The Musings & Misadventures of Ziggy Moonbeam

“Rent, tax, electricity, KIBBLE,” shouted Farver. “It’s the kibble that wipes us out each month. Must he really have the most expensive?”

“Don’t you want him to grow into a big, healthy lad?” Muvver cooed as she spooned the kibble into Ziggy’s porcelain bowl, topping it with fresh chicken and a lovingly hand-blended puree of the finest vegetables.

“Of course I do, it’s just… ” Farver trailed off and they both stood back and watched as the little black dog ate all the best bits and spat the kibble out before slowly wiping his chops on the floor, a signal that breakfast was over, kibble and all.

“He’s a nasty piece of work,” they both said in unison.

But the nasty piece of work was a clever piece of work too. With the final rub of his mouth on the cold stone floor, he knew exactly what to do. Easing himself up into his finest best boy sit, he tilted his head to the left, widened his eyes and let his little furry knees knock together in an endless shiver.

“Oh darling boy. Let’s get you warmed up,” Muvver said gently, reaching for the little black and white striped ‘nightshirt’ that often extended to daywear too. By the time she had turned to face him, he was waiting with his paw out ready to help her slip it over his head. Ziggy Moonbeam knew what came next.

“He’s such a clever boy!” chanted Muvver and Farver. “We will find a way to make him enjoy the kibble, and we’ll just have to find a way to make some more money too,” they said with determination, their hands colliding in mid-air as they simultaneously reached out for the jar labelled “GOOD BOY TREATS”.

Some would say that what came next was perhaps a rather unfortunate case of divine intervention. Others, a mere coincidence. Either way, the leaflet that they found pushed beneath the front gate later that morning offered a strange solution to their problem.

“It is about time he started earning his own keep,” Farver said. 

“He’s just so young…” deliberated Muvver, biting her lip anxiously.

“Darling, we all had to start somewhere. This will help build his character, bring him out of his shell a little. He’s far too timid for his own good. I saw him jump at his own shadow just the other day!”

As they wandered away still talking, Ziggy gazed up at the table where he knew the leaflet lay. Leaping onto a chair with the sleek prowess of a cat, he saw the piece of paper. 

BADGERING. SMALL DOGS REQUIRED. GOOD PAY.

🦡

Two days later, the rumble of a car was heard in the distance.

“Ziggy, come down here little lad,” Farver shouted from downstairs.

The little lad let out a grumble. Didn’t Farver realise it was Sunday? Sundays were all about resting. After he had finished his breakfast, taking great care to avoid the nasty little dry bits (why couldn’t he just have big chunks of meat in jelly like the other dogs had?), he had nestled up with Muvver for their morning snuggles. 

“Aren’t you just the handsomest, cutest, darlingest little dog in the world,” she had said, her soppy gaze falling on him from behind those strange things that rested on her nose and made her eyes go a bit small. He always wondered what it would be like to chew them. He’d tried once when she had fallen asleep with them in her hand, but had stopped when he heard Farver’s feet on the stairs.

Ziggy had rolled his eyes at her Sunday morning coos when she looked away. He only enjoyed their morning snuggles because he did feel the cold rather terribly, but he knew it would be wrong to nip her, so he just let out the odd grumble every minute or so.

When he had warmed up and Muvver was pottering about preparing some homemade treats for him and Farver was busy at the kitchen sink washing his porcelain bowls, Ziggy Moonbeam quietly slunk off up the stairs and hopped up on the bed to embark on his first nap of the day, and that was where he’d been, dreaming of chickens wobbling in green jelly cubes when Farver’s shout had echoed up the stairs.

He leapt from the forbidden “we don’t want your bottom where we sleep Mr. Moonbeam!” pillow to the floor and did a long stretch. First his front legs, before leisurely arching his back like he’d seen the neighbourhood cat doing on a wall, before finally stretching out his entire body and delicately pointing each toe behind him.

“ZIGGY! COME HERE!” yelled Farver again, making the little dog jump.

“Ziggy darling. You’re going on an adventure,” Muvver said as he loped down the stairs to the kitchen. She was speaking in her high-pitched voice the one that she thought he loved. “You are going to help find some….” drumroll, the little glass-covered eyes widening in false excitement…  “BADGERS!!”

🦡

As Farver checked his collar was on properly, Ziggy pondered what these things called  badgers actually were and eavesdropped into Muvver’s conversation with the man who stood at the door. 

“You’re absolutely sure he’ll be safe?” Muvver asked, wringing her hands together awkwardly.

“Yes love,” the man laughed. “It’s simple as this. We take yer lickle dog and walk ‘im round the forest. When we see signs of a badger sett, we get ‘im to put his face in. The badgers’ll be far far down, nowhere near ‘im at all,  but they’ll know he’s there and they’ll scarper out the other side, just where we want ’em. He’ll be on a lead all the time. So basically, we’re paying you to have the privilege of walkin your fine lickle dog for yer.”

“And could you please explain again exactly why you want the badgers out of their setts?” questioned Muvver.

“Unfortunately there’s a motorway being put through the land,” the man explained, giving Muvver a wry smile as he shook his head slowly from side to side. “But luckily fer the badgers, we’re here to make sure they have time to escape first, otherwise the poor lickle mites would be turned to mulch when the diggers come in. So think of it like this love. Your lickle hound ‘ere, he’s going to be a hero.”

“Leave his nightshirt on,” Muvver suddenly announced to Farver as she saw him starting to remove it. “If our little lad is to be a hero embarking on such an adventure, then he is going to need to be warm.”

And so, after kisses from Muvver and a “I’m proud of you young man” from Farver, the little black and white striped form of Ziggy Moonbeam trotted off to help save the badgers.

Very gullible were Muvver and Farver, and as he allowed himself to be lifted into the back of the pick-up truck with such ease, it would seem their furry son had inherited their trait.

🦡

Ziggy knew something wasn’t right when the truck bumped into the forest and he was lifted onto the muddy floor, where a pair of big rough hands unclipped the lead from his collar.

“He’ll be on a lead all the time,” were the words spoken in the kitchen, that now echoed through the little dog’s mind.

But then a small piece of something furry with a terrific scent of adventure to it was thrust beneath his nose, followed by half a picnic sausage and just like that the world was suddenly beautiful again. Feeling the wind blowing his velvety ears back and with his nose twitching in delight, Ziggy’s little legs moved at the speed of light as he kept pace with the tall men wandering deeper into the forest.

Every so often, the furry patch would be wafted under his nose and another small piece of picnic sausage would be presented. You see, Ziggy Moonbeam had many weaknesses, with picnic sausage rolls sitting very comfortably towards the top of the list.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Ziggy halted for a brief second, his snout pointing into the air like a beacon and his nose twitching ferociously as he came to the realisation that he could smell it, that intoxicating scent of adventure. It was the scent of that black and white fur from before, and his mouth salivated at the thought of the sausage that would follow. But after setting off in a boisterous run, he soon stopped abruptly, skidding in the mud as he arrived in front of a dark hole.

“Go on then lad, in yer go,” the taller man said, smiling as he held up the anticipated sausage and broke off a tiny bit, offering it to the dog. “You can have the rest when you get out. Now get in there and chase them badgers out.”

Then, pushing him with his boot, the tall man sent the little dog into the dark hole.

🦡

When the moon began to light up the sky that night, Muvver’s foot started tapping nervously on the floor. 

“I’m sure it shouldn’t be taking this long,” she said for the umpteenth time to Farver, whose nose she couldn’t help but notice was twitching from side to side. If Farver’s nose was twitching, that meant something in their world was off kilter.

“Let me try and call them again,” he said in a voice that was overly reassuring. Pacing the kitchen, Farver gazed from the window at the gathering clouds and the birds returning to their nests, and he listened once more to the three abrupt beeps at the end of the line.

As lightning streaked the distant sky and the patter of rain began to tap on the kitchen window, Muvver and Farver looked at one another with growing panic in their eyes.

 🦡

Ziggy’s eyes had become accustomed to the dark by now, not that it did him much good. If anything, it just made things even worse. After just a few steps he would find more tunnels, each one branching off in a different direction.

But each time he tried to turn back, the little dog would be faced with the crushing realisation that the tunnel simply wasn’t large enough to turn around in. And by now, he’d taken so many different turns, he had no idea which way was back.

Far above him he could hear the rumbling sky. “Thunder!!” he heard Muvver saying in his head, in that bright voice that seemed so far away now. “Thunder Ziggy!! Isn’t it exciting? Shall we have treats?!”

Oh, a treat. What he would give for a treat right now. Or a picnic sausage. He thought longingly of that sausage the tall man had held out for him before pushing him into the tunnel. The thought made his tummy growl, a sound that made the little dog jump in the darkness of the tunnel.

There was something about the push that had sent him underground in the first place that he just couldn’t shake. Not only was his leg sore from the ferocity of it… but he couldn’t forget the laughter he had heard as he scuttled forward.

It wasn’t the warm laughter that he usually heard when people spent time with him. Instead there had been something hard to it, something cruel.

“That’ll flush the bleeders out,” the man had said when he saw the black tail disappear.  “Dog’s like a lickle rat and only cost us one sausage! Don’t forget to turn yer phone off Bob. I think mummy and daddy will be on the ringer to you soon enquiring about their lickle baby.”

Back in the ominous depths of the badger sett, it would be a small tree root that proved the undoing of Ziggy Moonbeam.
🦡

Landing face-down in the darkness after he tripped, the little dog froze in terror as he felt something brush against his face. Mustering all his courage – which was something he had never had an abundance of to begin with – he opened his mouth and bit down hard. Ziggy was shocked when the subsequent yelp came from his own mouth and he realised he had attacked his own foot.

Curling up in a ball, he made himself as small as he possibly could. Tucking his nose into his black and white nightshirt, the little dog sniffed the strong perfumed smell of the laundry powder of home. He hated it when Muvver took his nightshirt and bedding to wash. She always took the best smells away, but suddenly the familiar scent filled him with a feeling of painful longing.

Ziggy Moonbeam was frightened, and he was homesick.

🦡

“Humans don’t make noises like that, stupid,” a voice hissed through the darkness.

“Oh and how do you know Miss La-di-da? Go out to tea parties with the humans do you?” a voice retorted back. Ziggy opened one eye and heard a noise come from him again. It was the sound he made when he just couldn’t help it, and his thoughts returned to home once more.

But his wandering memories came to an abrupt halt when he smelt a smell in front of him. He quickly realised that it was the smell. The adventure smell from earlier.

“I should bite the smell,” Ziggy decided in a rare moment of frenzied boldness and, breathing in the scent, he tried to muster the courage he had summoned so readily when it came to attacking his own leg.

“Oh, it’s alright Betty!” a voice cried as he gingerly began to open his mouth. “Look, he’s one of ours!”

Ziggy was left a little flummoxed at the bold statement and before he knew how to respond, he felt himself pushed to his feet and being hurried through the dark tunnel, the two voices chattering away to him, and that glorious smell fillling his nostrils.

“We’ve got to hurry you see,” the shrill voice of the mysterious Betty nattered on through the semi-darkness. “They’ve been out again, the poachers. Thought we’d come running out the other side into their trap… as if!!” and she broke into giggles. “Best to lie low for another day Pa says, and then leave through the new tunnel and move into the safer sett. Ma says no child of hers is going to be made into a human’s coat. It’s not our fault they’re not strong enough to grow their own.”

After running for some time, Ziggy came to an abrupt halt when he suddenly found himself thrust into a large cavern that flickered with light.

“Watch out!” the voice of Betty screeched before she pushed past him, her brother following.

After hours in darkness, it took a few moments for the little dog’s eyes to adjust to the light. When they did, the scene that greeted him made his jaw drop a little. What must have been about twenty creatures stared back at him, their faces shadows in the candlelit expanse of darkness.

It was the smell that struck Ziggy first, that smell again. The one that hours ago – or was it days ago, he wondered – had meant a picnic sausage would come next. The smell was so strong it almost knocked him over.

Then he noticed their eyes. They all had little eyes just like Muvver’s from behind the windows she wore on her face. Then, as his gaze left their faces, he gasped at what he saw next.

They were all wearing the same nightshirt as him.

🦡

“Look at the stripes children! LOOK AT THE STRIPES YOU FOOLS,” boomed the voice.

“You told us to hurry Pa and look out for any stragglers” squeaked Betty from the corner, where she had been ushered by the large, robust form of the creature who appeared to be the patriarch of the underground cavern.

“He is not a straggler Elizabeth,” came the boom again. “He is a WOLF. A WOLF I tell you!”

“But he has stripes Pa! Look at him,” and Betty broke free of her father’s grasp and hurried to the corner where Ziggy Moonbeam sat rigidly, afraid to move, lest another yelp of fear shoot forth from his mouth.

As Betty ran to her new friend, dozens of small eyes glinted in the darkness.

“Come and show Pa you’re one of us!” Betty said in exasperation, grabbing at Ziggy’s front leg, prompting him to stand up. As the little dog nervously stumbled forward, he felt the sharp scratch of a protruding tree root stab at his side as he slowly set off on the journey to the other side of the vast cavern.

But this time, instead of hearing an involuntary yelp, Ziggy was struck by another sound altogether. His pride at his sudden dose of courage was short-lived as he felt a chill run over his small body.

With each step forward that he took with Betty, the tearing sound followed and when Ziggy finally turned, he saw his black and white striped nightshirt hanging from the branch, dirty and torn.

At that moment, the gasps turned to shrieks of terror.

“WOLF!! WOLF!! IT’S A WOLF!!”

As he turned to Betty, the only soul to have offered him any sort of kindness since Muvver and Farver, he saw her own eyes were glinting with fear.

“You… you t-t-tricked me. Us. You tricked us!” she said in a trembling voice.

Ziggy had no idea what would come next. He knew he wasn’t a wolf and he also knew he couldn’t get out of the tunnels alone, so instead he curled up into the smallest ball he could, closed his eyes tightly and shivered while chaos broke around him, and despite his fear, the little dog was soon overtaken by exhaustion, falling into a deep slumber.

🦡

As the day’s events entered his dreams, Ziggy Moonbeam let out involuntary yelps, his feet frantically scratching at the air, but taking him nowhere. To the assembled badgers, busy working out the best way to dispose of a wolf in their midst, this strange scene came as something of a shock.

“Robert…” came a calm voice through the darkness. “I don’t think he’s really going to harm us. There’s little about him that is particularly ferocious… other than his teeth. Certainly, they do look a little bit sharp,” the head badger’s wife said, cautiously lifting up one jowl of the sleeping wolf. “But really, they’re no match for our combined claws.”

“But he tricked us Bernadette! There is a saying in the human world: ‘A wolf in sheep’s clothing’. Well, here we are with a wolf in badger’s clothing in our midst. You’re right, he is little match for us, but he is still a WOLF. Now all, the wolf is just one of our many problems. We have a sett to build. Split into groups. We have busy nights ahead of us if we are to make the move.”

In the hours that followed groups of badgers took it in turns to guard the small dog who drifted from dream to reality and back again. Everytime he woke or dared to open his eyes, he would see several pairs of small glinting ones staring back at him from a startlingly close proximity. 

He slept fitfully, dreaming dreams of porcelain bowls overflowing with picnic sausages and endless tunnels where he could see Muvver’s ankles at the end.

🦡

Far above ground and ten miles to the east, as lightning flashed across the darkening sky, the solitary figure of Farver could be seen.

With a stack of paper in one hand, he methodically went from lamppost to gate, attaching the posters to any surface that a nail could be hammered into. A drip of water clung to the tip of his nose, but whether it was rain or tears remained a mystery.

By the time the residents of Bogdon were brewing their coffee the next morning, Muvver’s sleuth-work had revealed the unsettling truth about the two men who had driven away with their precious dog the day before. They were poachers and Ziggy Moonbeam was nothing more than a disposable pawn in their bloodthirsty quest for badger fur.

🦡

As the new day started underground, it passed slowly for Ziggy Moonbeam. By now wide awake, he watched the badgers as they returned to sleep for the day. It was cold in the sett and he was both hungry and thirsty. In their fear of him, his unwelcoming hosts seemed to have forgotten his needs, and for a dog who was so pampered above ground, this came as something of a shock.

What he would do for a bowl of kibble right now. He wondered what Muvver and Farver were doing, if they missed him. He wondered what food they were eating and what they would be talking about without him around.

As the hours passed, Ziggy heard murmurs among the striped animals, who continued to take it in turns to watch him closely. Not a moment passed when he wasn’t being observed. As he listened to the badgers bustling about, he wondered where Betty had gone. He hadn’t seen her for a long time, At least with her by his side, he had felt safe. 

He had given up trying to listen to the murmurs by now and any thoughts of escape had been forgotten long ago. The little dog knew he would never be able to find his way back through the tunnels, and even if he did, he was terribly afraid that the men would be there waiting to kick him straight back down.

As night began to fall, engulfing the forest above in darkness, the sett began to fill with chatter.

     🦡

The sound of the hammer had woken the owl the evening before. It was that tap. An incessant tap that echoed down the road. Finally, she had swivelled her head from the tree branch on which she perched to see what was going on, and spotted the man. There was a sadness to his stoop that turned her irritation to curiosity and she watched as he walked from lamp-post to gate to tree, the rain soaking into his clothes and he unflinching as the thunder roared above, growing ever closer. But she knew she must return to sleep while the setting sun was still hovering the sky above. Her nights were busy and her vision needed to be sharp, so she had swivelled her head to its resting position and closed her eyes. When she woke, the sky was fully dark and she could hear the forests for miles around coming to life. Her stomach rumbled at the anticipation of the delectable supper that lay scampering around on the forest floor.

As she glided home hours later, the owl remembered the scene from the evening before and, inquisitively, she swooped past the lamp-post. A small black and tan face gazed back at her. A lost dog, she thought, rolling her eyes and flew on towards her home.

But that face followed her. With each tree and post, she felt his brown eyes boring into her, and finally, huffing, she slowed down and perched on a branch to have a closer look.

—– MISSING DOG —–

ZIGGY MOONBEAM

STOLEN BY THE BADGERERS

REWARD OFFERED

The Badgerers. The owl sighed. She had seen those men at work in the forests enough times before to know they were up to no good, and now they had stooped to a new low.

Weary from a night of hunting, and sighing at the inconvenience of it all, the owl changed direction and headed east. She had heard rumblings of discontent from the badger sett last night, but had laughed off the stories of the “wolf”.

The badgers weren’t the brightest forest-dwellers after all.

🦡 

“How could you be so foolish Robert?” came the shriek and Ziggy watched in fear as Betty’s mother Bernadette hurried towards him. Betty suddenly appeared in the sett, her striped face joyful.

“How was I to know dear?,” shrieked back the sett’s patriarch. “How were any of us to know? He looked to be a WOLF! A wolf masquerading as a badger. A HUNGRY wolf masquerading as a badger at that!”

“Maybe hundreds of years ago, the owl said. It is NOT hundreds of years ago anymore Robert.”

And then, to Ziggy’s shock, Bernadette marched over and patted him. “We have a plan to get you home… dog, but first I imagine you must be very hungry.”

Ziggy’s stomach answered her question.

After some frantic scurrying, Ziggy was beckoned to the center of the cavern and shown his dinner. There in front of him lay a pile of worms, still wriggling, and a pile of berries. Muvver would be horrified, he thought. “Ziggy cannot eat…” and he tried to remember the list she would deliver to anyone who met him. Avoiding the berries, which the badgers seemed not to mind, he gazed at the earthworms and looked up to see dozens of small pairs of eyes gazing at him with expectation.

As he swallowed his first wriggling worm, he promised himself he would never spit his kibble out again.

When the ordeal of dinner had ended, Ziggy received the news that he would be going home when night fell. For the coming hours he dozed, his own dreamtime yelps interspersed with a cacophony of badger snores. Despite it being established that he wasn’t a wolf after all, he remained under guard, only this time the previously fearful gazes of the striped, small-eyed creatures were replaced with curiosity.

🦡

When the call finally came, a distant hoot followed by the pitter patter of clawed feet, Robert appeared before the little dog.

“Ahem, sorry about the confusion old boy. Anyway, no harm done. Safe travels and all that,” he mumbled awkwardly. “Oh yes,” he added hastily, “My wife has had to hurry off to sort a problem with the new sett, but she asked me to give you this and wish you well”. Ziggy gazed at the long earthworm and gingerly took a bite.

Then his journey began, with a procession of badgers flawlessly guiding the little dog through the maze of tunnels. When branches stuck out, they carefully pulled them aside for him. Betty had finally reappeared and she walked before him, chattering away.

“I’m terribly sorry for the misunderstanding dog. Of course, I knew that there was nothing fierce about you… I’m only sorry that I didn’t know more about wolves. Father asked me to explain to you what happens now. I think he’s frightfully embarrassed about the mix-up if I’m honest. So, there’s an owl who will take you back to your own sett. It was she who told us you weren’t a wolf you see. Oh and she said to tell you that you aren’t to be afraid, she heard from the foxes that the badgerers have been caught.” But Betty’s chatter came to a disappointed end when the tunnel suddenly opened and Ziggy found himself standing in the night air. “Oh, well… we’re here, so I suppose that means it’s time to say goodbye.”

“So… goodbye dog,” Betty concluded, her words kind and warm and her small eyes glinting with tears. Then she turned and followed the rest of the badgers back into their sett where preparations were underway for the night’s activities.

As Ziggy Moonbeam breathed in the crisp night air and tried to process everything, a shout suddenly echoed from the sett.

“Hey, I never did get to know! Why were you dressed like us?!”

Then scuffles. “Betty, that’s enough. Leave the poor dog alone.

🦡

When the “Twit—Twoooo” came moments later, Ziggy tried not to jump in fear. If truth be told, he was as scared now as he was when he’d been trapped with the badgers.

He had encountered these creatures before and the memory was still clear in his mind. It had been a cold, dark night several months previously when he had first heard that call. It had happened when Farver had taken him outside to do his bedtime toilet and the sheer fright of it had made him jump, spraying his toilet on Farver’s slippers.

“It’s just an owl Ziggy,” Farver had said irritably as he looked at the drips on his best – in fact, his only – pair of slippers and wondered if they would smell. “Owls are wise creatures little lad. They are nothing to be afraid of,” he had gently added.

Now, above him, in the dark forest, the owl let out her hoot again and Ziggy did a little fearful squirt of wee on the floor. It was cold, it was dark and all he’d eaten in nearly two days was a sausage roll filled with lies and a pile of dusty earthworms.

But there was no other choice. If he wanted to get home, he needed to be brave.

The owl swivelled her head and stared at him, then swooped from the tree and began to fly, leaving the little dog with no other option than to start running behind her.

🦡

Through the forest he runs, the owl gliding above, her stomach rumbling as the screeches and squeaks of the forest sound all around and the mice dart across the forest floor. For now they are reprieved, but the owl will return. Below her, wet leaves stick to the feet of the small dog and branches scratch at his little body, but still he runs. No he doesn’t run, she observes, but instead he gallops, like a tiny black racehorse.

After a time she slows and gives the little creature time to drink from the stream. When he goes to lay on the floor with exhaustion, she lets out another hoot, watching with bemusement his grubby little body leap in fright. Is she really so frightening, she wonders with curiosity.

Then they continue on their journey, the hours passing as the pair become one with the forest, guided by the gentle moonlight.

Then finally something truly magical begins to unfold as Ziggy begins to realise that he can see a little more clearly and his nose begins to twitch with excitement. The smells. He knows that tree! And that one! And that stone! Oh, the post, not just a post but the post, the very best post in the lane! The smells rush by his fluttering nose as he runs, his heart filling with joy.

He looks up to smile at the owl, to show her his fear has finally disappeared, that he is brave! He is finally brave, but he suddenly understands with disappointment that it is she who has disappeared. Ziggy Moonbeam realises he is alone.

Alone, but no longer lost.

There in front of him, is the gate to his home, or as Betty called it, his sett. As he walks across the broken cobblestone that his little paws know by heart, he stops to smell the gate and does the best toilet he’s ever done, one that he knows every single dog will stop and smell, and think “oh my, what a big, brave dog to have been on such an adventure and been mistaken for a wolf no less!”. 

As his back leg touches the ground, he hears her in the distance. “Twit Twooo,” she calls, before whispering to the wind as she swoops westwards, hoping to capture at least a small dinner for herself before she retires for the night.

“You are home now Ziggy Moonbeam, and you were brave. Braver than all the wolves I have known”.

🦡

The sound of the tiny footsteps on the path wasn’t enough to wake Muvver, whose head lay on the kitchen table, her face tear-stained and her glasses smeared. In the living room, Farver was stretched out on the settee in an equally deep but restless slumber. By his feet lay a spilled box of nails and in his hand a new stack of posters, the ink smudged.

Both had fought sleep so hard, but after two nights it had crept up on them, forcing them to rest their weary minds.

Outside, the sun was just breaking through the darkness, smearing the sky with streaks of purple. A cockerel was singing his morning song, the one that he sang all night long. Ziggy knew the cockerel wasn’t to be trusted when it came to timekeeping, but the smell of the dew-filled morning air and the waking flowers told him that for that moment at leaast, he was correct. It was dawn.

But as the little dog finally reached the front door, he found himself struck by a sight that made him gasp.

It was wide open.

Now, Farver never left the door open. Farver was the sort of man who would get up just as he had settled in bed for the night, swing his legs to the ground, pushing his feet into his slippers and go downstairs “just to check” he had closed everything and turned the gas off.

Ziggy hesitated as he reached the door. What if they’ve taken Muvver and Farver too, he suddenly wondered. But he’d come this far, so, mustering his newly-found courage, he bravely crossed the threshold, and his heart skipped for joy when he saw Muvver sleeping at the table.

Hearing a low snore from the next room, he tiptoed forth and saw the shape of Farver spread out on the settee.

Doors left wide open, sleeping downstairs, the smear of Muvver’s greasy eye pieces glinting on the table top! It suddenly struck Ziggy that without him at home, his parents had… well, it sounded cruel, but they really had let themselves go. He decided on the spot that he would have to make sure they never sent him away again.

Then, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, the little dog wandered happily to his rug and flopped to the ground to rest until Muvver and Farver woke up.

🦡

“ZIGGY?! Oh goodness, I’m dreaming. It has to be a dream. I mustn’t wake up. Must. Not. Wake. Up,” came the shrill voice of Muvver.

Ziggy opened one eye and grumbled. The long grumble was followed by a shiver. They still hadn’t shut the door.

Then all at once, they were upon him and he felt himself swept up into their arms.

There were many tears, and many smiles, and even more sorrys. They never should have sent him, they said. They had no idea, no idea whatsoever that those men were such brutes, they said. They were simply “AWFUL PARENTS”, wailed Muvver. Then he was carried upstairs and given a bath, Muvver carefully rubbing all the dirt from his tired body and drying him with her hairdryer. For once, he was too tired to even grumble.

Downstairs Farver waited with a bowl of kibble, and his parents watched with shock as the little black dog hurried over and ate every last piece. It was then Ziggy Moonbeam realised just how exhausted he was. It felt like he had spent the entire night running, which he supposed he really had. Fancy that, he thought, his small chest puffing with pride, an entire night outside, in the company of an owl.

“Ziggy darling,” came that shrill voice again. “Let’s put a nice clean nightshirt on you. Your other one must have got lost”.  “I dread to think what happened to it,” she continued, her voice becoming softer and her face crumpling with sadness.

“He’s home now,” Farver said, touching her shoulder. “And he’s safe”.

But when Ziggy saw the striped nightshirt, his mind was suddenly filled with memories. The kick, the lies, the tunnels. The sound of it ripping and those venomous cries of “WOLF, WOLF!”

As Muvver crouched down with the nightshirt in her hand, Ziggy suddenly reared up on his two back legs like a small stallion and with his jaws, snatched the black and white clothing from her hands with a ferocity that startled all three of them. With the nightshirt in his mouth he turned abruptly and ran, pushing past Muvver’s legs and knocking her to the floor.

Running through the open kitchen door, he ran to the end of the garden and began to dig. It had been a long time since Ziggy had dug. He had forgotten the feeling of the cold mud squelching beneath his paws. The last time he had dug like this, Farver had called him into the house, but this time there was just the sound of his paws, moving faster than lightning, and the pant of his mouth.

“Just leave him be,” he finally heard Farver say in the distance. “There must be a reason to it.”

And there was. When the hole was big enough, Ziggy turned around, picked up the nightshirt with his mouth and dropped it into the muddy hole. Then he turned around and started kicking the mud frantically, covering the black and white striped monstrosity with a frenzied look in his eye.

When his task was complete, the little black dog walked back up the path and ran straight to Muvver, licking her face as she bent down towards him. When she put her arms out, he leapt up and let her carry him back upstairs and wash the mud from him.

Two baths, one buried nightshirt and another bowl of kibble later, Ziggy Moonbeam was finally able to settle. Curling up on the sofa, he fell into the deepest, gentlest sleep he had had for a long time.

🦡

“Well hello young man,” said Farver several hours later. “You’ve had quite the sleep.”

Ziggy stood up and did a long stretch, the familiar smell of home filling his nose. It was good to be back.

“Muvver went out and got you a special treat while you were sleeping. For one night only Ziggy Moonbeam, you will eat like a true king.”

And with that, Muvver came in with a big smile on her face, her little eyes shining with happiness behind her glasses, which, Ziggy was pleased to see, had now been cleaned.

Sitting down on the sofa, she held out the bowl to Ziggy Moonbeam. It wasn’t kibble.

It was a bowl full of picnic sausages.

“Anyone would think it was a bowl of worms from his reaction!” Muvver exclaimed in bemusement when he hastily leapt to the floor and ran to hide behind the sofa.

🦡

When night fell that evening, Ziggy was finally warm. Muvver had dug out a bright jumper for him to wear that his grandmuvver had knitted him for Christmas and he had eaten two more bowls of kibble, savouring each and every crunch. The bowl of picnic sausages lay covered with clingfilm in the fridge.

“Right then young man, it’s time for bed,” Farver announced. “But first, it’s time for one final toilet.”

The little dog grumbled as he jumped from the sofa, but obediently followed outside. As he crouched on the wet grass, he heard a small scuffle beneath the rose bush. Glancing up, he saw the glint of two small eyes upon him.

“I’m glad you got home safe dog,” came the small whisper of Betty. “See you around,” she said over her shoulder as her black and white form disappeared into the darkness.

With his toilet complete, Ziggy walked back indoors and dashed up the stairs while Farver locked the door. In bed, the three of them lay beneath the cover, Ziggy in the middle, with Muvver and Farver both laying rigidly on either side of him, with their feet touching and the knowledge that they were both mere centimetres from falling onto the floor.

“He did his toilet,” Farver loudly whispered across the little dog’s head. “It was most odd though. There was a badger hiding in the bushes. It was all fine… it just seemed, rather… intense”.

That night Ziggy slept beneath the duvet, his small, warm body curled in a tight ball and the slow, steady breathing of Muvver and Farver on either side of him. And in that final moment before his descent into sleep he heard a sound in the distance, echoing through the windowpane.

“TWIT TWOOOO. Sweet dreams little Wolf”.