Free Bone Idle by Suzette Hill Page A

of chocolate cake – which F. O. never allows me. She said I was the sweetest little fellow she had ever seen! Maurice said it all made him feel rather sick.
    In between the noshes I went and played with O’Shaughnessy in the graveyard and beat him twice in our race round the tombstones! Maurice said that the setter was just holding back to let me win, but I know different. Bouncer knows a thing or two when it comes to crafty obstacle races! After that we paid a visit to the organist’s aunt – the one whose Yorkie was murdered by the bulldog belonging to the vicar’s friend, Mrs Tubbly Pole. I told O’Shaughnessy that if we were to get into the garden without the old girl seeing us he would have to be very quiet and tread carefully. He said he would be as quiet as a Celtic fairy. Like hell he was! Great paws crashing everywhere, and all the time laughing his head off fit to bust! Don’t know how Tapsell’s aunt didn’t hear us – deaf, I suppose. Anyway, we had a good time doing her dustbins over, and then had a bit of digging practice outside the drawing-room window. The earth is quite soft there and we were able to make some really big holes. There were lots of those bulb things all strewn about and O’Shaughnessy tried to eat some, but he made awful faces and spat them out, and then rolled about waving his legs in the air making gagging noises and pretending to have tummy-ache. It was good fun – but it was even more fun when the aunt’s cat appeared. That really stretched our legs and lungs! We were just on our second lap round the garden when I saw the owner at the window, purple in the face and shaking her fist. Suppose she thought her pet was about to go the same way as the Yorkshire! Anyway, we ditched the cat and got out smartish.
    On the way back I asked O’Shaughnessy if he would like to come home for tea and have some chocolate cake (assuming Maurice hadn’t hidden it in his litter); but he said that he thought it was nearly time for his mistress to come back from the hairdresser’s all permed up, and that he must go to his usual post at the front gate and put on a forlorn face ready for her return. I asked why the face. He said this always makes her feel guilty for leaving him so long, and he would be much petted and given titbits for the rest of the evening. I thought of trying that with the vicar, but knowing him he would probably walk straight past me and never notice a thing!
    Still, it was just as well that O’Shaughnessy didn’t come back, because as I began trotting up the front path who do you think was coming down it? The rozzers: the fat one and the weedy one!
    ‘That’s his dog,’ said the fat one – March, I think his name is. ‘Hello, Bouncer old boy! Where’s your master then?’ (Damn fool question. Did he really think I was going to say anything?) ‘Gone off and left you, has he? Eh?’ He patted my head and I gave him one of my soppy looks.
    ‘Nice little chap, this one,’ he said, turning to his mate.
    ‘No he’s not!’ the weedy one snapped. ‘Don’t you remember when we were here interviewing Oughterard last year? Him and that cat, like fiends from hell they were! Nasty beggars, the pair of them.’ And he glared. I was going to glare back but then thought it better if I stayed looking soppy.
    ‘Come off it, Sidney,’ said the fat one laughing, ‘they were only having a game.’
    ‘Having a game? That’s not what you said at the time, sir. What you said was –’
    ‘Yes, yes, all right, Sidney, no need to be so literal … besides, we’re not here to discuss his domestic pets. What we want to know is when’s he coming back so as we can have another go at him. That’s what we’ve got to consider.’
    ‘Well, you won’t get it from the dog, that’s for certain!’ And he gave me another sour look.
    They went babbling on, but I was feeling sleepy after playing with O’Shaughnessy and it was quite a strain keeping my ears cocked, so I didn’t catch