The 101 Dalmatians

The Little Blue Cart

Pongo was dreaming he was back in Regent’s Park, running after a stick thrown by Mr. Dearly, when a light tap on his shoulder woke him. It was Lieutenant Willow.

“The Colonel’s compliments, and would you and your lady please come to him?”

Missis was sleeping peacefully. Pongo woke her gently, wondering what dream she would be leaving and if the dark barn would look as strange to her as it had to him a moment earlier. She sprang up at once, dazed and anxious.

“All well,” said the cat soothingly. “Food and shelter are arranged for two days ahead. Reception for the Midnight Barking was excellent. Please follow me now.”

She made no mention of the Baddun brothers with their lanterns, searching the heath.

It was still quite dark as they left the barn and crossed the farmyard. The cat led them to the back door of a large white farmhouse.

“Help me to push the door,” she said. “The Colonel has unbolted it.”

The door opened easily. They went through a kitchen and along a passage, at the end of which was an open door and a glimmer of light. The cat led them through the doorway, and they found themselves in a nursery lit by a night-light. At the far end, the Sheepdog stood beside a little painted bed in which was a very wide-awake two-year-old boy.

“This is my pet, Tommy,” said the Colonel. “He very much wants to meet you.”

Pongo and Missis went to the little boy, and he patted them both. Then he made some odd chuckling noises. They did not sound like Human nor did they sound like Dog. But the Sheepdog seemed to understand them, and Tommy seemed to understand what the Sheepdog answered. Pongo decided this was quite a new language, half Dog, half Human.

“Tommy wishes to lend you something,” said the Colonel. “He knows how much you need it and is most anxious to help you. See, here it is.”

Pongo and Missis then saw a little wooden cart, painted blue. It was made like a real farm cart, with four high wheels and a wooden railing all round it to keep the hay in—it was full of hay now. At the front was a long piece of wood with a wide crossbar at the end of it, so that Tommy could drag the cart about.

“You can choose two pups exactly the right size,” said the Colonel, “and they can use the long piece of wood as a shaft—in between them—and take the crossbar in their mouths. Then they can pull the cart forward. And, if needed, pups at the back can push with their noses. Your smallest daughter can travel comfortably in the hay, and any puppy who is tired can sit beside her and take a rest.”

Pongo and Missis examined the pretty cart delightedly. They were too big to get between it and the crossbar themselves, but they felt sure plenty of the bigger pups would fit.

“But does he really want us to take it?” asked Missis.

The Sheepdog then spoke to Tommy, who nodded his head again and again, while talking his extraordinary language.

“His name and address are painted on the side,” said the Sheepdog, “and he would be glad if it can be returned one day. But if that isn’t possible, he will quite understand.”

“If we ever get home, I feel sure Mr. Dearly will return it,” said Pongo. “Please tell Tommy how very grateful we are.”

The Sheepdog translated this to Tommy, who smiled more than ever and made more chuckling noises.

“He says he is pleased you are pleased, and would like to see all the puppies. I think it would be safe to march them all past his window when you leave—which should be soon now.”

So they said good-bye to Tommy, and then the Sheepdog, going backwards, pulled the cart along the passage and out through the back door. He had quite a job.

“It’s lucky my little pet sleeps on the ground floor,” he said. “It’s because our stairs are so steep. I could never have got this cart down them.”

They went back to the barn and woke the pups, and all the bigger ones came outside and tried the cart on for size. (The moon was lower now but still gave plenty of light.) One family of eight fitted perfectly, and a dozen other pups could manage quite well, so Pongo arranged that all these should travel close to the cart and take it in turns to pull it, two at a time. The Cadpig was enchanted and settled down in the hay so that pups could practise pulling.

While this was happening, Pongo was told the plans made by Midnight Barking. Only five miles was to be travelled before dawn—which would not be for over three hours—to a village where a friend of the Colonel’s lived at a bakery.

“And next door is a butcher’s, so food will be all right,” said the Colonel. “Then you’ll do another five miles as soon as it’s dark tomorrow—but my friend will tell you all about that. I hope to get you to London in ten or twelve days, billeting you where you can be safely hidden and fed. The last stages of the march will be the most difficult, but there are warehouses, if we can get in touch with their watchdogs. There’s a Great Dane somewhere near Hampstead working on that already. Fine fellow. I hear he’s a Brigadier-General.”

Ten days or even longer! Missis felt her heart sink.

“Pongo,” she said suddenly, “when is Christmas Day?”

“The day after tomorrow,” said the Colonel. “No, bless me, it’s tomorrow—because it’s Christmas Eve already, even if it isn’t light yet. Don’t worry, Mrs. Pongo. You shall have some Christmas dinner.”

But it was not food Missis was thinking about, but the Dearlys, all alone for Christmas. Sometimes she forgot them for an hour or two, but never for very long. She thought now of that last evening, when she had rested her head on Mrs. Dearly’s knee, trying to make her understand—and of the warm white drawing room, where there was to have been a Christmas tree, with presents for the three dogs and the fifteen pups. Missis had heard the Dearlys planning it.

Pongo guessed his wife’s thoughts—which was easy to do because his own were much the same. “Never mind, Missis,” he said. “We’ll be home by next Christmas.”

The pups who were to take turns at pulling the little blue cart were now quite good at it.

“Then off you go,” said the Colonel. “But first, our cows have asked you in to have a drink with them.”

He led Pongo, Missis, and all the pups into the dim cowshed, where the hay still smelled of summer weather. The head cows, Blossom and Clover, were waiting to welcome them and tell them how to drink at the milk bar. The pups found this easy, especially those who could remember being fed by their mothers—though the smaller pups had to stand on their hind legs and be supported by others pups. The long, warm drink of milk made a splendid breakfast.

At last, after all their kind hostesses had been thanked, it was time to start.

Tommy stood at his window, peering into the moonlight, watching the march-past. Pongo and Misses wrinkled their noses at him in their best smile; every pup turned its head—except the Cadpig, who lay on her back in the hay-filled cart and waved all her four paws.

Pongo said to Missis, “How different Tommy is from the bad little boy who threw a stone at us.”

Missis said, “The bad little boy was only bad because he had never known dogs.” And she was probably right.

The Colonel took them to the crossroads and started them on their way.

“I wish I could come with you, but I’ve a job to do,” he said. Then he and the cat, who was riding on his back, said good-bye hastily and went off so fast that Pongo had to bark his thanks after them. The Colonel barked back that Sergeant-Major Lucky could now be a Lieutenant, then galloped away. Pongo stared in astonishment, wondering what job had to be done in such a hurry. It was a long time before he learned the truth.

The Colonel had just been informed by Lieutenant Willow that the Baddun brothers, having failed to find the puppies on the heath, were now on the outskirts of the village, less than half a mile behind the Dalmatians. He could think of only one thing to do, and he set out to do it—with great pleasure.

He galloped until he saw the Badduns’ lanterns ahead of him. Then he told the cat to get off his back. The minute she was off, he hurled himself at the Badduns and bit both brothers in both legs. Seldom can four legs have been bitten so fast by one dog. The Badduns howled with rage, fear, and pain, dropped their lanterns, and limped back to Hell Hall as quickly as possible. (It is difficult to limp well when you are lame in both legs.) They never knew what bit them. They only knew it bit hard.

“Good work, Colonel,” said Lieutenant Willow.

“I’m promoting you to Captain,” said the Sheepdog. Then he gave a modest little cough and added, “Oh, by the way! I’ve just made myself a Brigadier-General.”