Mr Dog hadn’t been asleep for long before a loud and heavy clattering from outside disturbed him. Too tired to investigate this time, he curled up tighter in his basket and went on huffling and puffling.
Later, but still quite early in the morning, Mr Dog was woken again by angry voices outside. Minnah had heard them too, and now went out in her dressing gown to investigate. She left the door ajar, so an inquisitive Mr Dog slipped out after her.
A small crowd of neighbours had gathered on the pavement outside the house next door, and none of them looked happy. Mr Dog realised what must have caused the clatter. A food-waste bin, left out for collection on the driveway, had been thrown on its side and dragged all about, its lid forced open and the messy contents scattered over the front garden, the pavement and the road.
‘Fox!’ said a bald man with a red face. ‘It has to be a fox that did this to my bin.’
An old lady nodded. ‘I’ve seen one about. The filthy thing’s dug holes in my garden.’
‘And I heard a tortoise went missing just round the corner,’ said a younger woman. ‘That’s got to be a fox.’
‘They’re known for it,’ Minnah agreed. ‘We found the poor thing, but it’s been hurt, and had to go to the vet…’
Mr Dog sniffed the air for traces of Ferdy’s scent. He knew foxes were frequent scent-markers, and sure enough he caught a faint whiff. There was a much stronger smell of leftover lasagne on the pavement, but he supposed that now was not the time to start cleaning up the mess in his own special way.
‘I’ve got rabbits in my back garden,’ the bald man said. ‘If I catch a fox bothering them, the law says I’m allowed to shoot it!’
Minnah looked shocked. ‘You can’t! It’s only obeying its nature. Wherever there are people, there will be foxes. Just like there will always be rats and gulls and pigeons.’
‘But foxes are bigger,’ the old lady said. ‘They can bite. They’re dangerous!’
The other neighbours nodded and muttered.
‘If you see it again, call me,’ said the bald man. ‘I’ll come right round to deal with it!’
Minnah shook her head sadly. She started to pick up the rubbish and put it back in the bin. The younger woman gave her a hand. Mr Dog picked up some lasagne – just to help out.
I hope that Ferdy stops causing trouble around here, thought Mr Dog. If he doesn’t, I don’t like to think what might happen!
Later that day, Mr Dog was delighted when Crawly was brought back to Minnah’s house. The vet had set the tortoise’s little leg in a splint and an impressive white bandage was wrapped round his shell to help hold the splint in place. The other leg had been patched up, and Crawly was able to hobble across the kitchen floor at quite a speed.
‘Crawly!’ said Shelly. ‘You’re back.’
‘What about my back?’ joked Crawly. ‘It’s my leg you should be asking after!’
The two tortoises spent a full minute in silent laughter.
‘You’re a very brave tortoise, Crawly,’ said Mr Dog. ‘Do you remember what happened to you?’
Crawly shifted uncomfortably. ‘Something grabbed me, and lifted me into the air. It was moving so fast! The next thing I remember, it was dark and I was looking up at a fox. It picked me up and threw me!’
‘A fox!’ Shelly nodded her scaly head. ‘I knew it.’
‘That fox said that he didn’t steal you,’ said Mr Dog thoughtfully. ‘He only found you in a garden.’
‘He must be a fibbing fox!’ said Crawly.
‘Perhaps,’ said Mr Dog, ‘but you were gone for a long time, Crawly. Why didn’t the fox get bored and eat you up?’
‘Eeek!’ Crawly pulled his head back into his shell and stayed there.
Shelly thought hard. ‘If the fox didn’t take Crawly, then who did?’
‘I haven’t the Mr Foggiest!’ said Mr Dog. ‘Ferdy didn’t strike me as an aggressive fox. He seemed very friendly indeed. And if there is a mean animal doing things round here, I don’t want the neighbours blaming an innocent fox and hurting him.’
‘So what will you do?’ asked Shelly.
‘Find him and tell him to stay far away,’ Mr Dog decided. ‘That way he can be safe.’
‘But what about you?’ said Shelly. ‘If you’re out at night alone with a mean animal on the loose… you won’t be safe at all!’
Mr Dog rested his paw all day. He ate a hearty meal of kibble that evening, and scraps from Minnah’s plate too. He knew he would need all his energy for a night on the trail of Ferdy the fox!
Once Minnah had gone to bed, Mr Dog squeezed out through the catflap again and into the night. His nose twitched. He couldn’t smell Ferdy nearby. He couldn’t smell any other foxes either.
I’ll go back to the place where I met him last night and try to pick up the trail from there, thought Mr Dog.
The garden was still covered in holes. Mr Dog sniffed again: Ferdy’s scent was getting stronger. ‘The nose knows!’ he chuckled, and carried along the street, turning his head this way and that. Yes, he had the scent now for sure! He quickened his step and turned into a driveway that ran down the side of a house. He followed it through a gate that stood ajar and into an overgrown back garden.
And then he stopped.
The back door to the house stood open. There were lights on inside. Through the lounge window, he saw a man sitting on the sofa watching television.
Mr Dog looked around the garden and sniffed again. Where had Ferdy gone?
Suddenly, he heard an almighty shriek from upstairs. ‘Oh, NO!’ a young boy yelled. ‘There’s a fox up here!’
Mr Dog’s ears flew up. ‘So that’s where Ferdy is,’ he breathed. ‘That crazy fox has gone inside the house!’