The Reluctant Rescue

by Stewart Ferris

Genres: Humor & Satire

Synopsis

Meet Pooch, the top dog living a life of luxury. Until, that is, his humans adopt a Greek stray called Mary and bring her back to England. For Mary living in a home with lawns, sofas and unlimited food is heaven. Pooch, however, struggles to share his paradise. When another stray called Brando arrives on the scene, things only get worse. Will Pooch ever learn to love his newfound companions? Heart-warming and hilarious, this is the true story of the rescue of stray dogs from Greece.

Release date: May 31, 2018

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 45

Sample

Pooch

Hello. My name is Pooch and I’m the most important dog in the world and anyone who says otherwise has obviously met me.

Actually, Pooch isn’t even my real name. It’s Pitz, which apparently means ‘small’. I find that slightly unnecessary given that I’m only thirty centimetres high. I don’t need to be reminded of my stature every time someone says my name.

I’m a Yorkie, or Yorkshire Terrier to use my posh breed name. And I am posh – full pedigree, so watch it. This is my story, and you’re going to love it because I’m so special and adorable and, and, well, I could go on… so I will – and handsome, and furry, and loveable and brilliant. You probably get the idea. If you don’t, go back to the start of this paragraph and read it again until you do.



My name is Pooch and I’m the most important dog in the world.

Satisfied of my dazzling wondrousness? Right, I’ll continue. When I was a fluffy puppy, just a few weeks old, I chose to adopt a human called Katia. The warm palm of her hand was almost a perfect fit for my tiny body, and she looked like she needed a pup like me to look after her. I took her to live with me in a house on the banks of the Hudson River, close to New York City. I trained Katia to do tricks and to obey my every command. Depending on the tone of my bark, she would know if I wanted to go outside for a pee-pee, if I was hungry, if I needed a cuddle, or if there was a wicked cat in the vicinity. I’m not sure if Katia was a pedigree, but she was quite smart for a human and I was pleased at how quickly she learned to do my bidding.

Life was good with Katia. I let her drive me around in her Lexus, and I would slobber all over the heated leather seats and make stains with my wet nose on the window. Sometimes I would let her take me to work with her so I could play on the desk and distract her colleagues. She worked in Times Square, which I recommend anyone to visit because it has some interesting sniffs and there’s a particularly nice lamp post on the corner of 49th Street and Broadway if you’re ever caught short.

And on that subject, my house by the Hudson had the best outdoor bathroom a dog could wish for. There was a vast oak tree that seemed taller than the clouds. There was a lawn that stretched to the horizon. There were bushes that were alive with buzzing things. There were flower pots positioned all around the terrace and the steps that led to the river. It was always possible to find a fresh scent to enjoy whilst relieving myself.

In the spring, I made it my job to chase away the baby ducks that used to waddle in a line behind their mother. In the summer the now-enormous baby ducks got their revenge by chasing me away from the river. Autumn was a joyous cascade of leaves in which I would lose myself, and the snowy winter was my excuse for doing nothing but curl up in front of a log fire.

Though life was undeniably fun in my paradise by the Hudson, don’t think I was spoiled or lazy. I played my part and made a valuable contribution to the running of the household. Occasionally there would be pigeons that needed scaring, for example, or passers-by who needed to be frightened off. I never hesitated when circumstances required me to step up and do my bit. Despite these duties, I somehow found time to play with my expensive furry toys, and I always found the energy to wake my human up at sunrise, no matter how late she had gone to bed.

If I wanted to visit the top floor of the house, I would usually get half way up the stairs and then decide I didn’t really want to go all the way up after all. Normally, aborting my mission would require me to turn around and walk back down again, but such efforts were not for me. I found it more efficient to train my human to rescue me from such a predicament. All I had to do was to sit on a step and yap annoyingly. Hey presto, I was whisked into Katia’s arms and deposited on a sofa. Life was perfect.

Well, not quite. There was one problem in my house. A big problem. And her name was Gabriela.

Gabriela was already living in the house when I moved in, and, for reasons I’ve never understood, failed to move out after my arrival. She was one of those cat things. Tabby on top with snow white fur from the neck to the paws, honey whiskers, deep, dark, thoughtful eyes, and a tail that swished with the elegance of a movie star; a picture of purity and innocence. You know the sort – they pretend to be cute, but their paws contain razor-sharp knives that will slice you into rashers of bacon. Mmm, bacon… Where was I? Yes, the problem of cats. Cats consume food. They take up space on the couch. They compete for attention from your human. In short, cats are an abomination, and Gabriela was the worst of all of them.

Let me give you an example of the dastardly things she would do to make my life miserable. Once, I was trying to get to the front door to bark madly at a random noise that I thought I’d heard. Gabriela was lying asleep across the hallway, almost entirely blocking my path. I was forced to make a slight detour, and by the time I got to the door I’d forgotten what I was doing there! I think you get the picture. What had I done to deserve a life of cohabitation with this Mephistopheles?

I decided that the cat situation was intolerable and I needed to act. The beginnings of a plan began to formulate in my mind.



There was one problem in my house. A big problem. And her name was Gabriela.

Mary

Yo! Mary here. What a beautiful day! And how gorgeous of you to be reading this. I think I’m in love with you already, dear reader. Hmm, you do smell nice. Mind you, that might not be much of a compliment considering the sort of things I enjoy sniffing: dogs’ bottoms and, well, other dogs’ bottoms… but I’m delighted to be able to tell you my story. And it starts in a hot country, far away. Well, it’s far if you don’t live there already. Anyway, I was born in Greece. A country with abundant sunshine, thousands of islands, and rather too many stray dogs.

I was one such stray. I don’t remember my parents, though I guess one of them looked a bit like a Labrador, since that’s what I sort of am, albeit blended with other breeds. Dogs tend not to live very long where I come from. The winters are tough. When the beachside restaurants close, there are no scraps. I hope it wasn’t too painful for my mum and dad when their food finally ran out.

My only dependable companion was hunger. Peina, they call it where I come from. The first part of the word sounds similar to the word ‘pain’, which is totally appropriate. There was never enough nourishment for all the strays in my town. As if this wasn’t challenging enough, it was hard for me to hunt, because I have a minor disability: I only have one eye. It means I bump into things on my blind side and there’s no point in me going to see a 3D film. Other than that, I get by just fine. Pain and hunger are all in the mind. A positive disposition enabled me to enjoy life, despite my situation. Don’t you go worrying about me!

And don’t you worry about the large scars on my neck. Sure, I’ve been treated badly. Some people are not nice to dogs, but I think that’s because they don’t understand that dogs have the same emotions as humans. Any human who doesn’t appreciate that simple fact is probably less intelligent than a dog anyway, so if I get beaten or whipped or kicked by someone, then I don’t hold it against them. It’s far better to forgive.

My earliest memory is of playing on the beach, using a stick for a toy. If there wasn’t a stick, I would play with sun-baked poo. I made a rather decent home for myself under a wheelie bin. It gave me shelter from the hot sun, and it kept some of the rain off me during thunderstorms. The wheelie bin was in the port town of Orei, at the edge of the Aegean Sea.

The fishing harbour would fill with sailing yachts in the summer. The boats were like giant, white fish, shiny and tasty-looking. Actually, I was often so ravenous that everything became tasty-looking. I developed a penchant for grass. Yummy stuff. Can’t get enough of it. Especially when it’s green and juicy, right after it’s been raining. To be honest, the grass often made me sick, but at least it suppressed those hunger pangs for an hour or two.

Things would improve when a new yacht arrived. The passengers would see me sleeping on the quayside, and they would put a bowl of water out and pieces of bread and cheese. If I was really lucky I might get a slice of ham. These yacht people were wonderful to me. I would smile at them, and they would make sure that when they left Orei, ready to sail to another island, I would have a full stomach that I hoped would see me through until the next kind-hearted people arrived. I used to dream that one of those people would invite me onto their yacht and let me sail away to a new life. Dreams were important. They were the only things I had.

Pooch

Who was that interrupting me? Revolting one-eyed stray. Yuck. We’re supposed to be talking about me. I’m the important one. Where was I? I get easily distracted because my brain is only the size of a walnut. I can’t recall what I was saying… Mmm, walnuts. Yum. Ooh, look, a teddy bear. I think I’ll play with my stuffed toy for a few minutes. It’s from Macy’s. Katia bought it for me. She said it cost the same as feeding a hungry animal for a month. I’ve never understood that comment; if you feed a hungry animal once, it’s not hungry any more. So, well … I don’t know where I’m going with this, but it’s my posh toy, and I’m going to throw it around the room and growl a bit. Yes, that seems like a plan. Go away and come back when I’ve finished.

You still there? I said go away. I’m busy. I’ll deal with you when I’ve stopped doing whatever it was I said I was going to do.

Oh, flip. Now I’ve forgotten what I wanted to do while you were away. Probably something a bit naughty, knowing me. At least that smelly stray seems to have gone quiet. Can’t stand dirty hounds. I have a bath regularly. Usually once a year, whether I need it or not.

Ah, just remembered. I was talking about the hideous monster that I had to share my home with. Not Katia, my human – I like her – I mean the furry thi. . .