Basil's Journey
Children's Story
Basil was lonely and cold and very, very tired. He was limping, because his front paw hurt, and his long, hairy coat was bedraggled and matted with the rain. He had no idea how long he had been walking, and very little idea where he was headed. He just knew he wanted to go home, and especially to see his owner Mr. Frasier, again.
Basil was a mixture dog, with a bit of this and a bit of that in his make-up, and he hadn't been endowed with much brain. The events of the past few weeks were already growing hazy in his mind. But he remembered Mr. Frasier with a deep, doggy devotion, and he longed to be with him again.
Basil could just remember some good times with Mr. Frasier. He could remember runnning and running for miles in a wide open space, chasing a ball which he kept bringing back and dropping at Mr. Frasier's feet. And each time he dropped it, Mr. Frasier would pick up the ball and throw it again. Basil could remember long walks in the woods, sniffing and snuffling at every delicious scent which teased his nose. And he could remember tidbits of tasty food, occasionally handed to him from Mr. Frasier's own plate.
Basil wasn't sure when it had all begun to change. But over the years, Mr. Frasier had started to use a walking stick and limp a little, and the walks had become shorter and shorter until they gradually ceased. And the ball had disappeared, and sometimes Basil received not tidbits, but a kick and an oath from Mr. Frasier. Having no idea why Mr. Frasier had suddenly begun to mete out such treatment, Basil usually slunk away for a while with his tail between his legs. Then he'd quietly worm his way back and nuzzle Mr. Frasier's hand, or lay his head on his lap. Or sometimes Basil would rub against Mr. Frasier's legs, just like a cat. Sometimes Mr. Frasier would lay his hand on Basil's head, and murmur comforting words. And once, he started to cry. Basil had licked and licked him, until he felt better and stopped crying.
Occasionally Mr. Frasier would forget to feed Basil at all. And once he forgot to let him out, even though Basil whined and pawed at the door for all he was worth. One day, Mr. Frasier had turned the gas on and forgotten to light it, and both he and Basil had fallen fast asleep until Mrs. Plumpton, their neighbour had rushed into the house and opened all the windows.
Then had come that fateful day. Mr. Frasier had whistled to Basil to jump into the car. Basil was overjoyed. It felt just like old times! Journeys in the car meant very long walks indeed, sometimes for day after day. He thought he'd heard Mr. Frasier call it a "holiday".
Mr. Frasier drove the car for what seemed like hours. Sometimes Basil heard other cars hooting, and felt their car swerve violently, but still Mr. Frasier drove on. When he eventually stopped and opened the door, Basil leapt out and bounded into the undergrowth. He sniffed and snuffled for a bit, then trotted back to retrieve his master. But to Basil's horror, the car and Mr. Frasier had disappeared.
Basil searched high and low for Mr. Frasier all that day, but found no trace of him. In the end, he thought he'd better go home, and he began to follow his nose. He plodded on all night, feeling very hungry, and stopped to search for food and to rest, about dawn. And this had been Basil's pattern for months, now. He'd walked and rested, stolen food and been chased by angry people. He'd been intimidated by other dogs, and once, only just escaped capture and a visit to the dog pound.
Some dogs, street dogs without homes of their own, had been friendly and shown Basil the best rubbish tips to forage for food. When they'd heard his story, they'd sniffed and barked and told him to forget Mr. Frasier. "Anyone who treats a dog that badly, and then just abandons him, isn't worth remembering," they'd said. But some instinct of loyalty made Basil continue on his quest, and today at long last, he was sure he was near home. Something about the roads and especially the trees and lampposts, was very familiar.
Basil limped into the garden of his home and whimpered at the back door. Nobody came, so he lay down in the old garden shed and went to sleep. Each day he stood at the back door and whimpered, but nobody came. So each day Basil foraged for food wherever he could, and each night he returned to the garden shed to sleep. Now he'd come this far, no matter what happened to him, he wasn't going to leave until he found Mr. Frasier again.
Basil thought his new life might go on forever, but he'd been spotted by Mr. Frasier's next door neighbour. Mrs. Plumpton put out a bowl of water for Basil, and some dog food on an old tin plate. Basil ate and drank hungrily, and woofed his thanks. He ran towards Mrs. Plumpton, but she didn't seem to recognise him. So Basil lay down at her feet, and rolled over on his back with his legs in the air, they way he used to when he was a puppy.
Mrs. Plumpton peered closely at him. "Basil?" she said. "Surely - no, it can't be! It's months since he took you away."
Basil inched his way towards her and began to lick her hand. She stooped down and fondled his ears. "Why, Basil! I really think it is you! You must have travelled thousands of miles, and had a terrible time! You look and smell dreadful! Come on, Basil, it's time for a bath."
After his bath, Basil felt like a new dog. Mrs. Plumpton brushed and combed him, and all the neighbours gathered round and treated him like a hero. It was rather nice, but there was no Mr. Frasier. "I'll take you to him," promised Mrs. Plumpton. "You see, Basil, he's a poor old man now, and his mind went a bit peculiar. That's why he treated you badly. But he's being looked after in an old people's home, and I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you. Although he doesn't recognise any of us any more."
She took Basil to see Mr. Frasier that afternoon. Mr. Frasier was sitting in a wheel chair, staring into space. He didn't seem to notice anyone at all, so Basil pushed his head into Mr. Frasier's hand, and began to lick him. After a moment, a light came into Mr. Frasier's eyes, and he began to respond to Basil. Then he looked up, and a slow smile spread over his face. "Basil!" he said. He looked at Mrs. Plumpton and said, "Thank you." And tears sprang into Mrs. Plumpton's eyes, for Mr. Frasier hadn't spoken a word for three months.
Basil was so popular with all the old people, that the owners of the home decided to keep him. He had a wonderful new life, petted and pampered by everyone there, but his favourite place was always lying at Mr. Frasier's feet. Mr. Frasier was never again quite as he'd once been, but Basil didn't care. He was home now, and that was all that mattered.
Basil was a mixture dog, with a bit of this and a bit of that in his make-up, and he hadn't been endowed with much brain. The events of the past few weeks were already growing hazy in his mind. But he remembered Mr. Frasier with a deep, doggy devotion, and he longed to be with him again.
Basil could just remember some good times with Mr. Frasier. He could remember runnning and running for miles in a wide open space, chasing a ball which he kept bringing back and dropping at Mr. Frasier's feet. And each time he dropped it, Mr. Frasier would pick up the ball and throw it again. Basil could remember long walks in the woods, sniffing and snuffling at every delicious scent which teased his nose. And he could remember tidbits of tasty food, occasionally handed to him from Mr. Frasier's own plate.
Basil wasn't sure when it had all begun to change. But over the years, Mr. Frasier had started to use a walking stick and limp a little, and the walks had become shorter and shorter until they gradually ceased. And the ball had disappeared, and sometimes Basil received not tidbits, but a kick and an oath from Mr. Frasier. Having no idea why Mr. Frasier had suddenly begun to mete out such treatment, Basil usually slunk away for a while with his tail between his legs. Then he'd quietly worm his way back and nuzzle Mr. Frasier's hand, or lay his head on his lap. Or sometimes Basil would rub against Mr. Frasier's legs, just like a cat. Sometimes Mr. Frasier would lay his hand on Basil's head, and murmur comforting words. And once, he started to cry. Basil had licked and licked him, until he felt better and stopped crying.
Occasionally Mr. Frasier would forget to feed Basil at all. And once he forgot to let him out, even though Basil whined and pawed at the door for all he was worth. One day, Mr. Frasier had turned the gas on and forgotten to light it, and both he and Basil had fallen fast asleep until Mrs. Plumpton, their neighbour had rushed into the house and opened all the windows.
Then had come that fateful day. Mr. Frasier had whistled to Basil to jump into the car. Basil was overjoyed. It felt just like old times! Journeys in the car meant very long walks indeed, sometimes for day after day. He thought he'd heard Mr. Frasier call it a "holiday".
Mr. Frasier drove the car for what seemed like hours. Sometimes Basil heard other cars hooting, and felt their car swerve violently, but still Mr. Frasier drove on. When he eventually stopped and opened the door, Basil leapt out and bounded into the undergrowth. He sniffed and snuffled for a bit, then trotted back to retrieve his master. But to Basil's horror, the car and Mr. Frasier had disappeared.
Basil searched high and low for Mr. Frasier all that day, but found no trace of him. In the end, he thought he'd better go home, and he began to follow his nose. He plodded on all night, feeling very hungry, and stopped to search for food and to rest, about dawn. And this had been Basil's pattern for months, now. He'd walked and rested, stolen food and been chased by angry people. He'd been intimidated by other dogs, and once, only just escaped capture and a visit to the dog pound.
Some dogs, street dogs without homes of their own, had been friendly and shown Basil the best rubbish tips to forage for food. When they'd heard his story, they'd sniffed and barked and told him to forget Mr. Frasier. "Anyone who treats a dog that badly, and then just abandons him, isn't worth remembering," they'd said. But some instinct of loyalty made Basil continue on his quest, and today at long last, he was sure he was near home. Something about the roads and especially the trees and lampposts, was very familiar.
Basil limped into the garden of his home and whimpered at the back door. Nobody came, so he lay down in the old garden shed and went to sleep. Each day he stood at the back door and whimpered, but nobody came. So each day Basil foraged for food wherever he could, and each night he returned to the garden shed to sleep. Now he'd come this far, no matter what happened to him, he wasn't going to leave until he found Mr. Frasier again.
Basil thought his new life might go on forever, but he'd been spotted by Mr. Frasier's next door neighbour. Mrs. Plumpton put out a bowl of water for Basil, and some dog food on an old tin plate. Basil ate and drank hungrily, and woofed his thanks. He ran towards Mrs. Plumpton, but she didn't seem to recognise him. So Basil lay down at her feet, and rolled over on his back with his legs in the air, they way he used to when he was a puppy.
Mrs. Plumpton peered closely at him. "Basil?" she said. "Surely - no, it can't be! It's months since he took you away."
Basil inched his way towards her and began to lick her hand. She stooped down and fondled his ears. "Why, Basil! I really think it is you! You must have travelled thousands of miles, and had a terrible time! You look and smell dreadful! Come on, Basil, it's time for a bath."
After his bath, Basil felt like a new dog. Mrs. Plumpton brushed and combed him, and all the neighbours gathered round and treated him like a hero. It was rather nice, but there was no Mr. Frasier. "I'll take you to him," promised Mrs. Plumpton. "You see, Basil, he's a poor old man now, and his mind went a bit peculiar. That's why he treated you badly. But he's being looked after in an old people's home, and I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you. Although he doesn't recognise any of us any more."
She took Basil to see Mr. Frasier that afternoon. Mr. Frasier was sitting in a wheel chair, staring into space. He didn't seem to notice anyone at all, so Basil pushed his head into Mr. Frasier's hand, and began to lick him. After a moment, a light came into Mr. Frasier's eyes, and he began to respond to Basil. Then he looked up, and a slow smile spread over his face. "Basil!" he said. He looked at Mrs. Plumpton and said, "Thank you." And tears sprang into Mrs. Plumpton's eyes, for Mr. Frasier hadn't spoken a word for three months.
Basil was so popular with all the old people, that the owners of the home decided to keep him. He had a wonderful new life, petted and pampered by everyone there, but his favourite place was always lying at Mr. Frasier's feet. Mr. Frasier was never again quite as he'd once been, but Basil didn't care. He was home now, and that was all that mattered.
