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getting light quite quickly now; the street lamps had gone out and there began to be traffic – cars and buses and people on
bicycles. He was terribly afraid that Hoot would turn up and stuff him into her horrid-smelling car. He was shaking with cold, his coat had not dried and he felt too weak to go on trying to press
the difficult button. His despair was so great that when he saw two oldish women walking along the pavement towards him he decided on a final desperate plan. When they were a few yards away, he
began scrabbling at the door and making noises that were a mixture of whining and yelps. They stopped. They made kindly noises, and one of them patted him. Then, wonderfully, one of them pushed the
button, and, after a pause, he heard Anne’s voice. Then the door opened, and he bounded in – up the path to the second door, which he pushed open. This final effort was too much for
him, and he collapsed.
    When he came to, he was on the table with the man in a white coat talking to Anne. He heard them mention Alphonse, whereupon he got to his feet, wagging his tail and looking into Anne’s
face. ‘If only you’d understand, I’m begging you to take me to him! Begging you!’
    She did understand. The man lifted him off the table, Anne clipped a lead onto his collar and led (or rather he led her) to the door on the other side of which were the dogs’ cages. Wafts
of Alphonse’s scent came to him and he strained at his lead. The noise that all the other dogs were making meant nothing; he was whimpering from excitement and the joy of being with his
friend again.
    Alphonse was lying in a huddled heap at the very back of his cage. He seemed to be asleep, and even when Charley called him, he still lay there with his eyes shut. Anne undid his lead and let
him into the cage. As he reached Alphonse – saying, ‘It’s me – Charley’ – the poodle opened his eyes, and his face, which had looked as sad and dejected as his
whole body, changed to a kind of dazed delight.
    ‘I thought I was dreaming you. Didn’t want to wake up, old bloke.’ The fur around his eyes, Charley noticed, was wet.
    Anne, who had been watching them, pulled a small rough towel out of her overall pocket and gave Charley a quick rub-down which made him feel much warmer. ‘Breakfast soon,’ she said;
‘and you jolly well eat it, Alphonse.’
    ‘Lie against me, old bloke, and you’ll soon get warm.’ He put a large protective paw around his friend. Charley noticed that he could feel Alphonse’s ribs. ‘Been
off my food lately,’ said Alphonse.
    ‘So have I.’
    ‘She brought you back then?’
    ‘No, I escaped. It was all horrible so I came back here: to be with you.’
    Alphonse gave a deep sigh of content. ‘A couple of bony old blokes, aren’t we?’
    Charley didn’t reply. He buried his nose deep into the thick curly hair of his friend’s shoulder and fell instantly asleep. He was woken by the clamour of breakfast. Everybody was
shouting – about food, and how they wanted to get out, they weren’t meant to be here – all the usual stuff. When the trolley got to them, the boy who usually did breakfast came
into their cage with two bowls, which he put in the usual place, and as he went back to get the jug of water he said something to Alphonse. Charley, who was already attacking his bowl, looked to
see if the poodle was following suit, but he wasn’t.
    ‘Don’t you want your breakfast?’
    ‘Not much. Not really.’
    ‘Yes, you do. Got to keep your strength up. The Major wouldn’t like you not eating.’
    This made Alphonse get painfully to his feet. His back legs were trembling and his coat looked poor.
    ‘You’re quite right. “None of that nonsense,” he used to say. He didn’t approve of nonsense, and it seemed to be all over the place. Once we were in a shop getting
me a new collar and they offered a lovely red one, which, as I am French, I thought would be just right with my black fur, but he said