The 101 Dalmatians

Who Are These Strange Black Dogs?

The Dearlys, the Nannies, and Perdita had spent a sad Christmas Eve. They had all been very kind to each other. Perdita had washed the humans so much that they all had chapped hands and had to use gallons of hand lotion. Fortunately, Perdita quite liked the taste of this.

(She had received no news by way of the Twilight Barking. Reception was bad in that part of Regent’s Park—which was why Pongo had done his barking, and listening, from Primrose Hill.)

In the afternoon the Nannies trimmed the Christmas tree. They said it was for Perdita, but they really hoped to cheer the Dearlys up. The Dearlys put Perdita’s presents on it, but they had not the heart to get out the presents which they had bought for Pongo, Missis, and fifteen puppies just in case they all came home. Mr. Dearly had guessed that Pongo and Missis were searching for their family, but he now feared that family might be scattered all over England, and the best he really hoped for was that Pongo and Missis might return.

When snow first began to fall, everyone felt worse that ever. “And Missis didn’t even take her coat,” said Mrs. Dearly. She pictured Pongo and Missis lost, shivering, and starving. So did Mr. Dearly. But they kept the horrid thought to themselves.

In the evening the Dearlys invited the Nannies to come up to the drawing room, and they all played nursery card games: Snap, Beggar-my-Neighbour, and Animal Grab. They all pretended to enjoy themselves, which was very hard work. At last Mr. Dearly said he would put some Christmas carols on the gramophone.

Now, carols are always beautiful, but if you are sad they can make you feel sadder. (There are some people who always find beauty makes them feel sadder, which is very mysterious thing.) Soon the Dealys and the Nannies could hardly keep the tears out of their eyes. When Mr. Dearly realized this, he thought, “This must be the last carol we play.” It was “Silent Night.” Mrs. Dearly put out the lights and drew back the curtains at the tall windows, so that they could see the stars while they listened. And she saw it was snowing again.

She went back to the sofa and stroked Perdita, who, for once, did no washing but just gazed at the falling snow-flakes. The voices singing “Silent Night” were high and clear and peaceful, and not very loud.

Suddenly everyone in the room heard a dog bark.

“That’s Pongo,” cried Mr. Dearly and dashed to a window.

“That’s Missis,” cried Mrs. Dearly, hearing a different bark as she too dashed to the window.

They flung the window open wide and stared down through the swirling snow. And then their hearts seemed turned to lead by disappointment.

Down below were two black dogs.

Mrs. Dearly said gently, “You shouldn’t be out on a night like this. Go home to your owners, my dears.”

(She used the word “owners” when she should have said “pets”—that mistake humans so often make.)

The dogs barked again, but Mr. Dearly said, “Home!” very firmly, for he felt sure the dogs lived somewhere near and had been let out for a last run before going to bed. He shut the window, saying to Mrs. Dearly, “Odd-looking dogs. I can’t quite recognize the breed.”

He did not hear the despairing howl that came from Missis. It had happened, just as she had feared! They were turned away, outcasts in the night.

Pongo had a moment of panic. This was something he had not foreseen. But quickly he pulled himself together.

“We must bark again,” he said, “and much louder.”

“Shall the puppies bark too?” suggested Missis.

The puppies were all lined up out of sight from the window, because Pongo felt that so many dogs at once might come as a bit of a shock. He now said, “No. Only you and I must bark, Missis. And one at a time. Then they will recognize our voices sooner or later. We would recognize theirs, whatever clothes they wore, whatever colour their face and hands were.”

So he barked again, and then Missis barked. They went on and on, taking it in turns.

Up in the drawing room Mrs. Dearly said, “I can’t believe that’s not Pongo and Missis. And look how excited Perdita is!”

“It’s because we are all so longing to hear them,” said Mr. Dearly. “We imagine we do. But there must be something wrong with those black dogs—just listen! Perhaps they’re lost.” And again he opened the window.

Pongo and Missis barked louder than ever and wagged their tails wildly.

“Anyone would think they knew us,” said Mr. Dearly. “I shall go down and see if they have collars on. Perhaps I can take them to their homes.”

Pongo heard this and said to Missis quickly, “The moment the door opens, dash in and lead the way up to the drawing room. Pups, you follow Missis, noses to tails. I will bring up the rear. And never let there be one moment when Mr. Dearly can close the front door. Once we are in, we can make them understand.”

The front door opened, and out came Mr. dearly. In shot Missis, closely followed by the Cadpig—now out of her cart—and all her brothers and sisters except Lucky, who insisted on waiting with Pongo. What with the darkness and the whirling snow, Mr. Dearly did not see what was happening until a pup bumped into him in passing (it was Roly Poly—of course). Then he looked down to see what had bumped him and saw a steady stream of black pups going through the front door and the white hall and up the white stairs.

“I’m dreaming this,” thought Mr. Dearly and pinched himself hard. But the stream of pups went on and on.

Suddenly there was a hitch. The two pups faithfully dragging the Cadpig’s little blue cart, now empty, could not get it up the steps. Mr. Dearly, who could never see a dog in difficulty without helping, at once picked the cart up himself. After seeing the cart, he no longer felt he was dreaming. “These dogs are a troop from a circus,” he thought. “But why have they come to us?”

A moment later Pongo and Lucky went past and the stream of dogs stopped. Mr. Dearly called into the night, “Any more out there?” To his relief, no dog answered, so he went in and closed the door. Pongo’s sooty hindquarters were just rounding the bend of the stairs. Mr. Dearly followed, four steps at a time, still carrying the little blue cart.

The scene in the front drawing room was rather confused. Large as the room was, there was not floor space for all the puppies, so they were jumping onto tables and chairs and piling up on top of one another. There was rather a lot of noise. Mrs. Dearly was just managing to keep on her feet. She had never been frightened of any dog in her life, but she did feel a trifle startled. The Nannies had taken refuge on top of the grand piano.

Mr. Dearly took one look through the door, then dashed into the back drawing room and flung open the double doors. A sea of pups surged in. And now that there was a little spare floor space, Pongo barked a command.

“All pups who can find space: Roll! Roll, Missis!” And he himself rolled with a will.

The Dearlys stared in utter bewilderment—and then both of them shouted, “Look!”

The white carpet was becoming blacker, the black dogs were becoming whiter—

“It’s Pongo!” cried Mr. Dearly.

“It’s Missis!” cried Mrs. Dearly.

“It’s Pongo, Missis, and all their puppies!” cried the Nannies, from the top of the piano.

“It’s considerably more than all their puppies,” said Mr. Dearly—just before Pongo forcibly embraced him.

Missis was embracing Mrs. Dearly. And in a corner of the room there was a great deal more embracing. Perdita was going absolutely wild trying to embrace eight puppies at once. They were her own long-lost family! It had never struck Pongo that they might be among the rescued pups. He had not even noticed their brown spots, because he had scarcely seen any of the pups by daylight before they all rolled in the soot. It turned out that Perdita’s family was the one that fitted the Cadpig’s little blue cart so well and had pulled it so faithfully.

Mr. Dearly had put cart down in the back drawing room and the Nannies had now got off the piano and gone to look at it.

“That’s a child’s toy,” said Nanny Cook.

“And it’s got a name and address on it,” said Nanny Butler. And she read out, “Master Tommy Tompkins, Farmer. Dympling, Suffolk.”

“Dympling?” said Mrs. Dearly. “That’s where Cruella de Vil has a country house. She told us about it when we had dinner with her and asked if we’d like to buy it.”

And then Mr. Dearly Saw It All. He remembered Cruella’s desire for a Dalmatian fur coast, guessed that she had collected all these pups so that Mr. de Vil could make many such coats.

“You must have the law on her,” cried both the Nannies together.

Mr. Dearly said he would think about that after Christmas, but now he must think about feeding the pups—when all the shops were closed. He hurriedly telephoned the Ritz, the Savoy, Claridges, and other rather good hotels and asked them to send page boys along with steaks. The hotels were most anxious to help when they heard that the Missing Dalmatians had come home. “And at least six dozen more than I ever hoped for,” said Mr. Dearly—not that he had had time to count the pups.

Nanny Butler said, “They must be bathed first.”

“Bathed?” gasped Mrs. Dearly. “All of them?”

“They can’t sleep in their soot,” said Nanny Cook firmly. “Nanny Butler and I will work in our bathroom, and you two can work in yours. And how about asking that Splendid Vet and his wife to pop round and bathe pups in the laundry?”

So Mr. Dearly rang up the Splendid Vet, who was delighted to be waked up and called out at nearly midnight on Christmas Eve. He and his wife soon arrived.

Mrs. Dearly got out all her best bath salt and bath oils and all the lovely coloured bathtowels given to her as wedding presents. The Nannies lit fires in every room. Then the three bathing teams got to work. Soon the house was filled with steam and the scent of lilac, roses, and jasmine, mixed with the delightful smell of wet dogs. It took less time than you would believe, because five pups were put in a bath at a time. They were then pups then wrapped in pink, blue, yellow and green towels and carried to blazing fires to dry. Mr. Dearly thoughtfully turned the drawing-room carpet over so that the soot on it would not come off on the clean pups.

By the time the last pup was washed, the steaks were arriving. There were enough for everyone, even the humans—who were by this time pretty hungry. (They had theirs cooked.)

At last the Splendid Vet and his wife went home, and the house settled for the night. Pongo and Missis showed plainly that they wanted to sleep in their own baskets, with their puppies round them on the hearthrug and in armchairs. Perdita took her little lot into the laundry, on a rather good satin eiderdown. The other pups slept all over the house, on beds, sofas, and chairs. The Dearlys and the Nannies managed to keep chairs for themselves—rather hard ones, but they did not mind because they didn’t expect to sleep much. They wanted to be on hand in case any pup needed anything in the night.

When all was quiet in the firelit kitchen and their fifteen pups were asleep, Pongo said to Missis, “Do you remember that night we left—how we looked back at this kitchen? Look, now, at your legal collar on its peg, ready for you to wear tomorrow—and your beautiful blue coat.”

Missis said, “I am so hardy now that I shall not need the coat. But I shall wear it from vanity.”

At that moment they heard a little noise at the window, a little scratching noise. Outside, in the midst of a white blur, were two green eyes. It was Cruella’s cat.

Swiftly Pongo let her in.

“Such goings on at the de Vils’!” she said.

Quickly Pongo turned to his wife. “I haven’t explained to you yet, Missis. Our friend here told me that if we could get into that bolted room we could destroy Mr. de Vil’s whole stock of furs. Cruella made him keep them all there, so that she could wear any she fancied. I hoped we might put an end to his furrier’s business. That was why I took the risk of going into the de Vils’ house—not to be revenged, but to make England Safe for Dalmatians.”

“And it’s even better than I hoped,” said the white cat. “Because it turns out most of the furs weren’t paid for. So Mr. de Vil’s ruined.”

“The poor little man!” said Missis. “I feel quite sorry for him.”

“No need to,” said the white cat. “He’s as bad as Cruella. The only difference is, she’s strong and bad and he’s weak and bad. Anyway, they’re going to leave England tomorrow, to get away from their debts.”

“Cruella still has her jewels,” said Missis regretfully.

“Mostly sham,” said the white cat. “And those that aren’t will be needed by Mr. de Vil, to start another business abroad. He says he’s going to make plastic raincoats.”

“Cruella won’t look very well in those,” said Missis cheerfully.

“She won’t look very well in anything,” said the cat. “You’ve heard of people’s hair going white in a single night, from shock? That’s happened to the black side of her hair. And the white side’s gone green—a horrid shade. People are going to think it’s dyed. Well, I’m glad to have finished with the de Vils.”

“But where will you go?” asked Pongo.

The white cat looked surprised. “Go? I shan’t go anywhere. I’ve just come —here. I’d have come long ago if you dogs hadn’t barked—that night your pets gave me a kind sardine. They won’t turn me out. I’ll pop up and find them now.”

Then Pongo and Missis sank into a blissful sleep without a care in the world—except that they did want to know what the Dearlys were going to do with so very many puppies. …

And so did the Dearlys!

Those readers who also want to know should read on. Besides, there is a mystery to be cleared up. Most people who are good at arithmetic are likely to think there is a mistake in this book. It is called The Hundred and One Dalmatians. Well, Pongo and Missis and Perdita make three. There were ninety-seven Dalmatian pups at Hell Hall, including those belonging to Pongo, Missis, and Perdita. Three and ninety-seven make one hundred. Where, then, is the hundred and oneth Dalmatian?

He has been mentioned, but many readers may not remember him. Those who do not will soon be reminded of him. And those who do will soon learn more about him. On to the last chapter, if you please!