The Dog Who Would Be Prime Minister (The Dog Prime Minister Series Book 1)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my sweet wife Cate for her patience in supporting me. I was forever frollicking with her in the bath to bounce ideas, or dragging her off to cafes to decide how many crocodiles we needed, or asking her to re-re-read excerpts.

I would also like to thank Sally Fox for helping me brainstorm, in pubs, and cafés, about animals in politics. I also wish to thank my brilliant publisher Leila Dewji, and my amazing publicist Ben Cameron.

And finally, thanks to the real Izzie, Cate’s beautiful Border Collie and walking companion, whose photo is here:

I thought it interesting, funny and well done, as well as being curiously topical as we watch the dissolution of our political system, and the contempt most of our politicians are held in by the public.

- Julian Fellowes

THE AUTHOR

Mike was educated at Harrow, which was a bit like Hogwarts, and Oxford, which was a bit like Brideshead. His parents were both Captains of Sunningdale Golf Club. But he settled in London’s unfashionable suburb, Palmers Green, and became a Maths teacher in comprehensives. He then sold computers, and wrote musicals.

Then he married. But he did not calm down. With his wife Cate, he busked all over town. When their beautiful son Rafi was born, they got a beautiful puppy, Izzie, to make up the foursome. Mike took to walking Izzie on Hampstead Heath, where he noted how clever and sociable all the dogs were, just like Izzie.

There formed in Mike’s mind a belief that in the old mansion above the Heath lived an old Duke of Hampstead with his 6 rescue dogs, plus Grizelda his niece, with her 4 cats. Thus began this series about dogs, crocodiles, racehorses, a mole and a Spanish rat, all involved in animal rights and politics.

MAIN CHARACTERS

RESCUE DOGS

Terrrence Grrr, Jack Russell, late-developing terrier

Izzie Van Straubenzee, beautiful Border Collie

Mo, Izzie’s daughter, puppy of uncertain breeding

Badoglio, Alpha Male, Doberman, thrilled with himself

Strictly, 3-legged ex-Derby-winning Greyhound

Reservoir, Mastiff, Head of Castle Security

HUMANS

Grizelda Highgate, Mayor of Hampstead

Lord Fulham Broadway, Grizelda’s solicitor

Orinoco Orwell, Labour MP, leftie grandson of George

Graham Foggia, Police Commander

Barnaby Noel, Prime Minister

OTHER ANIMALS

Cardew and Tallulah, crocodile couple

Melvyn Drillbit, mole

Draxey, paranoid fox

Brian, pet spider belonging to Mo

Moonax, thoroughbred racehorse

OTHER DOGS

Cocaine Charlie, violent drug-dealer

Slasher Barkobedian, pitbull, Charlie’s Wing Dog

Tamara Ridgeback, heiress daughter of Ronnie Ridgeback

Anton Schnozzollio, Dogfather of New York

== CHAPTER ONE ==

The Castle on Hampstead Heath

This is the story of Terrrence Grrr the terrier, and his friends. Terrrence wasn’t very handsome. He wasn’t very clever. And he wasn’t very big. But he turned out to be a late developer, which is just as well, because one afternoon, a few years later, the whole world needed Terrrence.

Terrrence lived with his owner, the Duke of Hampstead, and 5 other rescue dogs. They lived in a Castle high above Hampstead Heath, a beautiful part of North London. That summer, all the Heath bloomed in glory. Its great oak trees slipped the bonds of earth, and reached up to a glorious sky, in whirls of blues and greens and gold.

But the Castle, so damp and dark, loomed above the Heath. A thousand oaks could not hide its monstrosity. Tourists were baffled by it, being unable to reach it. Its turrets, battlements and fortifications were surrounded by a broad and stinky moat, in which lurked a crocodile called Cardew. Cardew loved the odd tourist.

The Castle had been the home of the Dukes of Hampstead for 400 years, but now the last of the line, Peregrine, the 15th Duke, was eating himself to death. His passion for sausage rolls was well catered for by his niece, Grizelda. She cooked him sausage rolls for lunch and dinner, adding various poisons. One sweltering afternoon, lying in his bed, the Duke asked her, Please summon the dogs.

Grizelda replied, Why do you want them?

To talk to them.

But why?

"Do you have to know?" the Duke sighed.

What about my cats? Should they attend?

No, thank you, the Duke said wearily.

Sometimes I feel that you don’t respect me, Uncle Peregrine.

OK! said the Duke.

Grizelda shrugged her usual shrug, and pressed the dog hooter. DOG! DOG! DOOOG! sounded on loudspeakers in every corner of the castle. The 6 dogs came sprinting in from all directions, and sat at the end of Peregrine’s huge bed. They were:

Terrrence, the Jack Russell Terrier;

Izzie, the beautiful Border Collie;

Mo, Izzie’s daughter, a puppy of uncertain breeding;

Badoglio, the Alpha Male Doberman;

Strictly, the 3-legged ex-Derby-winning Greyhound;

and Reservoir, the Mastiff who was Head of Castle Security.

The Duke cleared his throat and wheezed, My dear dogs, I feel increasingly like an old man.

Mo the puppy did a backflip and yelped, You are an old man!

Badoglio declared, No, you are not, my Lord. You look tremendous – little short of superb! And he pointed, to make the point.

The Duke smiled, So kind, Badoglio.

Such cracking form, your Grace, replied Badoglio, wagging his bottom, as he bowed low.

Stop grovelling, Badders, sighed Terrrence.

The Duke sat up on his hill of pillows and coughed. He was aged 80, frail and fat. I fear the Great Handler in the sky is going to call me to heel any time now. But my beloved dogs, I tell you that when I am gone, you will all still be looked after, right here in Cave Canem Castle.

Everyone barked hooray. In her excitement, Mo did paw-stands, bit the Duke’s bedstead, rushed over to the grand piano and started an awful plonking of the keys.

The Duke continued, "I have written in my final Will, that Cave Canem Castle will be a home for all 6 of you dogs forever, with a 7th share going to my niece Grizelda. So the 7 of you will own the place and live here, (loud woofs all round) though I must mention that it will also be a home for other rescue dogs (quieter woofs) and in emergency, other kinds of animal (whimpers) and even the occasional.... cat." (Dead silence.)

Grizelda piped up, Come on now, you should not be selfish, class. There is nothing wrong with cats!

Except that they are cats, muttered Terrrence.

Reservoir, Head of Security, growled at Grizelda, Yus. An’ yer’ve got 4 cats in yer flat. It’s 4 too many fer us. Reservoir was a Cockney fighting mongrel, a mix of Tibetan Mastiff and Rottweiler, with a bit of Siberian Wolfhound thrown in. His brain was damaged as a puppy when he had been swept along the Old Kent Road by a gutter-cleaning machine. Huge and furious, he was, even so, always kind to friends.

The Duke patted Reservoir’s enormous scarred head and said, My dear chum, Reservoir, you need to chill. My niece does not share your views about cats. Be mellow. Cats can be..... cute, I suppose.

Grizelda whined, Thank you, Uncle. And thank you for leaving the Castle to all of us, cats included. Though I seem to have a very small share of it, considering I am Mayor of Hampstead. I am sure you will be with us for many years. But would you mind if I measured up the windows for new curtains, for when you have snuffed it?

Terrrence whispered, That is so tactless.

Reservoir asked, Wot is tactless?

Badoglio bowed even lower than before, and asked, My Lord, may we possibly know where your Will presently is?

The Duke mopped his face with a crested napkin, Certainly, Badoglio. It’s in the grand piano.

Badoglio trotted over to the piano where Mo was still donking. He nosed open the lid, and saw the Duke’s Will, in a white envelope, above Middle C. Badoglio grabbed it in his mouth and ran back to the Duke.

Shall I look after it, sire? I am, after all, a Councillor elected onto Hampstead Council. Everyone sighed. Badoglio was always boasting that he was the only dog Councillor in Britain.

Terrrence cut in, Shall I look after it? After all, I am legally qualified.

Everyone laughed. Grizelda snorted, Ridiculous, Terrrence! You only have a dodgy degree in Dogma from heaven knows which internet university. I alone will look after my uncle’s Will, for I am his next of kin, as well as Mayor of Hampstead. She snatched the Will from Badoglio’s mouth. Now come along, all of you – to our lessons! We are already late for this month’s Debating Society!

The Duke snapped, Not so fast, Grizelda!

Yes, Uncle Peregrine?

I want my Will posted into the Castle mail box.

Posted to whom?

To my solicitor, Lord Fulham Broadway.

Terrrence jumped up and down. Oh Sir! My Lord! Your Wonderfulness! Please let me post it in the Castle mail box. You know I love doing that. He licked his lips.

And we love watching you doing it, Terrrence, grinned the old Duke. The Duke stuck a stamp on the envelope and addressed it to Lord Fulham Broadway, 37B Fulham Broadway.

Then he gave the envelope to Terrrence, who tucked the Will under his collar, and leaped straight out of the window. Parkour jumping was Terrrence’s hobby. Flying like a cartoon into the air, he bit on a loose gutter, and swung himself higher, onto a gargoyle. Then he jumped again and swung on an open window onto the top of the Family Tree Room. He bit on the Castle flag, and swung himself right across the quad onto the portcullis. He scampered halfway down the portcullis, leaped off, landed on the laundry cart, bounced up, and came down on all fours, next to the Castle letter box.

Everyone in the Duke’s bedchamber cheered, except Grizelda. Terrrence took a bow and posted the Duke’s Will into the letter box.

Grizelda smacked her hands together. Well! That’s quite enough showing off for today. As I said, we are late for Debating Society. Come along, dogs, proceed to the Debating Hall if you please! And with that she led the dogs out.

In former centuries, the dogs at Cave Canem Castle had hunted deer, wolves and foxes over Hampstead Heath. That had now ceased. It was now a secret, though not well kept, that the 6 resident dogs were being taught a mind-numbing curriculum by Grizelda. This was because her uncle, who had all the family money, had insisted that if she wished to live in the Castle with her cats, she must teach his adored dogs every possible subject – which she grimly did.

The daily routine of lessons had included Latin. ‘Cave Canem’ is the Latin for ‘Beware of the Dog’. But that was the only Latin the dogs could manage. So reluctantly Grizelda dropped Latin. The next most hated lesson was Pronunciation, because it consisted of endless repetitions of sentences like, ‘The round hound bounds mainly on the ground,’ or, ‘The odd dog hogs eggnog in the fog.’ Grizelda refused to drop Pronunciation, or Maths, or Physics or Chemistry or the Debating Society, however much the dogs hated them.

Grizelda now led the 6 unwilling hounds out of the Duke’s bedroom, down the twisty corridors, through dark, wood-panelled areas and into the Debating Hall. The Hall was hot and stuffy, being next to the Castle boiler. Grizelda sat at her high desk, beside a statue of Plato, the ancient Greek philosopher. The dogs sat in front of her on a long, low bench, beside a statue of Pluto, the Disney dog.

Already waiting for them, on the windowsill, were Grizelda’s 4 adored cats. These were Darling 1, a tabby; Darling 2, a marmalade; Darling 3, a Siamese; and the big black cat called Darling 4. The cats sat in a line, staring into the Hall with cold suspicion, tails swishing.

Grizelda announced, So, all of you, pay attention. The motion for today’s debate is ‘CATS OR DOGS? WHO ARE BETTER?’

Terrrence and Reservoir barked at once Dogs!

We shall see, drawled Grizelda. Izzie, will you please open the debate?

Izzie, the beautiful Border Collie, picked up a copy of the Times newspaper, and her 25 pages of notes. She dropped the lot and tried to herd them back into a tight pile. Then she began her speech. I think we have to consider that there may be many sides to this question. And I want to explore them all this afternoon, if you will bear with me. First: The 38 strengths and weaknesses of cats and of dogs.

There was a general groan. Izzie could talk the tailfin off a shark. She began to consider the meaning of the word ‘cat.’ Mo, her daughter, fell asleep. Badoglio and Strictly played bone, ball and bark, (the dog version of paper, scissors, and stone). Grizelda dozed off and dreamed of animal experiments.

But one of the group was entranced. Terrrence whispered to Badoglio, I’m still in love with Izzie, you know.

Everyone knows, winced Badoglio, including Izzie. And she’s told you she’s not interested.

I know. But, Badders, though I can’t live with her, I can’t live without her.

But you always look so miserable when you’re with her. And she’s twice your size.

I know.

She’s only a bitch, Terrry.

Terrrence shrugged, in despair.

At last Izzie finished her speech. Now, boomed Grizelda. Let us hear from the lead speaker for the cats. Darling 1, would you like to make your speech?

Darling 1 was much more direct than Izzie. Dogs are pathetic, the handsome tabby declared. Dogs adore their master. How yucky is that? They lick their master’s faces. Err! They whine if separated from master. Whereas us cats will switch to another master for just a better plate of salmon. We cats are far more independent than dogs. And we don’t have to be taken for walks. So cats are better than dogs. All the cats purred approval.

Good sense, snapped Grizelda. Now it’s your turn to speak, Strictly.

The three-legged Greyhound nervously stood up and read from his notes. Dogs will bring a master or mistress their slippers. Whereas cats will drop a dead mouse in the slippers. He paused, for effect, disgusted at the criminal tendencies of cats.

Dogs will come when you call them, he continued. But cats will have someone leave a message and get back to you. Dogs will play fetch all day long. But the only thing cats will play with are mice, causing our small friends much pain. Dogs will wake you up if the house is on fire, but cats will quietly slink out of the back door. Above all, cats are just so secretive. So you just don’t know what their strengths and weaknesses are.

We’re unkind! miaowed Darling 3.

That’s certainly a weakness, agreed Strictly.

No, silly, it’s a strength! exclaimed Darling 4.

Huh! Typical! Them cats kill birds! boomed furious Reservoir.

So do magpies kill birds, countered Darling 2.

Stop bickering, all of you, declared Grizelda. This is supposed to be a proper debate.

Better look out if I catch yer on my walk, snarled Reservoir at the cats.

Come on if you’re hard enough, hissed Darling 3 back.

Reservoir could bear it no more. He charged at the cats. But they were prepared. They deftly edged back onto the outside of their windowsill, and with their claws dragged down the sash window. Reservoir crashed into the glass of the window, cracking it, and fell to the floor. Terrrence, Izzie and Strictly also charged the window, infuriated by the cats, who pulled faces and waggled their bottoms at the dogs from the other side of the glass.

All the dogs except Badoglio continued to leap at the window, barking, snarling and straining. Grrrrrr! Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!! Grrwooof!!!

Grizelda yelled, I want order!

And I want a bit of a Darlin’, Reservoir barked.

Sssssssssssssss!!! hissed Darling 4.

"I said I wanted Order, class!"

Strictly growled, I want the police! Grrrrrah!

Yus, we want the fuzz, guv’ner! Grrrrooof!!! snapped Reservoir.

Izzie woofed, If only Princess Diana was still alive!

Terrrence demanded, Would there be better pets? Or vets?

The puppy Mo scratched at the wall, saying I hate cats; I don’t know why.

Reservoir growled his deepest growl, Get the ‘ole Bill, someone! Castle’s on fire! Grrrrrrrrrr!

Grizelda cried, Why are you dogs being so dreadful?

Reservoir, chewing the sill, growled, Roight back at yer, Grizzles!

Grizelda shrieked, Why on earth do you want to attack my cats?

Terrrence, busy snapping at Darling 4 through the glass, barked, I’ll get back to you on that!

Grizelda cried, Class dismissed! Get back to your suites! You hideous curs. Bullying brats. Back to your suites, all of you now!

All the dogs, except Badoglio, left the Plato room. They were in disgrace though, of course, their tails were up. The cats also went off to their cat-flaps, and into their suites of rooms.

Grizelda sighed to Badoglio, All my make-up is ruined.

No, you look fine, milady, soothed Badoglio, the only animal remaining.

You’ve always understood me, Badoglio.

You have such a beautiful mind, so easy to understand, ma’am.

Badoglio, triple Crufts Champion, immaculate 4-year old Doberman, de la Grace Von Hipsberg, stood up to his considerable height, his cold black nose glistening, his brown black-tipped ears pricked, every whisker in place, each faculty alert, in every essence the Alpha Male and the most handsome rescue dog in all of Hampstead.

And you understand my cats? asked Grizelda.

Dogs look up to you, cats look down on you. That’s cats.

So wise you are, so handsome. Do you love my cats too?

Badoglio crinkled his upper lip and wrinkled his nose, Of course, Milady.

Call me Grizelda. Such a good dog. But you know what I fear, dear?

What?

I fear my uncle will go on for years and years. And I will always be trapped here teaching those moron mutts.

"They are moron mutts," said Badoglio, of his friends.

Grizelda took a deep breath. "Now, I admit to you that I have fed my uncle sausage rolls with poisons. But, dear Badoglio, that is the only way I can express myself and get revenge for the terrible life I lead here. Because I am an old maid forced to teach his ghastly dogs and he