Fluffy Dog and the Bastards in Blue

“Woof woof woof,” said Fluffy Dog, running towards the front door of the house.

Little Timmy looked up from his toys and frowned. “Shut up, Fluffy Dog,” he warned, “or Mummy will get mad at you again.”

There was a knock on the door, and Fluffy Dog rose up onto his hind legs, mouth at the letterbox, ready to bite anyone who tried to pass through it.

“Grrrrrr,” he growled, showing his teeth.

“Mummy, there’s someone at the door!” Little Timmy yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

Mummy was upstairs playing a game with Mr Kevin from next door. Little Timmy wasn’t sure what game they were playing, but they had music on and didn’t seem to hear him. He thought about going upstairs to tell them there was somebody at the door, but Mummy had said Little Timmy wasn’t allowed to bother them while they were playing their game. So Little Timmy didn’t know what to do.

There was another knock on the door, and the letter box flap opened. Fluffy Dog growled and bit down on the letter box flap, shaking his head from side to side. Little Timmy heard bad words from the man outside, words that only grown ups like Mummy were allowed to say. He picked up his Buzz Lightyear Blaster and loaded three balls into it before approaching the door. He had lost the other balls that came with the gun, so he hoped three would be enough if it turned out to be a monster trying to get in.

“Who is it?” Little Timmy asked.

“Open up, it’s the police.”

Little Timmy stretched up onto his toes and put the chain on the door. He knew from his story books that monsters often pretended to be nice people so that you would let them in, and he didn’t want to take any chances. Fluffy Dog let go of the letterbox flap and dropped down onto four legs, positioning himself between Little Timmy and the door.

Little Timmy twisted the Yale lock and pressed down on the handle to open the door. It opened a few inches until the chain drew tight, and Little Timmy peered through the gap. Fluffy Dog poked his nose through the door and snarled at the three men dressed in blue uniforms. A large monster dog that was at least three times larger than Fluffy Dog growled back.

One of the men crouched down to Little Timmy’s height and asked, “Is your mum or dad in?”

Fluffy Dog tried to bite the man, but couldn’t fit his head far enough through the door to reach him. Little Timmy nodded his head. “Mummy is upstairs playing with Mr Kevin. She said not to bother them.”

“You need to go and get her, son,” the policeman said, smiling.

Little Timmy shook his head. “Mummy will get mad if I bother her while she’s playing her game with Mr Kevin.”

“Look, kid,” the man said, his smile turning into a frown, “you either get your mother now or we’re going to break this door down and get her ourselves.”

Little Timmy backed away from the door, covering it with his Buzz Lightyear Blaster. Fluffy Dog shouted at the men and curled his lips up to make his teeth look bigger.

“Take out the dog,” one of the men said, and Little Timmy heard a short hiss, like when Mummy sprays on her perfume. Fluffy Dog yelled out and ran towards his basket. He was crying, big doggy tears streaming down his face. Little Timmy had never seen Fluffy Dog cry before. He was usually a brave dog, and everyone knows that brave dogs don’t cry. Fluffy Dog rubbed his eyes along the blanket in his basket, like the way he does when he’s been rolling in something smelly and Mummy has to shout at him and give him a bath.

The policemen outside were kicking the door, making it shudder against the chain. Little Timmy sighted down the barrel of his Buzz Lightyear Blaster and readied his finger over the trigger. The door flew open, slamming back on its hinges, and the three policemen rushed in. Two were brandishing large black sticks, the other held back a snarling monster dog straining at its leash. Little Timmy fired his Blaster at one of the men with the sticks and a green ball shot out, bouncing off the man’s chest. The policeman glared at Little Timmy and raised his stick above his head.

“Put the weapon down,” he demanded.

Little Timmy fired again, aiming at the man’s head. The man said some bad words when the ball bounced off his nose, and swung his stick down at Little Timmy’s gun. The impact jarred Little Timmy’s hand, and the Buzz Lightyear Blaster fell to the ground. The policeman kicked it away and pointed his stick at Little Timmy.

“Face down on the ground,” he said. “Now!”

Little Timmy looked at Fluffy Dog, hoping he would spring to his rescue, but the dog was still crying and rubbing his eyes on the blanket.

“Mummy!” Little Timmy yelled, his own tears starting to fall.

“On the ground, now!” The policeman shouted, taking a step towards him and raising his stick.

Little Timmy sat down on the carpet and sobbed.

“Face down on the ground, hands behind your back,” the policeman commanded. Little Timmy did as he was told, and the policeman put some handcuffs around his wrists. “You two, upstairs,” he said to the other policemen. They clumped upstairs together.

Little Timmy turned his head to see what the monster dog and the policeman who stayed downstairs were doing. The policeman was looking in drawers and cupboards, emptying things onto the floor and making a mess. The monster dog was sniffing everything. The policeman found Mummy’s nasty grown up soda pop and grunted, smiling to himself as he read the label. He twisted off the cap and took a drink, straight from the bottle.

Little Timmy hoped the policeman’s mouth would burst into flame, just like his had when he tried some of Mummy’s nasty soda pop one night. Mummy had fallen asleep on the settee after drinking half a bottle, leaving some in a glass on the coffee table. It looked like lemonade, but without the bubbles that made your nose feel funny. Little Timmy took a sip and his mouth burst into flame and continued burning even after he spat the nasty soda pop out onto the carpet.

But the policeman’s mouth didn’t burst into flame like Little Timmy’s had; he just swallowed the nasty soda pop down and sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Mummy’s music stopped playing, and Little Timmy heard her shouting bad words at the policemen upstairs. Little Timmy felt like saying some bad words himself when he heard a loud slap and Mummy cried out in pain.

“It’s nothing to do with me,” Mr Kevin said, “I don’t even live here.”

One of the policemen told him to shut up with some more bad words, and Little Timmy heard a stick swish through the air followed by a loud thump against the ceiling and both Mr Kevin and Mummy and the two policemen shouting at once.

The policemen came downstairs, pushing Mummy and Mr Kevin in front of them. Mr Kevin had his hands handcuffed behind his back, just like Little Timmy did, and his face was bleeding. The policeman stretched out Mr Kevin’s arms behind him, making him bend forward as he stumbled down the stairs, and blood dripped onto the stairs carpet.

The other policeman held Mummy around the throat with one arm, and gripped Mummy’s elbow with his other hand. Mummy didn’t look very happy, she was crying and one side of her face was red like the way Little Timmy’s legs got when he was naughty and had to be slapped. The policemen pushed Mummy and Mr Kevin from the bottom step, and they stumbled and fell next to Little Timmy.

“Where is it then?” one of the policemen demanded to know. Mummy said some bad words, and the policeman kicked her in the ribs.

“Woof, grrrrrr,” Fluffy Dog said when Mummy cried out, but he stayed in his basket. His eyes were closed, and he shook his head.

“I’ll ask again,” the policeman said, putting his foot on Mummy’s face and holding her head flat against the carpet. “Where is it?” Mummy said some more bad words. The policeman laughed. “Suit yourself, we’ll just have to tear the place apart then won’t we?”

He used his foot to roll Mummy onto her stomach and knelt on her back while he handcuffed her. The other two policemen emptied drawers onto the floor and kicked the contents around with their boots. The monster dog sniffed around the settee and a policeman tipped all the cushions onto the floor. He put his hand down the back of the settee and pulled, ripping the fabric open. He reached inside and pulled out foam stuffing, throwing it onto the floor with the cushions.

“Nothing here,” he said when he had finished destroying the settee.

The monster dog lifted his leg against one of the cushions and wet it, then sniffed his way towards the stairs. The policeman followed, saying “Good boy, go find it boy.”

“Woof,” the monster dog said, and its tail swished from side to side. Its nose pointed up the stairs.

“Up here, is it boy?” the policeman said, and started to climb the stairs. The dog followed, stopping to sniff each step.

Downstairs, Little Timmy could hear the two policemen in the kitchen, throwing food out of the fridge. He heard eggs breaking against the linoleum, cartons of milk being emptied onto the floor, plates being smashed. He turned his head towards Mummy. She was still crying.

Upstairs, Little Timmy heard the ladder to the loft being pulled down and boots clanking up it. He heard the loft hatch being opened, and a muffled voice shout “Found it!”

The policeman came back downstairs clutching Mummy’s favourite houseplant, the monster dog following proudly behind him with its tail in the air. The two policemen returned from the kitchen eating Little Timmy’s favourite biscuits.”

“Good work, Rotherford,” one said, biscuit crumbs flying from his mouth. “You bag that up while we get these two into the van.” He looked at Little Timmy. “We should probably call Social Services too, there’s a child at risk here.”

“Grrrrr,” said Fluffy Dog from his basket.

Little Timmy agreed with Fluffy Dog, but he knew there was nothing either of them could do as he watched Mummy and Mr Kevin dragged through the door.

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About Marcus Blakeston

Ex-shouting poet, ex-fanzine writer, ex-angry young man (now growing old disgracefully). Living in sunny Yorkshire with his wife, children and motorcycle, Marcus still has a healthy distrust of all forms of authority.
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