“But when he was young he was a puppy, not a chicken.”
“He was indeed, Missis, dear,” said Pongo.
Then they heard the Great Dane barking again as he started work. How well Missis remembered that booming bark bringing the first news of their stolen puppies! She was thankful that all those pups were now fully grown, sensible dogs, capable of taking care of themselves—all but Roly Poly; he was more than fully grown but would never be sensible. Where was he? She felt anxious about him but didn’t mention this to Pongo. There was no point in worrying him.
Pongo had his own worries and he didn’t mention these to Missis. The truth was that when he looked up at the darkening sky, already dotted with pale stars, and thought about midnight in Trafalgar Square, he was anxious about all dogs. What was going to happen?
9. In Trafalgar Square
Cadpig had made no special arrangements for them to get back to Downing Street as she hadn’t known when they were coming, and the main streets were now more crowded than ever. But in the days when Pongo and Mr. Dearly had both been young bachelors they had often gone for walks in the little back streets and Pongo remembered these well. So he had no difficulty in getting Missis as far as Whitehall. There—almost within sight of Downing Street—they got stuck, for masses of dogs were coming toward them, eager to reach Trafalgar Square.
Pongo sent thought waves to Cadpig but could get no answer, and there were no Police Dogs anywhere near to help. Then Missis said, “If we can swoosh just above the ground by believing we can, couldn’t we rise higher and swoosh over the dogs who are coming toward us?”
“Well, we can try,” said Pongo doubtfully.
“Then both together, and we must believe extra hard.”
They rose up in the air like a couple of helicopters. Pongo stopped when he was well above the heads of even the tallest dogs, but Missis believed so hard that she rose up quite twenty feet.
“That’s too high,” called Pongo. “Come down lower.”
“Oh, I like it up here,” said Missis.
“But it’s not safe. If you suddenly stop believing, you’ll have so far to fall.”
“Let’s meet each other half way,” said Missis.
So she came down and Pongo rose up, and they swooshed along about ten feet from the ground, waving to the dogs below and creating a great sensation.
“It was clever of you to invent this High Swoosh,” said Pongo.
“Just metaphysical,” said Missis.
They turned into Downing Street and came down neatly on the doorstep of No. 10.
The Police Dog on duty told them that Cadpig was holding a Cabinet Meeting, but when they got to the Cabinet Room they found that the meeting was over.
“None of us could think of anything to say,” said Cadpig, “so we just passed a vote of confidence in ourselves.”
There was no news of Roly Poly or George, the Foreign Secretary.
Cadpig was glad to hear that the Great Dane had taken over the Barking. “He’ll do a splendid job. And I think I’ve made a good one of sending out thought waves. Dogs are quicker and quicker at picking them up and they’re getting the knack of relaying them. What’s worrying me now is how we’re all going to get to Trafalgar Square. I’ve got Police Dogs there keeping room for us on the steps and terrace of the National Gallery, but they’re finding it harder and harder to control the dog traffic in the streets.”
Missis then explained her discovery of the High Swoosh and many of the Cabinet Ministers went out to the garden to practice it.
“Tommy and the cats won’t be able to high-swoosh,” said Cadpig. “They may have to be left behind.”
“We’d better discuss it with the General,” said Pongo.
They went up to the drawing-room, where the Sheepdog and his party were sitting, and explained the situation. Tommy and the cats were most unwilling to be left behind. They asked why they couldn’t come on the Tractor.
“Because we can’t possibly get the Tractor along Whitehall,” said Cadpig. “It’s packed solid with dogs.”
“Why shouldn’t the Tractor high-swoosh?” said Missis.
“I suppose it’s just possible,” said Pongo. “If enough dogs push it and think upward thoughts, as well as forward thoughts.”
So they called all the Dalmatians in from the garden and went out into Downing Street to practise. There was plenty of room there now as all the waiting dogs had gone to Trafalgar Square. And from the very first the Tractor showed willingness to rise up a good six feet.
“Then we’ll start soon,” said Cadpig, “and make sure of our seats.” She sent Lucky and Patch to call all the dogs from the garden and get them into position, while she took a last look at the sleeping Prime Minister.
“Pongo and Missis must come on the Tractor,” said the General, “and my young friend, Cadpig. It will increase her prestige.”
Cadpig, when she came downstairs, was glad to agree. She had been so upset at leaving the Prime Minister that she hadn’t enough spirit to manage a High Swoosh. Also, she felt that if she increased her prestige it would be good for the Prime Minister’s prestige, too.
It was certainly a most remarkable procession that at last set out. Tommy was at the wheel of the Tractor, and the General, the Staffordshire, the Jack Russell and the cats sat near him. Cadpig and her parents sat on the Tractor’s roof, so that the crowds could get a good view of them. All the other Dalmatians (except the missing Roly Poly) grouped themselves around the Tractor to help it with upward and forward thoughts. And behind, high-swooshing, came all the dogs who had been on duty at No. 10, now acting as an escort to all the Cabinet Ministers (except the missing Foreign Secretary). Babs, the Minister of Transport, high-swooshed most gracefully. Her top-knot was tied up with ribbon, which Lucky’s wife had managed to put on for her.
The whole caninecade was wildly cheered as it passed over the heads of the dogs in Whitehall and Trafalgar Square. Police Dogs had managed to keep enough room for the Tractor to come down, and soon all the dogs from Downing Street were settled outside the National Gallery.
Pongo, Missis and Cadpig sat high up between two pillars and could see right across the Square. It was solidly packed with dogs and so were all the streets leading to it. All dogs were well behaved but of course they were talking, so the noise was pretty deafening.
“It’s hard to hear oneself think,” said Missis.
“I don’t want to hear myself think,” said Cadpig. “I’m too nervous.”
Missis, too, was nervous. It was night now and, though the stars were bright, they did not give enough light for her to be sure that those four huge lions in the middle of the Square were not live lions. She had caught a glimpse of them earlier and they hadn’t been live then, but today anything was liable to happen. She felt almost sure she saw one of them move.
“I do wish the lights were on,” she said.
“So do I,” said Pongo, guessing Missis was nervous.
And then, as so often today, their wishes worked. The street lights lit themselves. Lights flashed on in the buildings around the Square and far beyond. Skyscrapers, dotted about London, turned themselves into hundreds of brilliant boxes, rising high above the small, old houses that clustered around them. There was enough light now for Missis to see that the lions weren’t real, and what moved were the dogs sitting on the lions. She looked up to the top of the tall column in the center of the Square and saw a glow of light shining up on the figure of a man.
Pongo said, “Doesn’t the statue of Nelson look fine?”
“Splendid,” said Missis. “Pongo, who was Nelson?”
“He was the very great admiral who once said, ‘England expects that every man will do his duty.’ Only he didn’t say it; he signalled it with flags.”
“Very metaphysical,” said Missis. “Quite like our thought-waving. Pongo, if you changed what Nelson said a little, it would be a fine thing to say to all the dogs here.”
Pongo thought so, too. And when, soon, h
e was asked to make a speech, he finished up with “England expects that every dog will do his duty.” This was an even bigger success than “Wait and See.”
“No dogs seem at all anxious,” said Cadpig, listening to the applause for Pongo’s speech. “They’re as cheerful as they have been all day.”
“They’re more than cheerful now,” said Missis. “They’re terrifically hopeful. Can’t you feel it, Cadpig?”
Cadpig found that she could. Great waves of hopefulness seemed to be washing toward her. Hopefulness must be catching, she thought, suddenly feeling hopeful herself. In fact, she felt much more than hopeful; she felt happy. It was wonderful to be Cadpig, the first dog Prime Minister, who had done such a splendid job all day. All Dogdom loved her and she loved all Dogdom. She felt marvellous.
And now Pongo, too, felt marvellous, as gay as when he had been a young bachelor dog courting Missis. As for Missis, she no longer felt anxious about anything. Of course Roly Poly would be all right; he always was. And how proud she was of Pongo and of Cadpig—and of herself. Had she not invented the High Swoosh? And here she was, in a position of honor, with her famous husband and her famous daughter.
Everywhere happiness was flowing freely. The General was telling the Staffordshire and the Jack Russell of that excellent night when it had been his duty to bite the Baddun brothers. All the Dalmatians from Hell Hall were wrinkling their noses in enormous smiles. The Minister of Transport, Babs the Poodle, was doing a little dance with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, which was loudly applauded. All the Cabinet Ministers looked as if they had just won a General Election.
And the thousands and thousands of dogs in Trafalgar Square and the streets leading to it were now so happy that they were singing. They made a high, wailing sound which they all thought delightful. (Tommy and the cats weren’t quite sure they liked it, and they weren’t as deliriously happy as the dogs were; but they were perfectly cheerful.)
How beautiful the lights of London were! And Pongo now found that the brilliantly lit windows of the very tall buildings led his eyes upwards to the stars. Surely they were unusually large? They had been large last night, when he and Missis had walked around the garden with the Dearlys (how long ago that seemed), but they had not been astonishing, as these stars were. They were not only large, they were also dazzlingly bright and they seemed much closer than usual. And the more he looked at them, the happier he felt.
He wanted to share that happiness so he barked very loudly, “Look up, look up! Look up at the marvellous stars!”
All the dogs in Trafalgar Square and the streets leading to it instantly did as he told them. Then the singing died away and from every throat there came a sigh of happiness. It was like the noise dogs make when they relax in comfort after a splendid walk, only it was much, much more happy. Then there was absolute silence and stillness, with every dog gazing upwards as if spellbound.
Pongo had never known such happiness. It was like food to the hungry, warmth to the shivering, love to the lonely. He would have liked to ask Missis if she was as happy as he was but he could not; he could do nothing but look up at the stars. But soon he felt quite sure she did feel happy and all the other dogs did too—because, somehow, there was only happiness to feel.
He never knew how long the happiness lasted. Indeed, he soon barely knew who he was or where he was; it was almost as if he stopped being himself and became the happiness. But not quite. One little bit of his mind was still Pongo. And suddenly that little bit of his mind heard Big Ben striking. He counted the strokes—Boom, Boom, Boom. Was it midnight already? Was this the great moment? Would they soon know—what?
And then the lights of London went out, all together. But the stars were still there, as big and as bright and as close as ever. And one particular star looked even bigger and brighter and—yes, it was coming closer, much closer.
Missis gasped, “Oh, Pongo, it’s going to fall on us!”
But the star did not fall—though what happened was almost more frightening. All the other stars went out, as the lights of London had gone out. Only the huge star remained, coming closer and closer. And then that, too, went out and there was no light at all, not so much as a glimmer. Everywhere there was inky blackness. And out of the blackness came the last boom of Big Ben, striking midnight.
10. The Starlight Barking
Never in his brave life had Pongo been so frightened. Never before had he trembled with terror. He tried hard to be brave, tried to stop trembling. But he could not; he just shook and shook.
Then he found that Missis and Cadpig, between whom he was sitting, had moved closer to him as if for comfort, and they were trembling even more than he was. At once he told himself that he must not let them know he was afraid. They must feel that he was able to protect them, that he was a solid, rock-like dog. No solid, rock-like dog would tremble, so he just had to stop. There was nothing else he could do to help. He could not bark anything encouraging because no sound would come out of his mouth.
No sound would come out of any dog’s mouth. Not one of the thousands of dogs who were assembled there could so much as whimper, let alone bark. Everywhere there was blackness, silence, terror.
Pretending to be brave helped Pongo to feel brave and gradually his keen brain began to work. Why was there no panic? The huge crowd of dogs might, at first, have been frozen with fear, but that would not last. Why did they go on being silent? There was not even any scuffling. Such absolute stillness was unnatural.
He suddenly knew that they were all being controlled, by someone, something, immensely powerful. And just as he realized this he saw a faint, hazy light high up in the air. The light grew strong enough for him to see that it was on the top of Nelson’s column. For a moment the figure of Nelson could be seen and then Nelson vanished and there was nothing but the light, which soon became a dazzling blaze. At first it was a shapeless blaze but it gradually shaped itself into a star—like the one that had appeared on the Downing Street television but much, much larger and brighter. It was bright enough to illuminate all Trafalgar Square and the streets leading there. Indeed, Pongo thought it must be bright enough to illuminate all London.
For a few seconds the silence lasted. And then, from the heart of the star, a voice spoke. It was the same voice that had spoken from the television set, but now it was much more powerful and most wonderfully kind.
The Voice said, “Greetings to all dogs. Forget your fears. It was necessary for you to know darkness and terror, as a contrast to light and joy. But all that is over now. From now on there is nothing ahead of you but bliss.”
A great sigh of relief came from all the assembled dogs.
The Voice went on, “That is, there will be bliss if you will accept bliss. The choice will be yours.”
Missis whispered to Pongo, “What is bliss, exactly?”
“A special kind of happiness,” Pongo whispered back.
It seemed that the Voice could hear whispers for it at once said, “Bliss is perfect happiness, Missis, which none of you have ever experienced—except for a little while tonight, before the darkness. Do you remember?”
“Oh, was that bliss?” said Missis. “Well, it certainly was marvellous.”
“Yes, Missis, bliss is marvellous,” said the Voice. “And I am offering it to you all for ever and ever.”
Cadpig suddenly spoke up loudly and clearly. When first she had heard the Voice it had reminded her of the Prime Minister’s and it still did. She was never afraid of the Prime Minister and she was always very firm with him. So now she said bravely, “May I ask, on behalf of all dogs, who you are?”
Many dogs barked, “Bravo, Cadpig!” And there were barks of, “Yes, yes! Please say who you are!”
For a moment there was silence.
“Goodness, I’ve offended it,” Cadpig whispered to Pongo.
The Voice heard the whisper and said kindly, “No, Cadpig, I am not offended. You have the right to ask that question and it shall be answered.”
&nb
sp; Now the star blazed brighter and the Voice spoke louder, in a deep tone that was musical but also a bit like thunder—not frightening thunder, though; just gently powerful thunder, rolling around the midnight sky. The musical thunder said:
“I am Sirius, Lord of the Dog Star. For millions of years I have looked down on the Earth. I remember dogs when they were wild and savage animals. I have seen them change to tamed and often pampered creatures. And, wild or tame, I have always loved them and wished they could be with me on my lonely star. But never in the past did I feel I had the right to entice them away from the Earth. Now, at last, I have that right. For soon, through human foolishness, there may be no Earth—or no Earth as you know it now. And those few of you who survive will be desperate, starving wretches, fighting each other, eating each other, just in order to go on living a life that isn’t worth living. Do you understand? I know one dog who does: your Prime Minister, Cadpig. She could not live at Downing Street without understanding. You know what I mean, don’t you, Cadpig? Answer me.”
Cadpig said, “You mean that humans may some day destroy the Earth with terrible bombs, in a terrible war. I know some humans believe that—but not all humans, and none of them want it to happen. And I don’t believe it will. Why, the angriest dog in the world would not want to destroy all dogs—and itself—in order to win a fight. It wouldn’t make sense.”
“Well, it wouldn’t make sense to a dog,” said Sirius. “But dogs won’t have any say in the matter. And neither will most humans. Oh, it may never happen. You’re right in saying no one wants it to. But there is a risk, which gives me the right to rescue you all. Though perhaps I am only making it an excuse. The real truth is that I want you all so much.”
The musical thunder of the Voice was now gently coaxing. It reminded Cadpig of the way the Prime Minister spoke on television when he specially wanted people to like him. At such times she always tried to help by putting her head on his knee and looking at him lovingly. Remembering this made her think of the poor dear man fast asleep in Downing Street and she said loudly. “But, Lord Sirius, how could we leave our pets?”