Terrrence Minister for Dogs (The Dog Prime Minister Series Book 2)

By Mike Stone

Terrrence Grrr, the terrier, reluctantly becomes a Member of Parliament, but it's soon clear that he's in the wrong party. He switches sides, but his public and private lives crash, and the press are on to him, drunk under the statue of Sir Winston Churchill. He loses his health, his rat advisor, and his dog friends, and considers e

• Language: English
• Publisher: IAM Self-Publishing
• Release date: May 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781912145713

Mike Stone

MICHAEL STONE is a priest who was found by the Episcopal Church after being nourished by myriad and seemingly unrelated stops along the way: ordained Southern Baptist ministry, participation in almost every mainline Christian denomination and study in five differently confessional seminaries (Roman Catholic, Baptist, Lutheran, Episcopal and United Methodist), preparation for a professorship in Hebrew Bible, teaching high school math, coaching wrestling, teaching speed-reading and comprehensions lessons to students from 3-99, construction, direct-mail marketing, fishing for salmon in Alaska, and being built up by love after having puffed himself up with knowledge. He is the grateful spouse of Rebecca and the proud father of two children, Daniel and Emory, and caretaker of his canine associate, Maggie the goldendoodle. He eccentrically makes soap, competes in long-distance races, mills grain, produces stained glass windows and custom cabinetry, plays the guitar, shops at livestock auctions, and wants to know more about, well, everything.

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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. He eventually became a party baron on the North London circuit.

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

MAIN 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

Gordon Darkside, Chancellor of the Exchequer.

OTHER ANIMALS

El Ratton, Spanish philosopher rat

Cardew and Tallulah, crocodile couple

Melvyn Drillbit, mole

Draxey, paranoid fox

Brian, pet spider belonging to Mo

Moonax, thoroughbred racehorse

OTHER DOGS

Dot, fat old crossbreed bitch

Cocaine Charlie, violent drug-dealing mastiff

Slasher Barkobedian, pitbull, Charlie’s Wing Dog

Tamara Ridgeback, heiress daughter of Ronnie Ridgeback

Anton Schnozzollio, Cane Corso, Dogfather of New York

==CHAPTER 1==

London Belongs To Women

With his £5 million, Reservoir, the massive Cockney mastiff, bought 7 flats near Hampstead Heath Station. He became a buy-to-let landlord. One evening, he called at his 3-bed flat above Starbucks on Hampstead Green. He wanted to collect his rent. But he got a shock. His tenants, Fred Mince and his pyramid of performing dogs, had run off. They had pooed on the carpets, eaten the curtains and stolen the TV. They owed him 3 months’ rent.

Reservoir growled. So many of his tenants caused this kind of problem. Dog tenants were just as dodgy as humans. They seldom paid the rent on time. They never respected his carpets. They always got their weirdest friends in to share. They often sold the washing machine. And worse, nearly half the money Reservoir got in as rent was taken away by Income Tax. Why did he bother, he wondered? He disliked being a landlord. It had been a mistake. He couldn’t sleep, was snappy, and he guzzled so much comfort food that, a year on, he had bingo wings and thunder thighs. Life back in the Castle had been simpler, and slimmer.

Just then Reservoir heard a rumpus out on the street. He sighed. He knew what it was. Former dogs from the Battle of Hampstead were on the rampage again. They were all bored with the peace, and longed for a fresh war. He went to the window. He recognised the gang. It was The Unexpected Items, followers of the drug king Cocaine Charlie. And the irony was that Cocaine Charlie was Reservoir’s own cousin. They were related mastiffs, but they loathed eachother, because of family disputes going back years.

Cocaine Charlie’s Unexpected Items were vicious bulldog-bull-terrier crosses from Kentish Town. They were now chasing Reservoir’s disabled greyhound friend Strictly round and round the bus terminus. Since Strictly only had 3 legs, Charlie’s gang sensed easy, if bony, prey. Terrified Strictly climbed onto the old stone water-trough. The Unexpecteds were baying all around him. There was no time to lose. Reservoir ran down the stairs to help Strictly. He tripped and broke the banisters, but kept on running, like a bouncing bomb.

Cocaine Charlie jumped onto the water-trough and sat menacingly next to shivering Strictly. Charlie theatrically opened his mouth, preparing to take a big bite out of Strictly. But at that moment Reservoir arrived, and butted Charlie with his enormous head, flinging him off the water-trough and into the gutter.

C’m on, geezer, Reservoir breathed at Strictly, let’s get back to my gaff.

Reservoir helped Strictly down off the water trough, and walked him, limping, back to the Starbucks building, growling all the way at the Unexpecteds who tried to harrass them. They went upstairs, and lay out, exhausted, on the dirty sofa, in Reservoir’s flat.

Those pests are gonna have me one day, Reservoir sighed Strictly, as he recovered his breath. It’s just ‘cos I’m disabled. You don’t really expect ‘survival of the fittest’ here in Hampstead.

Aah, anuvver illusion gone there, me ole’ pal snorted Reservoir. That lot are all abaht bullyin’, muggin’, fire-startin’. I know them too ruddy well. That Charlie iz me cousin!

You’re related to Cocaine Charlie?

We in th’ Norf London mastiff community, we’re all related, brud. The blood runs everywhere, know what I mean? Ee’s me 3rd cuz once removed, I fink. But look, let me put plasters on your cuts at least, pal. Reservoir produced a rather dirty first aid kit from the bathroom, cleaned up Strictly’s cuts with antiseptic, and put plasters on them.

Thanks for that, said Strictly sadly. He was still shaking with fear. He looked round at the chaotic flat. Then he said, Do you think you could help me, long term, Reservoir?

Wot way, brud?

Be my minder in case those Cocaine Charlie chumps attack me again?

Nah worries. I’ll keep an eye out for yer.

Really?

I’d enjoy it. Just like the old times, it’d be, mate! We dahn’t see enough of yer these days, so it’d be a priv.

I’d be so grateful if you would. I’m not the Trap 6 sprinter I once was.

None of us is, pal.

Strictly asked, Can I do anything for you in return?

Reservoir got up and sniffed half of an ancient dog biscuit lying on the carpet. He chewed it thoughtfully.You still doin’ all that computer stuff?

Yes. I’m doing a Degree in Computer Science. I was coming back from Imperial College tonight when they ambushed me. As a matter of fact, look at this. He proudly showed Reservoir the gadget on the end of his front leg stump.It’s a bionic paw. I can work a keyboard and do coding and send texts and make calls with it! Wow! James Bonio or what?

You’re a dork, Strictly. You got too many keys and buttons. And yer still can’t fight or run.

That’s true. Anyway, er, how can I can help you, Reservoir?

Well, said Reservoir, I’m drownin’ in this landlord lark. It’s all getting a bit much. He gestured to the flat.

What happened here?

Me tenants ‘ave done a runner. And left me a ton o’ mess. And no rent..

I thought you were doing well as a landlord.

When I started it was OK. I only ‘ad 4 tenants in my first flat. They wuz non-smoking lurchers, all accountants. Brilliant. Easy dosh. But then I got greedy. I bought 6 more 2-bed flats. And let each room to 2 dogs each. So that’s 6 x 6 makes 36 tenants. I went for quantity not quality. Standards dropped. I’ve took in mongrels from Kentish Town. Many were late payers. I took in ‘ounds from Camden Town. Most were non-payers.

You didn’t take in any of Cocaine Charlie’s gang, did you?

Only once. They tried ter burn my flat down. Never again.

Still, you must be making a fortune. 36 tenants!

Money ain’t everything, Strictly. Remember, at the Castle under that witch Grizelda, none of us ‘ad any money? And ‘ow simple life was? I long for that sometimes. And nah the dosh is comin’ in, I’ve no control of it. I get confused. I can’t remember oo’s paid the rent and oo ‘asn’t. I should feel rich but I don’t. I feel bewitched, not rich.

You should enjoy being a property millionaire.

Well, at the start, I enjoyed property lots. Once I went for a walk round that Shard skyscraper. I loved the Shard so much that night that I christened every corner of it, if you know wot I mean. But now it’s all a flippin’ nightmare. And I have to pay a fortune in tax.

You pay tax? That’s rare in Hampstead.

Reservoir got off the sofa and started to pace around the room, his huge bulk making the floorboards squeak. Yes, ‘cos the tax man is after me. And Charlie’s fire-starters are after my flats. ‘Ealth and Safety are after me for better fire alarms. An’ the insurance company’s after me but they won’t insure the flats. An’ the Gas Safety Check guy won’t give me a certificate cos my tenants bite him, and nah they’re all fussin’ abaht carbon monoxide, and flats of multiple occupation, and there’s ‘uge gas bills and water rates, and big Council Tax bills too. And some dogs won’t put their paw mark on leases ‘cos they say they’re leashes. And on top of that the killer is the Tax Man wants ‘alf me profits and I tell you Strictly it’s all too much for a simple mastiff like moi!

And with that Reservoir ripped open his briefcase with his teeth, and threw it up in the air, so that a cascade of papers fell all over the room. Reservoir charged in among them, chewing and tossing the files and spitting and slobbering over the leases, and pulling to pieces the bills and letters and ripping up the tax demands for quite a while. That seemed to do him good, and he calmed down.

Strictly said, Your problem is, old chum, that you’re drowning in paper. These days everything is done online. Your accounts, your leases, your tenancies, your bills, - should be all online, not on paper. I can help there. I’m sure there’s a custom programme for landlords. But if there isn’t I can write one for you - with my bionic paw!

You’d do that for me? exclaimed Reservoir.

Certainly, grinned Strictly. And in return you can be my minder?

Perfect! We ‘ave a deal!

And they shook paws on it, bionically. One was fat, the other skinny. One was loud, the other quiet. One was a fighter, the other a wimp. One was a geezer, the other a geek. It boded well.

Reservoir asked, Comin’ with me up to Number 54 nah? I’ve gotta go there ‘cos I’m chauffeurin’ Izzzie tonight.

In her new Porsche Boxster?

Yup

OK, I’ll come with you.

So Strictly and Reservoir went out again. They peeked up and down Parliament Hill, to make sure Cocaine Charlie and his demon dogs weren’t skulking about. The coast seemed clear. They both continued up Parliament Hill. They passed by Strictly’s skinny house, the same house where he had once lived as a tenant. With his £5 million, Strictly had bought the house outright. And he had enough money left over to fill his new home with world class computers and a new lift.

How did both Reservoir and Strictly come into £5 million? It happened because of the victory of the animal rights movement over the British Army in the Battle of Hampstead, the previous year. As a result of that great victory, Prime Minister Barnaby Noel had promised all dogs and other animals a new world of bliss. He declared that they would get luxury bedding, hundreds of balls, endless treats, a thousand games, freedom to roam everywhere, and even the right to vote.

These were just a politician’s promises. Barnaby had no intention of carrying them out. But he planned one real and dramatic gesture. He wanted to convert Cave Canem Castle into a centre for animals and call it the Cave Canem Castle Creatures’ Community Centre, or CCCCCC.

The Prime Minister had to pay big money to the 4 dogs who lived there. After much haggling, it was agreed that Strictly the 3-legged greyhound, Reservoir the mastiff, Terrrence the terrier, and Izzie the border collie, should each receive £5 million in cash, as compensation for their having to move out of the Castle. Cardew the crocodile furiously stayed put in ‘his’ moat, refusing all bribes.

Reservoir and Strictly continued up Parliament Hill, and reached number 54, a splendid Edwardian building, ranging from its generous basement and spacious garden, all the way up 3 floors to its roof garden and swimming pool. It was worth every penny of the £10 million Terrrence and Izzie had paid for it.

Reservoir knocked on the big brass door knocker, in the shape of a Great Dane’s head. Terrence opened the door to them. We’re having a row, muttered the terrier, gesturing with his paw towards the lounge where Izzie, the border collie, was howling the opera Traviata and combing her thick black-and-white hair.

Is that you, Reservoir? she called out

Present and correct, ma’am, replied Reservoir.

Are you still fat?

O’ course.

Hope you still can fit in my Porsche!

Nah prob, replied Reservoir, though he knew it would be tight.

And is that Strictly there?

Yup, called out Strictly.

Still too thin, Strictly?

If you say so, Iz.

But can anyone really be too thin?she laughed, as she ran across the lounge and greeted them both with an air-kiss. She was aged 4, very pretty and in the prime of life. It’s girls night out! she yapped madly.

Again! moaned Terrrence, tail between his legs.

Oh get a life, Terry.

Terrrence turned theatrically to Strictly, I thought when she and I bought this house together, we’d be together.

We will be together - some time next week, retorted Izzie.

For how long?

We’ll see.

I don’t want to see. I want to know now, whined Terrrence.

Look! barked Izzie I don’t want to be tied down. I’ve told you, and I’ve told you, we’ve been through it a hundred times. Just because we bought this house together doesn’t mean we are joined at the hip, dog. This is my new life. I’m a now a free spirit, free to do my thing, this is my time. Get it into your head, mutt.

We saw more of you in the Castle than we do now, grumbled Terrrence, appealing for support from Reservoir and Strictly. But as visitors, they were both too embarrassed to comment.

Castle, Schmastle, that was then, cried Izzie. God save us from that old gloom, the dismal life in those stoney ramparts. But now we’re all free. To express ourselves. But it’s so naff that we have to fight about this in front of our friends. Terrrence lay on the floor, and shut his eyes, sulking, his ears back. Reservoir, please tell him he’s being pathetic. She flounced off to put her earpiece phone into her ear.

I’m sorry about this, guys said Terrrence to Reservoir and Strictly, his eyes still shut. She’s driving me mad these days. She’s changed so much. All she thinks about is posh London fashion shows, Hampstead lunches, and Knightsbridge charity dos. She appears on TV on Loose Bitches, and works for Save The Everything. She goes to Shoreditch tea parties, press shoots, Sky interviews, Chelsea flower shows, and tonight it’s Bitches Bonanaza night at the Groucho Club.

Baby, that’s right! cackled Izzie, returning to the room. I must give my pal Tallulah a call. Don’t wanna miss out by being late for that Bitches Bonanza extravaganza. With my best bud Tallulah! There was a loud triple knock on the front door. Brill! exclaimed Izzie.That’ll be her now. Let her in, will you guys?

Reservoir opened the door. The enormous Scottish crocodile, Tallulah, entered the house.

You look magnificent! shouted Izzie, hugging Tallulah. You’ve had your scales specially polished for this evening!

Och, but you too, lassie ! shouted