Free Doglands by Tim Willocks Page A

when Furgul might have dashed past her. But he knew he wouldn’t get far before someone grabbed the leash and read the disk on his collar with his name—RUPERT—and address. Getting rid of the leash was the key. He jumped from the back of the truck and waited at Harriet’s heel to make her think he was obedient. Harriet took the leash and led him toward the Vet’s.
    Time was running out, second by second and yard by yard.
    The door of the Vet’s was just a few steps away.
    Then Furgul saw a heap of fresh dog poop on the ground.
    It was a beautiful sight.
    He remembered what Kinnear had said about the super-clean shiny table and the dirty germs. And a whole new plan exploded in his mind.
    Furgul let out a pitiful yelp, the most painful and heartrending sound he’d ever made. He jerked his front paw from the ground and hobbled forward on three legs. Harriet looked down in alarm—just as Furgul wanted her to, she thought that he had injured his paw or stepped on some broken glass. As Harriet bent forward to check the paw, Furgul pretended to lose his balance. He fell over. He landed on the ground so that the collar round his neck went right in the dog poop.
    The trick worked. Harriet pulled a face but didn’t yell at him. She just helped Furgul to his feet. Still pretending he had a sore paw, Furgul hobbled on three legs to the door of the Vet’s. Harriet pushed it open, and they went inside.
    There were two other dogs in the waiting room, who got excited when they smelled him. Furgul ignored them. The Vet came out from behind the counter in his long white coat. The Vet and Harriet exchanged some “Blah, blah, blah,” while Furgul balanced on three legs, as meek and obedient as could be.
    Then the Vet frowned and wrinkled his nose and pointed at Furgul’s collar and shook his head. Furgul waited. Harriet muttered, “Sorry, ever so sorry.” Then she bent down with a look of disgust and
unbuckled
Furgul’s collar.
    For the first time in months his neck felt free. And good old Kinnear had been right. The room with the shiny table was super-clean—and the Vet wouldn’t let the dirty germs on the poopy collar go inside.
    Furgul felt the urge to run rise up inside him—but he didn’t move. He could see nowhere to run to yet—the front door behind him was shut. The Vet took Furgul gently by the scruff of his neck and guided him toward the open gate in the counter. Again Furgul forced himself to be docile and obedient. He didn’t struggle, and he didn’t give the Vet any reason to hold too tight. The Vet closed the gate in the counter behind them. Furgul could see a door, and through this door he saw the shiny table.
    Suddenly he was afraid that his plan wouldn’t work.
    But the Vet wrinkled his nose again and said something to Harriet and pointed to the front door. Furgul craned his neck and peered over the counter. Yes! Harriet walked to the front door, holding the smelly collar and leash at arm’s length. She was going to take it outside. Furgul waited. He had to time this perfectly. Harriet reached for the handle of the door. She pulled it open.
    Now!
    Furgul sat back on his hind legs and jumped right over the counter in a single bound. The Vet was so surprised he couldn’t stop him. A greyhound can go from standing still to running at forty miles an hour in just two seconds. Furgul wasn’t that fast—but he was fast enough. He shot across thewaiting room and past Harriet’s legs and in a trice he was racing across the parking lot.
    He’d done it.
    He’d escaped from the Vet.
    At the other side of the parking lot Furgul found a road. He’d learned a lot about roads from Kinnear—who, of course, was an expert—but he didn’t like them. He could run faster than the cars driving past, but they were dangerous. You couldn’t predict what they would do. So Furgul turned and sprinted down the sidewalk. He saw a narrow alley and turned there. At the end of the alley was a Dumpster full of trash, and he hid