The Dog Who Saved the World. Ross Welford
Chapter Forty-one
I’ve got this framed poster on my bedroom wall that Dad got me for my birthday. I see it every morning and every night, so I know it off by heart.
THE WISDOM OF THE DOGS
Don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like dogs.
If what you want is buried, dig and dig until you find it.
Don’t bite if a growl is enough.
Like people in spite of their faults.
Start each day with a wagging tail.
Whatever your size, be brave.
Whatever your age, learn new tricks.
If someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit near and nuzzle them, gently.
It’s all true. Every single word. As I discovered last summer, when the world nearly ended.
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, allow me to introduce (drum roll …):
Mr Mash: The Dog Who Saved the World!
I love him more than anything. I know that sounds harsh on Dad and Clem, but I think they’ll understand, especially after what happened over that summer.
We don’t know exactly how old he is, how he became a stray, or even what sort of dog he might be. He’s got shaggy fur – grey, brown and white – and ears that flop over at the ends. He’s got a cute, inquisitive face like a schnauzer, big soft eyes and a strong, very waggy tail like a Labrador.
In other words, he’s a mishmash. When we got him from the St Woof’s shelter, the vicar said I could name him, and so I said ‘Mishmash’, which sounded like ‘Miss Mash’, but, because he’s a boy dog, he became Mister Mash.
Mr Mash: my very best, very stupid friend. His tongue is far too big for his mouth, so it often just lolls out, making him look even dafter. He’s completely unable to tell if something is food or not, so he just eats it anyway. This, in turn, means he has what the vicar calls ‘a wind problem’.
You can say that again. ‘Silent and violent,’ Dad says.