster, I mean.
Mum screamed.
Ivy stopped going, â
Ppprrrrraaaaaaaaapppppssssssst
,â and started crying. Fine Leader of planet Earth
she
turned out to be.
âWhat is it?â shouted Mum.
âHeâs very friendly,â said Dad.
âGet it out of my kitchen!â
Dad didnât seem to hear. âHad a bit of trouble with the old fellow. He didnât like being left in the car, and he . . . er . . . ate the gearstick. And part of the steering wheel. And . . . um . . . some of the seat. Quite a lot of the seat, actually.â
The thing heâd dragged into the kitchen wasnât a monster.
It was a dog.
The ugliest dog Iâd ever seen. He had a short body, about the size of a microwave oven, and an enormous head as big as a toaster, and he had droopy, slobbering lips and only one and a half ears. His fur was black with brown splodges, and he had shiny pink gums.
This is my best drawing of him.
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âDo you like him, Ludo?â Dad asked.
I quickly thought again about all the things I wanted, meaning the helicopter, etc., etc., and then I saw Dadâs face, how excited he was, how much he wanted me to like him.
âYeah, heâs OK,â I said. âWhat kind of dog is he anyway?â
âThe man in the pub said heâs a pedigree flugel hound.â
âThereâs no such thing,â
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