Favourite Dog Stories: Shadow, Cool! and Born to Run
Tales from the nation’s favourite storyteller about man’s best friend who will do anything to protect their loving owners.‘Shadow’:Aman and his mother live in war-torn Afghanistan. When a Western dog appears at the mouth of their cave, it soon becomes Aman’s constant companion, his shadow as he calls her. But life is becoming increasingly dangerous for Aman and his family…‘Cool!’:Michael Morpurgo’s inspiring new story of Robbie, a boy in a coma – victim of a car accident. Locked inside his own head, able to hear but not move or speak, Robbie tries to keep himself from slipping ever deeper into unconsciousness.‘Born to Run’:When Patrick saves a litter of greyhound puppies from the canal, he can’t bear to hand them all over to the RSPCA. He pleads with his parents: couldn’t he just keep one of them? Patrick christens his puppy Best Mate, and that’s what he becomes. Until one day Best Mate is kidnapped by a greyhound trainer, and begins a new life as a champion race dog. Suzie, the greyhound trainer’s step-daughter, loves Best Mate on first sight and gives him a new name, Bright Eyes. But what will happen when he can’t run any more?
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Michael Morpurgo
Favourite Dog Stories:
Shadow, Cool! and Born to Run
Contents
Copyright
For Juliet, Hugh, Gabriel, Ros and Tommo
Contents
Introduction
Preface
When the Stars Begin to Fall
“And They Keep Kids in There?”
We Want You Back
Shadow
Bamiyan
“Dirty Dog! Dirty Foreign Dog!”
“You Must Come to England.”
“Walk Tall, Aman.”
Somehow
Counting the Stars
Polly
“Quite a Hero”
Silver, Like a Star
“The Whole Story, I Need the Whole Story.”
“God is Good.”
The Little Red Train
All Brothers and Sisters Together
“It’s Where We Belong Now.”
Locked Up
“We’re Going To Do It!”
Shooting Stars
“Just Two of Them And a Dog.”
Singing in the Rain
Time To Go Home
Postscript
Introduction
So many have helped in the genesis of Shadow. First of all, Natasha Walter, Juliet Stevenson and all involved in the writing and performing of Motherland, the powerful and deeply disturbing play that first brought to my attention the plight of the asylum-seeking families locked up in Yarl’s Wood. Then there were two remarkable and unforgettable films, that inspired and informed the Afghan part of this story: The Boy who Plays on the Buddhas of Bamiyan, directed by Phil Grabsky, and Michael Winterbottom’s In This World. And my thanks also to Clare Morpurgo, Jane Feaver, Ann-Janine Murtagh, Nick Lake, Livia Firth, and so many others for all they have done.
Michael MorpurgoAugust 2010
Preface
This story has touched the lives of many people, and changed their lives too, for ever. It is told by three of these people: Matt, his grandfather and Aman. They were there. They lived it. So it’s best they tell it themselves, in their own words.
When the Stars Begin to Fall
Matt
None of it would ever have happened if it hadn’t been for Grandma’s tree. And that’s a fact. Ever since Grandma died – that was about three years ago now – Grandpa had always come to spend the summer holidays at home with us up in Manchester. But this summer he said he couldn’t come, because he was worried about Grandma’s tree.
We’d all planted that tree together, the whole family, in his garden in Cambridge. A cherry tree it was, because Grandma especially loved the white blossoms in the spring. Each of us had passed around the jug and poured a little water on it, to give it a good start.
“It’s one of the family now,” Grandpa had said, “and that’s how I’m going to look after it always, like family.”
That was why, a few weeks ago, when Mum rang up and asked him if he was coming to stay this summer, he said he couldn’t because of the drought. There had been no rain for a month, and he was worried Grandma’s tree would die. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to stay at home, he said, to water the tree. Mum did her best to persuade him. “Someone else could do that, surely,” she told him. It was no good. Then she let me have a try, to see if I could do any better.
That was when Grandpa said, “I can’t come to you, Matt, but you could come to me. Bring your Monopoly. Bring your bike. What about it?”
So that’s how I found myself on my first night at Grandpa’s house, sitting out in the garden with him beside Grandma’s tree, and looking up at the stars. We’d watered the tree, had supper, fed Dog, who was sitting at my feet, which I always love.
Dog is Grandpa’s little brown and white spaniel, with a permanently panting tongue. He dribbles a lot, but he’s lovely. It was me that named him Dog, apparently, because when I was very little, Grandpa and Grandma had a cat called Mog. The story goes that I chose the name because I liked the sound of Dog and Mog together. So he never got a proper name, poor Dog.
Anyway, Grandpa and me, we’d had our first game of Monopoly, which I’d won, and we’d talked and talked. But now, for a while, we were silent together, simply stargazing.
Grandpa started to hum, then to sing. “When the stars begin to fall… Can’t remember the rest,” he said. “It’s from a song Grandma used to love. I know she’s up there, Matt, right now, looking down on us. On nights like these the stars seem so close you could almost reach out and touch them.”
I could hear the tears in his voice. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing for a while. Then I remembered something. It was almost like an echo in my mind.
“Aman said that to me once,” I told him, “about the stars being so close, I mean. We were on a school trip down on a farm in Devon, and we snuck out at night-time, just the two of us, went for a midnight walk, and there were all these stars up there, zillions of them. We lay down in a field and just watched them. We saw Orion, the Plough, and the Milky Way that goes on for ever. He said he had never felt so free as he did at that moment. He told me then, that when he was little, when he first came to live in Manchester, he didn’t think we had stars in England at all. And it’s true, Grandpa, you can’t see them nearly so well at home in Manchester – on account of the street lights, I suppose. Back in Afghanistan they filled the whole sky, he said, and they felt so close, like a ceiling painted with stars.”
