EXCERPT The unseen sun struggled to break through a sky that was covered by low, grey
clouds. The first day of cold weather was also the first day of the Christmas
holidays and Christmas Day itself was only ten days away. The milk float turned
the corner into Terence Avenue and the vehicle groaned as it made its way up the
steep hill. The milkman breathed clouds of steam onto the windscreen as he
whistled softly to himself in the early morning. This was his favourite time of
the day. He loved the quiet, for at this hour few had struggled out of bed and
even fewer had ventured outside. The roads were empty, save for the odd vehicle
that passed swiftly by as the milk float purred its way slowly on its round.
The milkman loved the peace, the tranquillity and the unhurried start to the
day. Now, as he prepared to make his deliveries in Terence Avenue, the float
changed tone as it struggled with the steep hill.
Terence Avenue was a new estate, built right on the edge of Nailsbury.
Nailsbury, a relatively new town if you could call it that, sat neatly in the
middle of rural Hampshire. Once an isolated village, the ravages of time and
human intrusion had slowly and steadily converted the peaceful, sleepy village,
into semi-urban sprawl. Even the once-pretty railway station had long since
suffered at the hands of the developers. Now the town somewhat ironically
boasted a fine station linking the dwellers in the town to London and
Southampton. The original part of the station had been preserved and continued
to provide a service to the West Country. Indeed, the contrast between the
original rural station and the building which comprised the new, brightly lit
station was stark. More so because the original, dusty village had maintained
its rural beauty and the new station looked incongruous in its setting. As the
town had evolved over several decades, so it had spread out. To start with, each
new estate that had been developed was slightly more modern and slightly
less-well constructed than the last. That had been the case when the town had
started to sprawl. In the past decade, though, the building trend had been
reversed.
Now, on the perimeter of the town, there were displayed to the envy of the
earlier settlers, fine houses of magnificent proportions, houses with large
gardens, houses that spoke of money, riches, and even opulence; houses that
belonged to the well-to-do. Terence Avenue was one such road. Built as a mini
estate, the road boasted no more than ten dwellings. Set on one of the few hills
in the area, each house was unique in character and oozed quality.
It was towards these dwellings the milk float groaned against the hill. The
milkman, clouds of steam still pouring from his mouth as he whistled in the
cold, damp, morning air, made his rounds to each of the ten properties in turn
before turning the float around. The tranquil peace of the early morning
returned as the milk float whined its way back down the hill and disappeared on
its journey of delivering milk.
The Hammond family lived at number five and their day normally began soon
after the milkman had left. This particular morning, as the milk float turned
back round the corner of Terence Avenue, Mark Hammond was the first to awaken.
No teenager likes to be woken early and Mark was no exception, especially when
the light entering his bedroom still came from the streetlight outside. The
weak, wintry rays of sunlight had barely begun to penetrate through the grey
clouds. What awakened Mark was not the light, nor was it the sound of the milk
float, for no sound audible to humans had penetrated the double-glazing. What
awakened Mark was a paw.
Mark Hammond was fifteen years old and fast approaching his sixteenth
birthday. He was of average height for his age, not stocky and he had incredibly
good looks. These, combined with his mild temperament, endeared him to almost
everyone who knew him. By contrast, his fourteen years old brother, James, was
tall for his age - some two inches taller than Mark. James was wiry, and his
narrow face and short, black hair accentuated his height. At this early hour of
the morning, James lay on his bed in the room next to Mark.
The paw touched Mark gently at about waist height. It was a light touch,
almost an incidental movement. The paw?s owner knew the touch would be enough.
It knew Mark was a very light sleeper. The paw?s owner knew what the reaction
would be and the owner wasn?t particularly bothered.
Mark turned over in the bed, rapidly waking up, but wanting more sleep. He
feigned sleep and pretended to snore. The paw made a second contact, a little
more roughly than the first. Mark turned away again and moved across the bed,
away from the intrusion. Suddenly there were two paws on the bed. They landed
just short of the boy?s body. He became aware of a faint panting sound. At the
same time, though his back was turned, he knew there was a face looking very
closely at his own. He knew that two, shiny brown eyes were staring at him from
only a foot away and he sensed the warm breath on the back of his neck as the
face got closer. Then, quite suddenly, the face got too close. A big, pink
tongue bathed the side of the boy?s face with slobber, from his neck, over his
right ear, and up to his forehead. Mark reacted swiftly to this last
intrusion.
?Go away boy, it?s too early. Get off the bed and leave me to get some
sleep.? Mark?s voice was calm and he spoke in a loud whisper, as if determined
not to awaken the rest of the household.
The owner of the tongue obediently clambered back off the bed and Mark
heard him pad back out of the bedroom door. Mark rubbed away the worst of the
slobber, curled up and closed his eyes. Next door, James snored rhythmically.
His sounds were the genuine article, unlike his elder brother?s a few minutes
beforehand. To the owner of the tongue it was an intriguing sound, one which
simply demanded closer investigation. The owner of the tongue had woken in a
mischievous mood. This was not unusual but this morning, and perhaps it was the
coldness of the air outside that had affected him, he was feeling particularly
mischievous. He padded silently into the younger boy?s room. The boy was facing
him, his rhythmic snoring very audible to the sensitive ears of the tongue?s
owner. The two, big, brown eyes stared in the half-light at the sleeping boy and
the pink tongue inched forward gingerly until it just touched the boy?s nose.
With a sudden motion the tongue licked the boy?s face, in one long sweep from
chin to eyebrows. Then the tongue?s owner turned and started to pad out of the
room.
?Whaaa...t was that?? James stuttered as he began to wake up. ?Oh no,
Archer, it?s only six o?clock and we don't have to get up for two hours! What
did you do that for??
Archer, the family pet, had lived with them for nearly five years. He?d
arrived as a puppy. He was a German Shepherd Dog, though more commonly called an
Alsatian. His puppy days had been filled with fun and adventure and he had
always had the respect from other animals that his breed demanded. But Archer
was different to the supposed image of his breed. With one exception, Archer had
always been as gentle as a lamb and indeed, apart from that one exception, his
bark was very much worse than his bite. As James moaned his way to wakefulness,
Archer stopped and turned to look back at him. A moment later, Archer let out a
low whine and nuzzled his head against the boy?s bed. James reached out an
affectionate hand and draped it over the dog?s shoulder.
?All right Archer, you can lie down here. Just let me get back to sleep,
will you??
The whine seemed to be an agreement and the canine lay down on the floor
beside the boy?s bed. James? hand reached down and gently stroked the dog?s
neck. Archer shrugged his shoulders with happiness. He knew he was greatly
loved. He also knew he was very well looked after and he loved having the hairs
on the back of his neck gently stroked.
In a minute James was asleep. It was a family joke that James could sleep
through virtually anything. Indeed, when the family had moved to the house, they
had been the second family to arrive and the builders were still busy
constructing the other properties. One particular Friday, when the children had
been on holiday, a very large digger had trundled its way up past the Hammond?s
house to start digging a few yards away. All morning it had made the most awful
noise as the pneumatic controls were pushed to their limits in the earth-moving
operation. James had slept all morning with his window wide open, totally
oblivious to what was going on almost right outside his bedroom. The joke had
remained and the way James fell back to sleep this particular morning was a
perfect example of his uncanny ability to sleep..
Some time later a distant alarm clock piped the morning alarm. Instantly
Archer was awake. He nuzzled the boy until he stirred before padding out of the
room to repeat the action on his older brother. Then Archer went and sat at the
entrance to the older boy?s bedroom, looking out across the landing to the
firmly closed bedroom door behind which the master and mistress of the house
were audibly on the move. He waited for several minutes before he heard the
telltale noise from inside the room that he was waiting for. There it was again,
the second faint creak of the muffled floorboards. Archer?s hearing told him it
was the master?s footsteps. With an almost imperceptible glint in his eyes, he
braced himself.
It should be made clear to the reader at this point - Archer is a big
dog. His puppy days are officially several years behind him. The trouble with
Archer is he has never learned this simple fact. Nor has he learned the fact
that he no longer weighs the ten kilograms he weighed as a puppy. These days his
weight is more like forty kilograms. It must also be made clear that Archer has
an almost maniacal relationship with the boys? father, which was why he had
braced himself this particular morning. The handle of the bedroom door began to
turn downwards. Archer watched it arc in a downward curve until he judged that
the door would open. Then, in perfect timing with the door being opened from
within, Archer made his move. He leaped from his sitting position, hunched his
shoulders and sprang through the air. As always, his aim was totally accurate
and his trajectory was perfect.
Archer flew through the half-open door, his body weight pushing the
occupant within backwards. Archer continued, his momentum forcing the door wide
open. The hapless boys? father staggered backwards, bemused and only half awake.
The man tripped backwards and fell softly to the floor. In an instant the dog
stood over him looking with big, brown eyes at the somewhat surprised expression
on his master?s face.
Dogs can?t actually say good morning to people and it had long been an
annoyance to Archer that he could not speak. It was also irritating that
sometimes his actions were misunderstood by the humans and as a result, what had
been a friendly gesture ended up with him in trouble. Even as his big pink
tongue began to wash his master?s face, Archer began to sense that his
sentiments of joie de vivre were misunderstood.
Nevertheless, it was a wonderful position of power to be in. Standing over
his master, he could do virtually what he liked. The face wash over, Archer
decided it would be a good idea to play with his master. First, the left front
paw was offered up to his master?s right shoulder, and then the opposite paw was
similarly tendered.
?Get off me, you big, ugly brute.? The master was clearly not amused by
the dog?s antics. ?That?s the last time you?ll ever do that. From now on you?ll
sleep downstairs, locked in the dining room.?
?Woof.? Archer didn?t like the tone of what he?d heard, but he hoped his
current position might give him some bargaining power.
?Mark, James, will you call the dog off?? their father called out. By way
of reply, Mark, though fully awake, snored loudly, while James just continued
sleeping. ?Somebody call the damned dog off.? The man?s voice was getting louder
as his impatience grew.
?Archer,? Mark finally called out, ?come here and leave grumpy alone.? It
was well known that Mr Hammond was never cheerful in the morning and this
particular morning was no exception.
?Archer,? called Mark, a little louder. ?Come here, now!?
Archer reluctantly heard the older boy?s voice and looked round
questioningly. He had learned to detect when the boy was serious and the tone in
the boy?s voice fitted the serious category. After a few seconds pause, Archer
looked down at Mr Hammond one more time, gave him a final lick, and then
sauntered off to Mark?s bedroom. Even as Mark reached out his hand to grab
Archer?s collar, he heard voices from his parents? bedroom.
?That dog gets worse the older it gets.?
?I know dear, but he likes you really.?
?Likes me! God only knows why. Can?t it understand, I don?t like it??
?Yes, I should think so, and that?s probably why he picks on you.?
?Well from now on it sleeps downstairs, locked in the dining room.?
?Fine, but who?s going to go and let him out when he tries to rip the door
down??
?It wouldn?t dare do that. It?s the dining room tonight for that animal
and if it causes trouble then, hero or not, it goes.?
?If you say so dear, but I rather fear you are getting into one of your
states over nothing.?
?Over nothing indeed! That animal has been trouble since the day we got it
and I?ve had enough. It sleeps in the dining room tonight and no one is going to
open the door.?
?All right dear, but we?ll see.?
?We?ll see,? said Archer to himself, as a plan began to form in his doggy
brain.
| 
Children`s Fiction
Non-Adult Fiction
