“Your pets?” The Voice no longer sounded gently coaxing. “You have no pets. You have owners. Oh, you pretend they are the pets. And some humans encourage you to pretend this and even say, ‘Oh, my dog owns me.’ But they know it isn’t true and you know it, too. They put collars and leashes on you. They make you go where they wish. They shut doors, to keep you in or out as the fancy strikes them. Which of you, until today, has been able to open a door?”
Missis whispered to Pongo, “You can open doors that have latches, not handles. You can even draw back bolts with your teeth.”
Sirius said, “There’s no point in whispering, Missis. I can even hear your thoughts. True, Pongo can open some doors, but there aren’t many of those doors left. And anyway, he can’t—nor can any of you—go just where you like, when humans are awake. Even Cadpig, who thinks she can always get her way with the Prime Minister, has never been able to get inside the House of Commons.”
It was true. She had tried, and been carried home—oh, shame—by a policeman. Pongo guessed she was upset and put a steadying paw on hers.
Sirius went on, “Not that Cadpig isn’t a most remarkable dog. And so is that great leader, Pongo, and so is metaphysical Missis who invented the High Swoosh; and that famous General, the Sheepdog, and his brave little friend the Jack Russell, and the gallant Staffordshire Terrier, and every member of Cadpig’s Cabinet. In fact, all dogs are remarkable. Let us now praise famous dogs.”
Sirius then mentioned every breed of dog. This took a long time as every breed responded with enthusiastic barks. And he did not forget dogs of mixed breed for whom, he said, he had a special admiration. “Such dogs are often both beautiful and intelligent. But what are they called by humans? They are called mongrels, a most insulting name.”
One dog of mixed breed answered Sirius back. “Some of us are much loved. I have a good home.”
“But your owners are always apologizing for you,” said Sirius. “Haven’t you heard them say, ‘Oh, he’s just a mutt. We call him Heinz or Fifty-seven Varieties.’?”
The dog didn’t answer. It so happened that his name was Heinz. But what was wrong with that?
Sirius continued, “Anyway, there isn’t one dog in the world even though he be the Champion of his breed, even the Best Dog in the Show—who isn’t dragged about by his neck, bathed when he doesn’t wish to be bathed, shut up, forced to obey. And many unfortunate dogs are beaten, starved, arrested by the police—”
“Oh, please, no!” murmured Missis.
“But it does happen,” said Sirius. Then his tone became kinder. “Don’t worry, Missis. It won’t happen any more, to any dog—not if you join me on the Dog Star.”
Cadpig said, “How could we? How could we ever get there? We should need millions of rockets.”
Sirius laughed. “Rockets, Cadpig? Rockets are cumbersome, expensive and highly dangerous—though no doubt they are the best method of traveling into Space that men can think of. But the mind of a star can do better than the minds of men. Remember, we stars live in Space. Once you decide to come with me, I shall arrange it quite simply.”
Missis said, “Should we just have to do an extra-High Swoosh?”
“Exactly, Missis. A very, very High Swoosh—quite easy if you wanted to.”
“But suppose we stopped wanting to, half way?” said Missis.
“You won’t be able to. You will be there in the twinkling of a star—once you decide.”
Missis looked around Trafalgar Square. Perhaps some dogs would at once decide to go to the Dog Star. If so, would they instantly swoosh upwards?
Sirius knew what she was thinking. He explained, “It must be a mass decision, Missis—or rather, it must be a majority decision. Nothing will happen until all dogs have made up their minds. Then it will depend on what most dogs wish.”
Like the General Election, thought Cadpig, which again reminded her of the Prime Minister. She would never decide to leave him. But suppose most dogs wished to leave the Earth, then she would have to. And then what would happen to him?
Sirius answered her thoughts. “He, and all other humans—and all sleeping animals—will simply wake to find a dogless world. And they won’t remember there were ever such animals as dogs.”
“But there will be our collars and leashes—and kennels and dogbeds and all sorts of things to remind them of us,” said Cadpig.
“I shall work something out about that,” said Sirius, “though it might be simpler to let them all go on sleeping for ever.”
Cadpig had heard the Prime Minister say he would like to sleep for a week, but she was sure he would not like to sleep for ever. And what a dreadful thought—the world whirling around and around with everyone on it asleep—
Sirius interrupted her thoughts by saying gently, “Well, we’ll let them wake up, then. And of course I know that many of you love humans. I admire your faithfulness and I understand it, because as well as being a star I am also a dog. See!”
Something very strange began happening at the top of Nelson’s column. At the heart of the star a shape formed. At first Cadpig thought that Nelson was there again; then she saw that the shape wasn’t a man. It was a dog, a white dog with black spots.
“Father! Mother! Look!” cried Cadpig.
Pongo and Missis, staring upwards, instantly realized: Sirius was a Dalmatian! But almost before they had taken this in, the General gasped gruffly, “Bless my soul, the fellow’s a Sheepdog!” Then there were delighted gasps from all the dogs sitting outside the National Gallery and then from all the dogs in and around Trafalgar Square, as each dog saw that a dog of its own particular breed was on the top of Nelson’s column.
Cadpig said to Pongo. “What’s the matter with them all? Surely there isn’t any doubt that Sirius is a Dalmatian? I don’t understand.”
Pongo understood all right. Long ago he had heard Mr. Dearly say something about some saint who had been all things to all men. Well, Sirius was all things to all dogs—or, to be precise, he was all dogs to all dogs. Was that a good thing to be? Pongo supposed it must be, if it was something a saint had been. And it certainly proved how wonderful Sirius was.
The vision of dogs was fading now and the star was back in all its dazzling brilliance, and from it came the voice of Sirius sounding very gentle and very coaxing. “Well, now you have seen why I understand you all so well. And you can remember the bliss I gave you. Wouldn’t you like to feel that bliss again?”
“Oh, yes, please!” barked many dogs.
“But some of you aren’t sure,” said Sirius.
Missis said, “I’m quite sure I’d like some more nice bliss, but not if it would mean coming with you. I couldn’t bear to leave Mr. and Mrs. Dearly.”
“Neither could I,” said Pongo. But was he sure? He suddenly felt he wasn’t sure of anything. He had begun to feel terribly confused and he didn’t know why. But he did know this was no way for one of the keenest brains in Dogdom to behave.
The General, who up to now had not spoken directly to Sirius, said, “Look here, Sir, now that I’ve seen you, I feel I can speak dog to dog. And you, being the breed of dog you are, will understand my problem. I have obligations to sheep.”
“The sheep will not miss you or need you,” said Sirius. “And no humans will miss or need any dog. Dogs will simply be forgotten.”
“What would happen to Tommy and our other two honorary dogs?” said the General.
“That depends on what they want,” said Sirius. “Ask them.”
Tommy and the cats had not been able to understand Sirius so the General had to explain.
Tommy instantly said, “I’ll go with Sirius. I want to explore Space.”
“Well, we don’t,” said both the cats, together. And then the tabby told the Sheepdog not to be fooled by such nonsensical ideas; and the white cat said some very rude things about stars that didn’t know their places and stay in them.
Possibly Sirius didn’t fully understand cat language. Anyway, he merely said, “Th
en Tommy shall come and the cats shall stay. Well, that’s something decided. And now may I hear from the rest of you?”
Thousands of dogs barked an answer. The noise was deafening—but no one could have said what the general wish was. Some dogs wanted to go with Sirius, some didn’t. Many dogs wanted longer to decide and many, many dogs—in fact, most dogs—just said they didn’t know. And then, one dog with a very loud bark said, “Let Pongo, Missis and Cadpig decide. We trust them. All day they have told us what to do. Let them tell us now.”
And then it seemed that every dog for miles barked, “Yes, yes! Let Pongo, Missis and Cadpig decide!”
Pongo now knew why he was so confused. It was partly because of the noise and the excitement—he had always needed peace and quiet to think in. But most of all it was that he felt his mind was being invaded by the glorious, dazzling presence of Sirius. If only Sirius would let him think his own thoughts for a little while!
And Sirius miraculously understood. He said gently, “All right Pongo. Go into the National Gallery and think in peace. Take Missis and Cadpig with you, and any dogs you wish.”
“How long may we have?” asked Pongo.
“One hour. It is now almost one o’clock. When Big Ben strikes two I shall expect your decision. Until then—so that you won’t feel influenced by me—I shall leave you.”
The star began to fade. A great sigh rose from thousands of dogs and Pongo knew what it meant. The dogs did not want to lose Sirius. And Pongo now found he didn’t, either. He felt as he did when the Dearlys drove away from Hell Hall and didn’t take him with them—only now he felt worse. Did that mean he loved Sirius—and loved him even more than he loved the Dearlys?
Now the star had completely vanished and Nelson was back on his column. The lights of London were shining again and so were the distant stars.
Cadpig said, “Which dogs shall we take into the National Gallery with us, Father? Shall the members of my Cabinet come?”
“Of course,” said Pongo politely, though he did not think the members of Cadpig’s Cabinet were particularly bright. “And all our friends who came from Downing Street with us must come too.” Then he spoke to all the dogs in Trafalgar Square. “Please keep as quiet as you can so that we can hear ourselves think. But remember we’re only trying to decide what’s best for you all and if any dog feels he has something terribly important to say, we hope he will come in and say it.”
A dog with a shrill voice barked. “I think I speak for many of us when I say we miss Sirius. We feel lonely.”
“Yes, yes!” The words seemed to come from thousands of dogs.
“So do I,” said Pongo.
Surely this loneliness meant that he and all the other dogs wanted to be with Sirius? But Pongo told himself he mustn’t decide too quickly, mustn’t mind the loneliness. Perhaps it was a trick Sirius was playing on them. He had said he was leaving them so that they would not feel influenced by him, but perhaps he knew how much they would miss him and that leaving them was his most powerful way of influencing them.
The doors of the National Gallery had silently opened. Slowly Pongo, Missis and Cadpig led the way toward them. Big Ben began to strike one o’clock.
Perhaps, thought Pongo, the next hour would be their last on Earth. Perhaps, just in one short hour, all the dogs in the world would be on their way to a star.
11. What Answer?
Pongo had never been inside the National Gallery. Picture Galleries, he knew, did not admit dogs, which was something he had always regretted as he was fond of pictures. And now, alas, when he could have had the run of the place, it was no moment to look at them. He led his party across the dimly lit entrance hall, up the wide steps and into a long gallery. The light here was almost as dim as in the entrance hall, but across the gallery was an archway beyond which the light was brighter and—
Pongo couldn’t believe his eyes. There was a horse there, with a rider on it, an upright horse fully awake, and so was the rider. Then the sleepers were waking up! Humans would soon be in charge again! Dogs need not have this tremendous responsibility of deciding their own fate.
Then he saw the horse and the rider were only painted, in a large picture. They were not real—and yet, somehow, they were real, in a way Pongo couldn’t understand. He only knew that they made him remember men and horses very vividly and feel very fond of them.
He and all the dogs with him settled down on the polished floor of the gallery. Then Pongo took a vote. He found that only Tommy and the cats had made up their minds. Tommy still wanted to go with Sirius, the cats still wanted to stay on Earth. But after a moment Cadpig said, “I wish to stay. I can’t believe the Prime Minister won’t miss me.”
This made a great impression on Cadpig’s Cabinet, all the members of which now said that, if she stayed, they would.
Then Lucky said, “Father, I feel sure all the Dalmatians from Hell Hall will want to do what you and Mother decide to do.”
All the Dalmatians from Hell Hall at once said, “Hear, hear!”
Missis said, “And of course I shall do what you wish, Pongo.”
Pongo turned to the General who said he was an old dog to learn new tricks, but Sirius seemed a decent fellow and if Tommy wanted to go—“Not that I hold with people coming here from Space. I’ve always thought Space should keep itself to itself.”
“I shall follow my General,” said the Jack Russell.
“Thanks, lad,” said the General, gruffly.
Pongo looked at the Staffordshire, who said, “I’m out of my depth, mate. Space sounds very airy-fairy to me, but I must say that bliss stuff was like a good kip by a warm fire after a slap-up meal. And naturally, I liked the look of Sirius.”
Of course you did, thought Pongo—knowing that, to the Staffordshire, Sirius would have looked like a Staffordshire.
Cadpig said, “Father, there are far more Dalmatians from Hell Hall than there are dogs in my Cabinet. So it’s what you decide that will count. Unless, of course, a majority of the dogs in the world disagree with you.”
“It’s no use thinking about that,” said Pongo. “All we can do is to make our own choice. How much will you mind if I decide to go?”
“I don’t know, Father. In a way, I want to go—if I can go with a clear conscience. I only know that I can’t decide to leave the Prime Minister.”
So that leaves it all to me, thought Pongo—and I just don’t know what to do. He was puzzled that he should even consider going off with a star to a star. Even if the Dearlys did not miss him, would not he miss them, most terribly? Of course he would, and yet he still felt drawn to the star. What was this mysterious attraction? He had once heard Mrs. Dearly quoting a poem about “the desire of the dog for the star” (she had said “moth,” not “dog,” but that must have been a slip). Was it, then, natural for dogs to be drawn toward stars?
Oh, if only someone would explain to him and give him some really good advice! He looked toward the painted horse and wished it could be a real horse who would talk to him. Horses could be very helpful. He remembered the horse that had saved him and Missis and all the puppies they were rescuing, when gipsies had locked them in a field. But the painted horse could do nothing, except look very noble—and somehow that was a little bit of help.
It was at that moment that he heard a dog barking “Pongo, where are you?” in the entrance hall, below. Surely he knew that booming bark? He barked back, “Here, sir—up the stairs!” and, a couple of seconds later, into the gallery at full tilt came the Great Dane from over toward Hampstead. And not only the Great Dane. Riding on his back was a tiny creature. A white kitten? No, more like a white puppy. But somehow it looked too grown up to be a puppy. Could it be a miniature dog?
“How splendid that you managed to get here, sir,” said Pongo. And the Sheepdog—a General recognizing another General—rose, wagging his tail.
“Talk about swooshing!” said the Great Dane. “Part of the time I seemed to fly.”
“That’s the Hig
h Swoosh,” said Missis. “I discovered it.”
“Well, it took me by surprise and my little friend nearly fell off. By the way, don’t mistake him for a puppy. He’s full grown and three years old—a Chihuahua, ridiculous name for a breed, but he can’t help that, can you, Sam? He’s my very good friend, sleeps in my bed and acts as a hot-water bottle. Well, Pongo and Missis, we meet at last face to face. And I know who you are.” He wagged his tail at the Sheepdog. “We’ve often sent messages to each other over the Twilight Barking, and we will again, when this Emergency comes to an end.”
“But what end will it come to?” Pongo slipped in quickly.
“Do you mean you’re in any doubt? Aren’t you going to send this star back where it belongs?”
“We’re not quite sure yet—”
The Great Dane cut Pongo short. “I knew it, I knew it! I said to Sam—he came out to Hampstead Heath with me—I said, ‘They’ll be fooled, all those dogs in Trafalgar Square.’ Crowds are always fooled. They get so worked up that they can’t think for themselves. I know about these things because I live with a Professor who often talks about them. All you dogs are the victims of mass hysteria.”
Missis was shocked. Dogs as well as humans suffer from hysteria and she never felt it was safe even to mention the word. She said nervously to the Great Dane, “Surely that lovely bliss wasn’t hysteria?”
“Now I’ll tell you about bliss, Missis,” said the Great Dane. “It was all part of a clever trick. First this Sirius fellow works us up into enjoying ourselves and then he plunges us into total darkness—I’ll admit even I was scared when the stars went out—and then he appears and lights things up again. Well, naturally we feel relieved so we’re pleased to see him. He’d worked up a marvellous entrance for himself.”