The Bare Bum Gang Battles the Dogsnatchers (2 page)

We didn't have a lead, just the rope that Dad had used. The dog pulled me all the way, as if he knew where he was going. It
was like being dragged along by a tractor. Although he was strong, the dog didn't seem very vicious, which was a relief. But when it came to snuffling, this dog was the world champion. Everything on the way had to be snuffled – every stick, every stone, every lamppost. When he snuffled, as well as the snuffling noise he also made a wet
plapping
noise like an old man with no teeth eating an ice cream.

I'm not really scared of dogs, not like Noah is scared of dogs. He's scared of
all
dogs, even the friendly ones that wouldn't even
dream
of biting you. I think he might have had a bad experience when he was little. I'm only scared of the ones that definitely
do
bite you. And, frankly, anyone who's not scared of a dog that's actually biting them needs their head examined, as well as whichever part of them is being bitten – say, their leg or their bum.

But my dog didn't seem to be a biting dog, or not a biting-
people
dog, anyway, because
he could have bitten me lots of times and he didn't.

When we got to the dog-poo field, Mrs Cake was the only person there. She had a dog called Trixie. Trixie was a Jack Russell terrier, about the size of a big rat, and she definitely
was
a biting dog. Trixie especially liked to bite children, because they're nice and easy to chew. So I
was
scared of her. Not as much as I'd be scared of a sabre-toothed tiger or a great white shark, but more than I'd be scared of, for example, some broken
glass or a medium-sized baboon that had escaped from the zoo.

 

Mrs Cake was also quite scary. Her hair was in a funny shape, and she carried an umbrella whether or not it was raining. In the Olden Days she'd probably have been burned as a witch. I don't think that would have been fair, and I'm glad we live in Modern Times, but you could sort of understand why they'd do it. It was probably why she had a dog rather than a cat, because if she'd had a cat, especially a black cat, then everyone would have said she was a witch for definite, rather than just as a maybe.

Well, I stood as far away from Mrs Cake and Trixie as possible. I kept my dog on his rope. But as soon as Trixie saw me she came running across the field, probably thinking she was in for a good old chase, with maybe a nice little bit of bum cheek to chew on at the end of it.

I felt my dog go tense at the end of the rope. I thought for a second that he was going to run away, adding being a coward to the list of things that made him a rubbish dog (ugly, smelly, stupid, only having one and a half ears, etc., etc.). But then I felt him pull forwards on the rope and I couldn't hold on. He ran straight towards Trixie making that same horrible growling noise he'd made when Dad first brought him to our house with an added bit of
plapping
and snuffling.

Before he reached the little rat, Trixie realized what was about to happen to her; she turned round very neatly and ran back to Mrs Cake, whimpering and whinning. In
fact, she didn't even stop when she reached Mrs Cake but shot straight past her. Mrs Cake shouted out, ‘Trixie,
Trixie!
Come here, you naughty girl,' but that didn't make any difference. Then my dog trundled past her as well, and she hit him on the back with her umbrella, but he didn't even slow down.

Then Mrs Cake started shouting at my dog and she used some very rude words, and that was sort of funny – I mean, hearing an old lady use words like that – even though Mum says it's not clever or funny.

It was then that I decided what to call my dog. It was getting a bit silly just calling him ‘my dog' all the time. So from now on he would be called Rude Word, or Rudy for short.

After the dogs had run off Mrs Cake shouted at me for a while, and I said sorry, although it wasn't my fault. What I really wanted to say was that I was glad that Trixie was getting a bit of her own medicine, but I didn't want to be rude to Mrs Cake because she had her umbrella at the ready, and anyway, it's wrong to be rude to old ladies, even if they might be witches.

Then Mrs Cake went to look for Trixie. A few minutes later Rude Word came back to me. He looked a bit guilty and was licking his lips.

‘Good boy,' I said, and patted him.

THE NEXT DAY
was Saturday, and straight after breakfast I brought my new dog down to the Gang den.

The den was in a tiny little wood near where we live. I thought Rudy would like the trees for weeing on, etc. He had a Weetabix for breakfast. So far, he seemed to be able to eat just about anything. Remember, he'd already eaten quite a lot of our car, and some fish cakes, chips and peas. Oh, and in the night he got up from his cardboard box and ate most of what was in the rubbish bin
and also a pair of my dad's dirty underpants from out of the laundry basket.

By the time I got to the den Phillip, Noah, Jamie and Jennifer were already there.

Phillip is our Gang Admiral, which means he'll take charge of our navy when we finally get one. We usually call him The Moan, because he's always moaning.

Jennifer is The Moan's sister. We wouldn't normally let girls into our gang, especially sisters, but Jennifer was good at tae kwon do, which is like karate. It was her idea that we should be called the Bare Bum Gang, but I don't want to go into that now. It's enough to say that it was once something to be ashamed of, but that now it made us proud.

Noah is sort of my second in command, and also our Gang Doctor. The thing about Noah is that he's nice and wants everyone to be nice to each other and not fight too much or call each other bad names.

Jamie is our Gang General, because he's the best at fighting, apart from Jennifer. Jennifer couldn't be the Gang General because her job was to be the Gang Girl, and that was enough work for one person.

 

The best thing about our gang is the gang den. Part of it is almost like a cave dug into the side of a hill, and another part sticks out at the front and that's how you get in. The entrance is cunningly disguised by the drooping branches of a weeping willow tree, and we'd made really good traps all around it to catch people who tried to invade us.

I'd recently invented a new kind of trap that I don't think had existed anywhere in the world before. I called it my balloon squirty-ink trap, and it was even better than the Smarties-tube fart bomb trap that used to be our top-of-the-range trap.

The balloon squirty-ink trap works like this. First you get a balloon and then you put some ink in it. This part can be quite messy, and it's probably best not to do it wearing your favourite clothes. If you've got an old
Spider-Man
costume or a pirate outfit that you don't like any more because it's for babies, you could wear that.

I think blue ink works best, but you can use any colour you have, say black, or red, or green, or purple. Then you take the outside part of a biro – I mean the bit that makes a tube when you take the refill out of it – and put it in the balloon hole. It won't fit very tightly, so you have to tie it on with some string, or use Sellotape.

The balloon part of the trap looks like this.

 

(The balloon looks a bit floppy because there isn't usually enough ink to fill it up.)

Then you put this whole apparatus into a hole you've dug specially (or you could use a hole you've just found lying around, or even one you dug before for some other reason, like burying a dead animal, or for making some other kind of trap). Next you put leaves and grass over the hole so that it's properly disguised. Then, when one of your enemies steps on it, his foot goes down into the hole and squashes the balloon, sending a big squirt of ink right up his leg!

I've drawn a picture to help explain it.

 

I should say that the tank hasn't got anything to do with the trap. It was already on the piece of paper from when I'd drawn it before.

‘
THAT IS THE
ugliest dog I've ever seen,' said The Moan.

‘I think he's sweet,' said Jennifer. I don't know if she really did think he was sweet or if she just wanted to disagree with The Moan, because he was her brother. ‘What's his name?'