My Not So Pedigree Dogs

As a literate Lurcher I’m always on the lookout for new talent, and I love this story by our friend Poppy, a promising writer at age 11. This tale was inspired by her own dogs.

My Not So Pedigree Dogs by Poppy Elaine

It was Saturday morning in the village of Sunny Vale. Bethan and Blue were on a walk with their owners when they spotted a group of dogs coming their way.

‘Hello!’ Blue woofed.

‘Hello!’ the dogs woofed back.

‘Who are you?’ asked a male Labradoodle.

‘I’m Blue and this is Bethan.’

‘You fur is nice. What breed are you?’ asked a little Cockapoo.

‘I’m a Bichon Frise crossed with Border Terrier,’ said Bethan, ‘and Blue’s a Bedlington Terrier crossed with Poodle.’

‘Ha ha!’ laughed the dogs. ‘So you’re mongrels,’ snorted the male Labradoodle.

‘Yes,’ said Blue.

‘Mongrels! Dirty mongrels! Our cousins are coming next week, they’re pedigrees. So you had better stay out of their way! They despise mongrels! Ta ta losers! Until next time!’ The dogs barked over their shoulders as they departed.

‘Oh dear!’ fretted Bethan.

‘Oh dear is right!’ fretted Blue.

Three days later Blue and Bethan were sitting in their back garden, still suggesting hopeless and rubbish ideas to each other to stop the dogs laughing at them.

‘I know,’ cried Blue after half an hour thinking, ‘we can disguise ourselves as…’ Blue’s words were drowned out by laughter. A big fluffy something fell into the garden.

‘Cleo Clevercat!’ Blue yelled. ‘What are you doing listening in?’

‘Your ideas are pathetic!’ laughed Cleo. ‘All you have to do is have haircuts – ‘

‘We are not listening to your ideas, ‘ snorted Blue.

‘Oh yes you are!’ hissed Cleo.

‘No we’re not!’ growled Blue.

‘Give her a chance,’ woofed Bethan.

‘Thank you Beth,’ Cleo said. ‘What you need to do is have haircuts and give yourselves designer names.’

‘But how will we think of designer names by the end of the week?’ asked Bethan.

‘Leave that to me,’ meowed Cleo smugly.

Bethan and Blue went to the groomers the next day to have their hair cut.

‘Oh, I don’t like it, make it stop!’ Blue yelped. ‘Oh good, it’s stopped.’ Blue didn’t like having his fur clipped or being bathed.

The next morning, bark mail arrived for Blue and Bethan; it was passed from garden to garden. The message was from Cleo Clevercat. It said: ‘Meet me at 2 o’clock at Oak Square.’

‘It’s not long till 2 o’clock,’ said Bethan. ‘How are we going to get out of the garden?’

‘We’ll have to jump over the wall,’ said Blue. ‘It’s not high.’

At half past one, Bethan and Blue both jumped over the garden wall and ran to Oak Square.

‘I can’t believe we made it in time,’ panted Bethan.

‘Come on, you two,’ said Cleo. ‘I’ve thought up perfect designer names for you.’ And she whispered them to the two dogs.

By the end of the week, Blue and Bethan had memorized their new names. Out on their walk they saw the designer dogs with their cousins coming towards them.

‘Are you the mongrels our cousins told us about?’ asked a Poodle.

‘Mongrels? Us?’ said Bethan. ‘I’m a BichBord and he’s a BedliPoo. Haven’t you heard of us before?’