Free Puppy Fat by Morris Gleitzman Page B

shivering.
    Keith and Tracy lay on the kitchen floor watching the dog lick milk off its paws and face.
    â€˜Amazing,’ said Keith. ‘I couldn’t go nine hours without food, let alone nine days.’
    â€˜Wolves can go ages without food,’ said Tracy, ‘and all dogs are descended from wolves. Except Buster, he’s descended from a garbage disposal unit.’
    The dog was looking at Keith again with its sad eyes.
    â€˜Shouldn’t we give it some solids?’ said Keith.
    â€˜Not too much at first,’ said Tracy, ‘or it’ll get gut-ache. Try it with a bit of sugar cane.’
    Keith got the sugar cane out of the fridge and sawed a piece off with the bread knife and put it on the floor in front of the dog.
    The dog sniffed it, chewed it half-heartedly, then went to sleep.
    â€˜Buster does the same thing with cane toads,’ said Tracy.
    Keith lifted the dog onto his jacket and watched its ribs rise and fall under its straggly black and grey fur.
    â€˜Poor thing,’ said Keith. ‘Do you think it knows Mr Mellish is dead?’
    Tracy shook her head. ‘That’s why it stayed by the bed. Waiting for him to come back.’
    Keith’s eyes suddenly felt prickly.
    He swallowed and took a deep breath.
    â€˜I’ll have a chat with it,’ he said, ‘when it’s got its strength back.’
    â€˜Wonder why the ambulance officers and the police left it behind?’ said Tracy.
    â€˜Must have thought there’d be relatives coming round to collect it and do the washing up,’ said Keith. ‘Mustn’t have known Mr Mellish’s death was such a tragically lonely one.’
    â€˜Keith,’ said Tracy quietly, ‘don’t be a dope. How could Mr Mellish die of loneliness when he had such a loyal and devoted friend in the house?’
    Later, curled up in Mum’s bed on the settee, Keith finally worked it out.
    OK, he thought, so Mr Mellish didn’t die of loneliness.
    But that was only because he had a dog to love him and keep him company and perk him up.
    Mum and Dad haven’t got that.
    All they’ve got is me and Tracy and Aunty Bev.
    They’re depending on us.
    Keith looked at the dog breathing quietly next to him.
    He felt very fond of it already.
    You brave little thing, he thought. You’d have starved to death worrying about your master.
    Bit like me, stunting my growth worrying about Mum and Dad.
    He gave the dog a hug.
    Except I’m lucky, he thought. Thanks to me worrying, Mum and Dad are going to be OK.
    â€˜Dazzle?’ said Tracy, exploding with laughter and spraying cereal across the kitchen. ‘You’ve called him Dazzle?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Keith, giving Dazzle a third helping of Irish stew. ‘I like it. And we don’t know what his real name is.’
    â€˜I doubt if it’s Dazzle,’ said Tracy. ‘Pretty unusual name, but.’
    â€˜I got the idea from something Aunty Bev once said,’ replied Keith. ‘Dazzle the buggers.’
    â€˜I should have guessed,’ said Tracy bitterly. ‘That’s the sort of thing that prawn-brain would say.’
    Keith stared at her, stunned.
    â€˜Keep your voice down,’ he stammered, ‘she’ll hear you.’
    â€˜She went out early,’ said Tracy. ‘Gone to make your dad look even more dopey.’
    Keith felt anger rush through him.
    â€˜Aunty Bev,’ he said, ‘is saving the lives of two seriously depressed people. And that’s more important than whether she nags a bit about aerobics.’
    Tracy frowned for a moment, then wearily put her cereal spoon down and looked hard at Keith.
    â€˜Aunty Bev,’ she said, ‘is a fanatic. If she came in here now and saw Dazzle stuffing his face with Irish stew, do you know what she’d say?’
    â€˜What?’ asked Keith, wondering if a person could get inflammation of the brain from cutting their finger on a