My Dog by Olivia Wakeford - Extract - Chapter 4 by harpercollinschildrens

First published in the United Kingdom by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2025

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

HarperCollinsPublishers

Macken House, 39/40 Mayor Street Upper Dublin 1, D01 C9W8, Ireland 1

Olivia Wakeford and David Litchfield assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work respectively.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

Typeset in Aldus LT STD 11/14pt

Printed and bound in the UK using 100% renewable electricity at CPI Group (UK) Ltd

Conditions of Sale

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

This book contains FSC™ certified paper and other controlled sources to ensure responsible forest management.

For more information visit: www.harpercollins.co.uk/green

CHAPTER 4

It’s already boiling outside, like it has been for most of the summer. Bees buzz in the purple lavender me and Mam planted last year, and laughter floats from the park behind the tall trees at the end of the garden. Somewhere nearby, a siren wails.

The black dog still sits in the doorway of my den. I follow the paving stones across the grass, trying not to run in case I spook him. Dr Jimmy says lost dogs can sometimes be jumpy, so you need to go slowly when you approach them. When I’m two paving stones away, I stop, and my mouth drops open in surprise.

He’s got conker eyes.

And ears like triangles of velvet.

‘Hi,’ I whisper, trying to keep my voice low and calm, even though I’m so excited I feel like I’m about to explode. ‘I’m Rhys. What’s your name?’ I tiptoe to the next stone. ‘It is you, isn’t it?

From the hospital?’

He pokes out his pink tongue, smiling. A smile spreads across my face too, and I crouch down, placing the sandwich between us. ‘Do you like bacon sandwiches? It’s got red sauce in it.’

The dog stands and edges forward, sniffing, nose twitching and whiskers quivering. The bread is a bit squashed in the middle from where I grabbed it in a hurry.

‘Dad said I should eat, but I don’t feel like it. You can have it all if you want? Sorry about the thumbprint.’

I lick a smear of sauce from my palm and nudge the sandwich closer to his front paws.

When he’s finished sniffing, he doesn’t back away. I hold out my hand to him, like Dr Jimmy does. His nose is damp and cold. ‘But what are you doing here?’

We live close to the hospital – it’s only a few streets away. Maybe he knows I’m a Junior Dog Rescuer and followed my scent or something because he wanted my help. Assistance dogs are really clever like that. Or . . . did Dad bring him here?

I glance back at the house, at the kitchen window, just in case Dad is watching. It’s empty. The dog meets my eye like he knows what I’m thinking. Of course it’s nothing to do with Dad! Dad can’t stand dogs and says they smell like old socks. I lean forward and sniff. He’s a bit socky, but probably only a day or two, not like a week or anything.

‘Do you like my den?’

The dog is still smiling so he must. His tail is wagging too, sweeping across the doorway.

I can’t blame him. My den is cool. It used to be the garden shed, filled with spiders and rusty garden tools. Now lights are strung across the ceiling, and a red swirly rug, which Mam let me have when the dining room was redecorated, covers the floor. There’s a bookcase full of Junior Dog Rescuers magazines, my Dr Jimmy calendar is pinned to the wall, and the LEGO Luke Skywalker’s Landspeeder Dad got me for my birthday is in the middle of the rug. In the back corners are two beanbags, a blue one and a red one. The scratchy blanket Nan knitted for me is balled up on the red one. The Dog Rescuers posters cover the walls and, on the window, two circular stickers say: and Dr Jimmy’s catchphrase:

I’M IN THE JUNIOR DOG RESCUERS CLUB, ARE YOU?

I shake my head, unable to believe there’s a dog right here in front of me! I gaze at him, taking in his soft muzzle studded with long black whiskers. His teeth are bright white and healthylooking, his nose shiny.

Me and Mam talk loads about getting one. I’d dream about what it would be like. My perfect dog looks exactly like this one. In my dreams, we go to Roath Park Lake together to chase the ducks, or run to the top of Caerphilly Mountain and sit side by side, completely out of puff, staring at the River Severn sparkling in the distance. Sometimes, when he’s feeling a bit naughty, my dream dog steals Mam’s slippers and buries them in the garden.

I sigh. This dog is not my dog though, and, if I’m going to be like Dr Jimmy, I need to help find his owner.

‘Who do you belong to?’ I whisper, shuffling a little closer. He’s not wearing a collar or special harness, so that’ll make the job harder. But not impossible. I am a Junior Dog Rescuer after all.

‘What kind of assistance dog are you?’

He can’t answer me, obviously, but his ears prick up. Maybe I’m impressing him, knowing there are different types of assistance dogs.

‘They had a special episode of The Dog Rescuers in series four,’ I explain. ‘It was about assistance dogs, and Dr Jimmy—’ I point to one of the posters on the wall behind him. ‘That’s him. He’s an amazing vet – I think you’d like him. He filmed one of the dogs, a golden retriever, all the way from being a puppy to becoming a fully trained assistance dog. The dog went to live

with a girl about my age. Dr Jimmy showed us how the dog helped her walk when she wasn’t using her wheelchair, and helped her to get dressed in the morning and picked things up if she dropped them. Really cool . . .’

The sound of humming and the snip-snip of gardening scissors next door makes me trail off. It’s Mrs B. She’s always cutting her roses. If me and Mam are ever in a hurry, we make sure Mrs B isn’t in her front garden because once she starts talking about her roses, or anything really, it’s hard to get her to stop. We always end up being late.

Fuzzles leaps on to the fence, looking like a giant furry Wotsit. He stares at us with his amber eyes. The dog watches, but doesn’t growl or try to chase him.

‘That’s Fuzzles,’ I whisper, in case Mrs B hears me and wants to chat. ‘If you like cats, you’ll probably like Fuzzles. He’s greedy like a Labrador.’

While I wait for the humming to fade, I look towards the house again. The kitchen window is still empty. I bet Dad’s video-calling Lucy and Evie again. But that gives me an idea. I turn back to the dog and pull my phone out of my pocket.

‘We should call the hospital. Myra didn’t know anything about you yesterday, but there’s another nice nurse called Tim. Maybe he’ll know?’ Thinking about calling the hospital makes Mam’s face pop into my head, and I don’t know why, but I get the urge to tell him about her. ‘But first can I share something with you?’

He tilts his head and blinks.

‘Um, you know I saw you in the hospital under Mam’s bed? She’s been a bit poorly and, well, last night Dad came into my room and said that after we left—’ I take a shaky breath, not sure if I can find the words. A tear slides down my cheek. ‘Well, Dad said, um, that she died.’

The dog whines, then lies down on the ground next to me, resting his head on his paws. I reach for a velvet ear and brush the back of my finger down it. He’s the softest thing I’ve ever touched. Even softer than Puddle, the stuffed blue rabbit I’ve had since I was a baby. Whoever this dog’s owner is, they’re the luckiest person in the world.

‘Thanks, boy.’ I sniff and wipe my face with the back of my hand. ‘Right.’ I pull the hospital number up on my phone. I’ve got it saved in case I can’t get through to Mam’s.

The phone rings four times, then a woman answers. ‘University Hospital of Wales, Linda speaking. How can I help?’

My mind goes blank. Mam’s on ward five, but I already know the dog’s owner isn’t there.

‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

I put on my most grown-up voice. ‘Hi. Hello there. Good morning. Um, I found a dog in the hospital yesterday. In Mam’s room.’

‘A dog? We don’t allow dogs in the hospital.’

‘He’s an assistance dog.’ Maybe Linda doesn’t know as much about assistance dogs as I do.

‘I see.’

‘But Myra, the nurse, said no one on the ward had an assistance dog. So he’s not from ward five.’ Linda doesn’t respond so I keep on talking. ‘But maybe he belongs to a visitor or patient from ward four or three? Or seven? I don’t know if there is a seven, but there’s definitely a one and two because we pass them on the way to five, so his owner might be on one of those? There’s a ward six too, I think.’ I stop, worrying that I’ve said too much.

After a pause, she says, ‘Is this a joke?’ maybe she’s someone who doesn’t like dogs, like Dad.

‘What? No!’

‘Do your parents know you’re calling?’

‘Umm . . . No . . . My mam is . . . She’s . . .’

I swallow a lump rising in my throat. Linda isn’t listening, and I don’t know what else to say. I stare into the dog’s eyes and try again. My voice comes out all wobbly.

‘The dog is lost, and I’m trying to help.’

‘Is that right?’

‘I swear it’s the truth.’

She sighs. ‘Mmmm-hmmm.’

‘Please?’ My voice cracks.

‘All right, give me your details. I can make some enquiries.’

Relief floods through me. I tell her all about the dog, then give her my number. ‘Did you get all that? I don’t know what his name is because he doesn’t have a collar.’

‘Yep . . . I’m writing it all down right now. Rhys. Labrador.’

‘Black. He’s a black Labrador. A really cute one.’ I reach for the thick fur on the back of the dog’s neck.

She sighs again. ‘Got it.’

‘Okay. Bye.’ Then, thinking if she’s the same as Dad and doesn’t like dogs, she might have his thing about manners too, I say, ‘Thank you very much, uh . . .’ I search for her name. ‘Linda!’

She laughs. It worked! ‘Thank you for calling the University Hospital of Wales, Rhys.’

I hang up with a smile on my face. ‘Linda’s taken my number, but you already know that.’ I scratch him under the chin, and he stretches his neck towards me. ‘Like that, do you? You’re a good boy.’

My smile falls away a little. I did the right thing calling the hospital and telling Linda, but part of me wishes I hadn’t. The episode of The Dog Rescuers I watched last night pops into my head. Dr Jimmy said Spirit’s owners didn’t claim him after fourteen days, so then he could be rehomed.

I don’t want to hope too much because this black Labrador is someone’s dog. And not just any dog – an assistance one.

But what if the hospital don’t call back?

Does that mean I could keep him?