Baker's Dog

The Baker’s Dog

In the bakery behind the shop Mrs Dilys Davies was starting work. Today she had something very special to bake but the day had not started well for her.

Before the cockerel had given out his early morning alarm. Even before the birds had sung to the rising sun. Mr Davies the fat jolly baker had been busy in his quiet back room. He had lit the fire under the oven and set the yeast to work. The baker had prepared the dough, and had smiled broadly as he had listened to the first bird singing. Yes “Davies the Dough” was content with life in the village.

He worked alone in the quiet early hours of the day as he kneaded and shaped the bread for the sleepy villagers.

When the cockerel had crowed his wife jumped out of bed, stretched and started to dress. She had laughed as a button flew off her white dress, across the room. She certainly wasn’t getting any thinner.

Mrs Davies had come down stairs in her bedroom slippers.

he kettle was on the stove and she started to make breakfast, as she had done every day of her married life. The Davies’ ate breakfast in the kitchen. It was a very full pan of sizzling bacon and eggs eaten with lovely fresh bread and washed down with two cups of tea.

Both Mr and Mrs Davies enjoyed their food. No wonder they were both round and jolly!

Mrs Davies opened the door and her happy round face changed as she looked down crossly. For the fifth day in a row those wretched birds had pecked through the cardboard discs on the top of the milk bottles.

Now you know that birds eat worms and caterpillars. When they dip their beaks into the milk it becomes too dirty to use and must be wasted.

No wonder Mrs Davies was cross. There would be no cup of tea with breakfast. today.

A big fluffy black cat with a shining white bib, sat on the fence licking his paw. The cat was purring happily. He had tipped the cream jug again.

“You wretched cat! What use are you if you can’t keep the birds off my milk? You have even eaten the cream so I can’t make eclairs and cream horns to sell in the shop. Be off with you.”

The Potter’s cat looked guilty and slunk away, slowly. Very slowly, as he had a very full tum.

Davies the Dough and his wife ate breakfast then he went to the dairy to get a fresh supply of milk.

His bread soon found its way to all the breakfast tables in the village. With its newly baked smell, who could resist it?

Mrs Davies wondered how to decorate the cake. She thought of chocolate butter cream to look like the fur. A plump raisin for the nose.... she popped a raisin into her mouth thoughtfully. Two currants for his bright eyes and half a glace cherry peeking though the icing mouth for a tongue. She popped a glace cherry into her mouth.

“....mmmm. Yes that would do nicely”.

Breakfast had cheered Mrs Davies up. Such a jolly person as Mrs Davies could not stay cross for long. Now it was her turn to start baking. She had tied a big clean pinafore around her plump body. The pinafore covered her white dress. With her hair tucked under a white mop cap and her sparkling dark eyes she looked like a jolly round snowman, or in this case a snow-woman!

She set to work to make the tea time favourites, and that special order, between answering the shop bell.

The bakery counter was kept full with cakes and buns of every type. Her cream horns and eclairs were very popular. They looked good on the counter in the shop, next to her beautifully decorated iced fancies, and traditional Welsh cakes, Teisen lap and Bara brith. The recipes for which

had been in her family for many years.

Today Mrs Davies had that very special cake to bake. One of the little boys in the village was going to be six the next day.

Tom desperately wanted a dog for his birthday. His grandfather lived with them. Grampy, had a bad chest and dog hairs would not be a good thing to have near him. So instead Tom’s mother asked the Baker’s wife to bake a dog cake for him.

Dilys Davies weighed some plump raisins on her shining brass scales and emptied them into a big mixing bowl. These were followed by shiny black currants and scrumptious red glace cherries. Soon the mixing bowl was full of the finest ingredients. Naturally she had had to taste one or two samples of the fruits “....mmmm.. very nice,” she thought, as she picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the mixture.

Then Mrs Davies put a bowl of water in front of the animal. It lapped it up.

Surely this was not a ‘full of cake’ dog, she thought as it licked her hand gratefully with its cherry red tongue.

All afternoon she worked hard, washing up the bowls and trays, cleaning the work surfaces and helping the customers. The dog had curled up again and was sleeping peacefully by the oven, she had not got the heart to put it out.

Eventually the dog woke and gave a little growl. Mrs Davies ran back from the shop. The second dog cake was cooked.

“Thank you Boy. This cake is cooked perfectly”

Smiling now she manoeuvred the hot cake onto the cooling wire looking thoughtfully at the dog.

The dog stayed lying at her feet as she decorated the cake.

Lying curled up against the warm oven was one large dark brown shaggy dog with currant black eyes, a soft as a raisin nose and a glistening cherry red tongue.

Mrs Davies was very surprised.

“Hello Boy. What on earth are you doing there?”

The dog looked at her with those lovely dark eyes. It slowly uncurled and stood up. The dog took one hesitant step towards her, and lazily wagged its tail.

Mrs Davies looked at the dog and then at the bakery door. It was closed tight.

She looked at the dog again and then at the cooling wire. It was empty. Not one single crumb of the burnt cake could be seen. She looked back at the dog and she wondered.

The kind lady gently offered the dog a plate of the leftovers from the steak and kidney pies. Davies the Dough had baked the pies for the shop earlier that day. The dog ate the food greedily.

The last customer left and Mrs Davies rushed into the back room. She screeched with horror. Her nose told her, before she even opened the oven door, that the cake was over done.

Holding the hot baking tray with a thick towel she flapped at the smoke with her free hand and pushed the dark brown mess onto the cooling wire.

“That will never do!” She exclaimed.

There was only one thing to do if Tom was to get his cake on time. She would have to start work immediately.

Mrs Davies mixed another set of ingredients. More plump soft raisins,more shiny black currants and more scrumptious red glace cherries were hastily weighed,

and thrown into a clean mixing bowl. No time now to sample the luscious fruits. Her wooden spoon flew furiously through the mixture. Eventually the cake was ready and she carefully put it in the oven.

Then she noticed it!

Dilys Davies put the cake in the oven and went to serve the customers in the shop.The bakery was very busy. Everyone in the village enjoyed the tasty cakes, bread and pastries. Everything that Mr and Mrs Davies made was so delicious.

Today it seemed that the whole village was hungry. Every time she tried to get back to the oven the shop bell rang.Ting-a-ling.

Wiping her flour covered hand on a towel tucked into the ties of her pinafore, and trying to smile,,she went into the shop to serve the customer. Mrs Jones wanted “Two baps and a Swansea loaf please” and chatted about the weaver’s new baby.

Mrs Jones left the shop, and Mrs Davies tried to go into the back room to the oven.

Ting-a-ling the bell rang.

This time it was Mrs Trevor Jenkins she wanted “Six small steak and kidney pies. Did you know my sister and her family have come to visit from Porthcawl. You

should see how my two nieces and nephew have grown”. She shared all the gossip of the seaside town.

Eventually Mrs Jenkins left. Poor Mrs Davies, she tried to go to the oven but again the shop bell rang, ting-a-ling.

Little old Mrs Evans was very worried about the weather! She chose half a dozen Welsh cakes and a crusty cob. You could not politely hurry Mrs Evans, she was the Chapel minister’s wife after all.

When it was ready, Dilys Davies stood back and admired her work with a smile of satisfaction.

“Yes that would do nicely.” she told the dog. Mrs Davies put the cake safely in a box ready for Tom’s mother to pick up next day, his birthday.

At the end of the day Mrs Davies tidied up the bakery. She took off her big pinafore. It was covered in flour and it needed washing now.

She put the dog out into the small back garden and climbed the stairs to bed.

The next morning when the cockerel woke her up. Mrs Davies stretched and came down the stairs.

In the village the dog is now called “Boy the Baker’s Dog.” Nobody knows where he came from.

Can you guess?

She opened the door.... and clapped her hands with delight. For there stood a neat row of milk bottles with their tops still intact and a jug of the thickest cream.

On the fence a very cross Potter’s cat, sat, eyeing the cream jug greedily.

A friendly dog and a tasty cake,

a happy day together they make

On the clothes line three chirping cheeky birds looked longingly at the milk bottles.

Looking at them all, tail wagging, was a dark brown dog with currant black eyes.

“Well done Boy” chuckled Mrs Dilys Davies giving the dog a friendly pat.