Mr Dog and a Deer Friend
First published in Great Britain in paperback in 2020
Published simultaneously in this ebook edition by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2020
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Text copyright © Ben Fogle 2020
Illustrations copyright © Nikolas Ilic 2020
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020
Ben Fogle and Nikolas Ilic assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively.
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Source ISBN: 9780008408268
Ebook Edition © July 2020 ISBN: 9780008408275
Version: 2020-07-30
To Edie and Alby
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Chapter One: Cold Paws and Frozen Hooves
Chapter Two: Battling Bucks
Chapter Three: The Field of Memories
Chapter Four: Visitors in the Night
Chapter Five: Follow the Fawn
Chapter Six: Storm the Stallion
Chapter Seven: The Disappearing Deer
Chapter Eight: Trapped!
Chapter Nine: To the Rescue!
Chapter Ten: The Fate of the Forest
Notes from the Author
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Books by Ben Fogle
About the Publisher
Map
Chapter One
COLD PAWS AND FROZEN HOOVES
It was a cold, cold early morning in the south of England. The full moon shone in the black sky, casting silver light over fields of thick snow. On the top of a hill that looked out over a frozen lake, a tree stump was quietly snoring.
At least, that’s what it sounded like.
The stump, which had once been a mighty oak tree, was hollow. An animal had found shelter inside, and was curled up tightly in a shaggy bundle.
This animal was a raggedy dog named Mr Dog. He had scruffy dark fur and a shiny black nose, and a red spotted handkerchief round his neck. His front paws and muzzle were the colour of snow. They twitched as he dreamed of his many adventures spent roaming the land as a free animal.
‘Help!’ came a sudden cry in the distance. ‘Help me, somebody, please!’
At once Mr Dog’s eyes snapped open under big bushy brows. ‘Someone’s in trouble!’ he cried. ‘I can’t ignore a cry for help. Dear me, no!’
He stuck his snout outside the tree stump. It was dark, so there wasn’t much to see besides the snow. He couldn’t smell anything either.
‘That’s funny,’ said Mr Dog. ‘I normally have such a sensitive schnozzle. So why can’t I smell whoever’s in trouble?’
‘Help!’ came the cry again.
Luckily Mr Dog also had extremely expert ears. They told him that the calls had come from somewhere out on the frozen lake.
And from the sounds of splashing, that lake wasn’t completely frozen …
‘Hold on, I’m coming!’ barked Mr Dog. He hared out of the tree stump and down the hill.
The snow chilled his paws and left his shaggy tummy cold and wet but he took no notice. The cries for help were growing louder.
As he reached the edge of the moonlit lake Mr Dog looked wildly about. On the far side a small, dark shape was bobbing up and down through a jagged hole in the ice. ‘H-h-h-help!’ came a shivering cold cry through chattering teeth. ‘I c-c-c-can’t get out!’
Like a shot, Mr Dog raced across the frozen surface of the lake. He trod as lightly as he could – in case he fell through the ice too! – and as he drew near he had his first clear view of the helpless animal, lit by the moon’s silver spotlight.
‘It’s a deer!’ Mr Dog cried. ‘A young fawn in distress!’
The fawn’s head dipped beneath the black icy water and she spluttered. Her long ears were pricked and her huge dark eyes were filled with fear.
‘Mr Dog to the rescue!’ he woofed. Digging his claws into the ice, he leaned forward and closed his teeth as gently as he could on the back of the fawn’s neck. Then he pulled with all his strength and hauled her clear of the water. Skinny legs kicking wildly, the fawn slithered out on to the ice. She lay there in a pile of pondweed, shivering.
Gently Mr Dog put his head to her flank and pushed her away from the hole in the ice. He understood now why his sensitive nose couldn’t get much of a whiff – fawns had no smell until their scent glands developed. He lay down close beside her, sharing his warmth. The fawn snuggled up against him.
‘Thank you,’ she sighed.
‘You’re very young to be out by yourself,’ said Mr Dog after a while. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Bobbin,’ said the fawn weakly. ‘Did you say your name is Mr Dog?’
‘That’s right. D-O-G – I think it might stand for Deeds Of Goodness, which is why I do good deeds!’ Mr Dog smiled. ‘Tell me, Bobbin. What were you doing out on the ice?’
‘Looking for my mummy,’ said Bobbin, her nose twitching. ‘I’ve been looking for her for ages. I know I should’ve gone round the lake instead of across it. I just didn’t think.’
‘Well, I think we should both get off this ice,’ said Mr Dog firmly. ‘Shall we go?’
Bobbin nodded. ‘I think I can walk now.’
Wobbly at first, the little fallow deer got up. Her fur was grey with white spots like snowflakes that had stuck. She started off across the frozen lake and Mr Dog watched with surprise: Bobbin walked with a curious but very sweet bobbing motion – up-and-down, up-and-down – like she was almost dancing on the ice.
Mr Dog scampered along beside her. ‘You’re quite a mover, Bobbin!’ he said.
Bobbin’s head drooped as she reached the snowy bank. ‘I know I walk funny,’ she sighed. ‘But you see, all deer learn to walk by watching their mummies … and my mummy only has three legs.’
Mr Dog smiled, understanding now. Bobbin bobbed along as she might if she had three legs as well.
‘Mummy had an accident before I was born,’ Bobbin went on, explaining. ‘She brought me up in a field by myself, so I thought that this was the way all deer walked!’ She looked at Mr Dog with wide sad eyes. ‘Then I met other deer and they all made fun of me.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Mr Dog. ‘But the way you walk is extremely charming. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.’
‘That’s what Mummy used to say,’ said Bobbin sadly. ‘Oh, Mr Dog, I have to find her. She’s been gone for weeks!’
That’s a long time to be missing, thought Mr Dog worriedly. He put on a smile for Bobbin. ‘Never fear, little deer! I shall help you search.’
Bobbin beamed. ‘You will?’
‘What are friends paw? I mean, for!’ Mr Dog chuckled. ‘It’s nearly light. Come along – let’s start looking!’
Chapter Two
BATTLING BUCKS
The rosy morning sun brought a sparkle to the snowy landscape. Mr Dog followed Bobbin as she bobbed across the fields and joined a winding road. Now and then a big car would come grumbling through the slush, and the animals had to shelter under the bare hedgerows that lined the way.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing where you live, Bobbin,’ said Mr Dog.
Bobbin pulled a face. ‘Why do we have to go there? Mummy’s not there.’
‘I know she isn’t. But she used to be,’ said Mr Dog. ‘So I thought that was the first place we should go to hunt for a lead.’
‘A lead?’ Bobbin looked surprised. ‘You mean, so you can be taken for a walk?’
‘Not that sort of a lead!’ Mr Dog shuddered. ‘I mean, one of your fellow fallow deer might have seen your mum. Perhaps they can point us in the right direction. After all, a three-legged deer should be easy to remember. What’s her name?’
‘Betty,’ said Bobbin.
They padded on through the snow for more than an hour. Mr Dog could hear Bobbin’s tummy rumbling, and wondered where they might find some breakfast. Perhaps in that forest up ahead, he thought.
Then he noticed a sign above the hedgerow:
Mr Dog could smell deer very clearly. ‘Is this where you live?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ But the fawn seemed forlorn as she pushed through a gap in the prickly hedge. ‘I’m afraid the forest isn’t looked after very well.’
Mr Dog soon saw what she meant. The forest had been stripped almost bare. Shrubs and flowering plants had been cropped down to the soil. There were thick scratches in the tree trunks where every last scrap of bark within reach had been torn away. Mr Dog couldn’t see a single sapling to suggest that new trees were being planted.
An angry groan sounded from close by. It was answered at once by an aggressive grunting noise.
Bobbin froze. ‘Sounds like a fight!’
Mr Dog dropped down to his haunches and crawled like a shaggy commando through the snow and fallen leaves to see. Sure enough, two fallow bucks, reddy-brown with white spots, were slowly circling each other. Each had enormous antlers, like big bony trees sprouting from their heads. Suddenly one lowered his head and charged at the other. With a terrific clatter their antlers bashed together as each strained to push the other back.
‘What are they fighting about?’ Mr Dog wondered aloud. ‘Any idea, Bobbin?’
But Bobbin was no longer there.
Mr Dog looked around. Then he saw her. While the bucks were distracted, she had been creeping towards a long twig lying in the snow.
‘Of course!’ Mr Dog realised. ‘There’s so little food they’re fighting over it. And while they’re busy battling, that cheeky Bobbin is helping herself to the prize!’
But Mr Dog wasn’t the only one watching her now. The bucks had noticed too.
The bigger of the bucks broke off his battle and swung round to face Bobbin. ‘Hey! Stop eating that!’
‘It’s a free forest!’ Bobbin retorted. She quickly chewed off the end of the stick.
With an angry snort the second buck pushed past his opponent and charged at Bobbin. She gave a squeal and tried to spring aside. But the buck twisted his head and his antlers hit Bobbin like a strike from a shovel. She was sent tumbling through the snow and leaves – straight towards Mr Dog!
With a yelp of surprise Mr Dog leaped up into the air as Bobbin crashed into his hiding spot. He landed neatly in front of the dazed little deer. ‘Ta-daaaa!’ he said with a bow. ‘I should have been an acrobat. Or an acro-dog anyway!’
The two bucks stared stonily at him.
Mr Dog gave a big doggy grin. ‘Do please forgive my friend – she didn’t mean to steal your breakfast.’
‘Yes, I did!’ cried Bobbin.
‘Shhh,’ Mr Dog told her, and turned back to the bucks. ‘She is very hungry, you see.’
‘We’re all hungry,’ said the biggest buck. ‘There are too many deer in this forest, and the new lord of the manor doesn’t help us at all. He hasn’t planted any new growth in ages.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Mr Dog. ‘But, instead of fighting, why don’t you share what you have?’
‘Why don’t you mind your own business?’ growled the buck.
‘Sorry,’ said Mr Dog politely as the two deer stepped towards him. ‘We’re looking for someone,’ he went on. ‘A doe named Betty.’
The smaller buck snorted. ‘The one with three legs? I heard the lord of the manor got rid of her. Who wants a three-legged deer?’
‘I DO!’ bellowed Bobbin. ‘That’s my mummy you’re talking about!’ She rushed past Mr Dog and threw herself at the buck, striking his side with her hooves.
‘Why, you pint-sized little prancer!’ roared the buck. He brought down his antlers on Bobbin’s head and – CRACK! She fell to the forest floor and lay still.
‘Leave her alone!’ barked Mr Dog. He raced round the bucks and ran in and out of their legs, trying to distract them. But a hard hoof kicked out and smacked against his ribs. Mr Dog flew through the air and crashed against a tree.
Dazed, Mr Dog could only watch as the two deer turned back to Bobbin.
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