Little Wolf, Terror of the Shivery Sea. Tony Ross

Being Frettnin Forest Detective Agency, that was good.

       Camping out, tracking ect. with me being Pack Leader.

      Now we are trying to think up another fine adventure to have, but Smells is spoiling it for us, NOT FAIR.

      Yours remindingly,

      L Wolf, son

      Down The Coalhole

      Dear Mud and Dam,

      Thank you for your sharp note saying pack up reminding people. Also you do not like me saying about your brane being shut down, so I must lock myself in the coalhole for cheek. OK, but serve you right if this writing is on the wonk (dark in here) .

      About saying “Yes?” and “Hmmm? ” and all that. You say that is a big sauce, talking to you in a xplainy way. Because you are big parents, not small weaky fluffballs, so now I must suck a bar of soap, OR ELSE. Plus I must pack in whining and saying not fair.

      OK, I will count myself lucky being able to spend time with my baby bruv, but can you check your clock to see how long that time is? I think it has got stuck.

      Yours punishedly,

       Little Filth (coaldust)

       PS I have not done the soapsucking part yet. Sorry, but I cannot do my best writing plus spitting out bubbles at the same time.

       PPS I am doing it now, spit spit, bluck.

      Drawer Number 3 (ahh cosy),

       Chester Draws, My Room

      Dear Mum and Dad,

      Shame about Dad catching a touch of the Mange, so now he is all germy. You say Smellybreff cannot come near Dad for ages, in case he might catch it. His fur will go itchy and drop off in rugsize lumps, oo-er.

      Yes, I understand Dad is being noble in a wolfly way. (If he is not telling a wopping FAT FIB, hint hint.) By the way, is the Mange like blancMange? Because you never get fur on that either, funny, eh? Only if you leave it out of the fridge for a week.

      Yours askingly,

      Son wun

      My Room

      Dear M and D,

      You know when I was down the coalyhole sucking soap for getting on your nerves? Well I found a dusty old pic chucked out by Uncle Bigbad, a big 1 with a posh frame.

      I thought, I know, give it a bit of a soapy lick, see who is under the dust. Then I found out. It is a fearsum old wolf plus beard, scar ect., all covered in guns and daggers! He has got a funny hat on with a mutton bones badge made out of jewels, all sparkly like his earring. He has got a crool, teasy look on his face, plus he is sitting on a big strong old chest. In his paw he is holding a long twisty stick, looks like coff candy, only made of elephant tusks, maybe.

      I gave the notice underneath a good shine up on my fur so you can see some words, they are:

      I wonder who that Blackfur was. I bet he was an olden day park-keeper that was all snarl and snappish, yes?

      Yours surmisingly,

      Detective Inspectickles Wolf (get it?)

      PS Clue: no it is me wearing spectickles really.

      Sofa, Sitting Room.

      Dear Mum and Dad,

      Surmisingly is not a trick word, it is a real 1, honest. I found it in a detecting book. So I thought, go on, give it a short tryout in your next letter.

      Sorry it made Dad go Grrrr, but maybe that was just his normal temper. Or the Mange, maybe. Or sitting on a hedgehog.

      Thank you for your answer to the pic I found down the coalyhole. I have hung it in the Hall now because you say it is a Family Portrait of our grate wolfly ancestor Blackfur the Rat Pie, Terror of All the Sea.

      No wonder Uncle Bigbad got jealous and chucked him away. Uncle did not want anywun to know there was a bigger Terror than him, I bet!

      1 small thing I still do not get is how can a Rat Pie be a Terror of anything? I love rat pies (yum yum, not scary 1 bit).

      Yours puzzledly,

      Little

      Tree Stump, Up The Garden.

      Dear Mum and Dad,

      Still no news from you about rat pies, boo shame.

      I am writing this in pencil, but do not sing:

      Nar Nar bubbacub, You are just a blubbercub.

      You know I hate doing writing in pencil, but it is all Smells’ fault. Today is my worst day this week, because of Smells meeting a raccoon with a mask on in Frettnin Forest. After that he got jealous, saying he wanted to have a mask 2 and be Mister Burgle-Arrr the Robber.

      I ’spect you will say, “Oh well done, Smellybreff, my fine baby cub, now you are following in Daddy’s pawprints.” But listen, Yeller and me said well done to him 2! We said, “Fine, well done, you can be a burglearrr, Smells. But only if you stick to robbing ants, piggies ect. OK?”

      Sad to say, he did not listen. He went and robbed all my furniture and hid it. So now no bed to sleep on, no chester draws ect. Plus Smells drinking all my ink just for spitefulness. Floors are my worst thing for sleeping on, so it made me get up stiffly in the morningtime needing a warmupp trot outside. Off I went joggingly, then guess what? A moose came rushing! He tried to kill me dead with his horns, a moose! All because of Smells robbing his grass off him!

      Yours moaningly,

      Little

      PS Good thing Normus came along and gave that moose a hard bash.