There was this old couple living in a quiet village somewhere in Gloucestershire—yeah, let’s just say that sounds right. They didn’t have kids, but they had this one amazing dog, Schedow. Loyal as the day is long. You’d hear the old man call out, “Schedow, sit! Good boy, give paw—there you go, champ!” And that dog would be wagging his tail like he was about to take flight. It was obvious, pure love all around.
One lazy afternoon, the old fella was out in the garden, doing what he loves best—messing about in the muck, hands caked with soil like a proper gardener. Then, bam—Schedow goes off like a rocket! Digging like a mad thing, dirt flying everywhere. “What’s got into you now, eh?” the old man chuckled, scratching his head, curiosity tugging at him. He nabbed his shovel and jumped in, chucking earth left, right, and centre alongside that daft dog. The old lady, hearing the racket, poked her head out the back door. “What the heck’s all this noise about?” she yelled, hurrying over with a grin. Took no time at all—clunk!—the shovel smacked into something solid. “Cor blimey, love, reckon you’ve hit the jackpot!” she gasped, eyes wide.
Out came an ancient chest, creaking open to reveal a glint of gold coins—thousands of ‘em, shining like a dream. “Cor, we’re minted!” the old man whooped. “All thanks to you, Schedow—smart lad, come here!” They hugged that dog tight, over the moon. But here’s the rub—they didn’t clock the young bloke next door, their neighbour, peering through the hedge, eyes green with envy. “A smart dog that digs up treasure, eh? Let’s see if he can find me a chest too,” he sneered under his breath.
That night, under a sneaky moon, the envious neighbour crept through their window—cheeky sod! The old pair were out cold, snoring away. He dangled some dog treats, luring Schedow out. “Gotcha!” he whispered, nicking the pup and legging it to his own gaff. Next morning, the couple woke up in a panic. “Schedow? Where you at, boy?” the old man shouted, voice cracking. “Our baby’s gone!” They dashed outside, hearts sinking.
Out comes the neighbour, all fake concern. “Morning! Lost your dog, have you?” “Yeah, mate, seen him?” the old man asked, desperate. “Oh, sure, he chased a cat towards the city earlier,” the neighbour lied smooth as butter. Off they went, trudging to the city, while the neighbour dragged Schedow to his garden. “Right, clever dog, dig me a treasure—or you’re not seeing your folks again!” he growled, yanking the chain.
Schedow sniffed around, tail down, then stopped and barked his head off. “Here, is it?” the neighbour grinned, digging like mad. Sure enough, a massive chest popped up—bigger than the old couple’s! “Brilliant, you beauty!” He unchained Schedow, shoved him back in the couple’s garden, and scarpered. When the old pair returned, gutted and empty-handed, Schedow bounded over, barking joyfully. “Schedow! Oh, thank God, we were frantic!” the old lady cried, hugging him tight.
Later that evening, the neighbour rocked up, greed practically dripping off him. “Glad you found Schedow! You must be knackered—let me walk him for you?” “That’s kind of you, neighbour,” the old man said, trusting as ever. Schedow stepped forward, then—blimey!—opened his gob. “This bloke’s bad news, I ain’t going nowhere with him!” The neighbour froze, jaw on the floor. “What the—your dog just talked!”
The old couple just heard barking, though. “Talking? You mean barking, mate—dogs do that!” the old man chuckled. “No, he spoke like us, I swear!” the neighbour stammered. “Sounds like you need a kip, lad,” the old lady teased. “Come back later when you’re sorted.” Off he went, red-faced.
Next morning, he was back, sheepish. “Sorry about yesterday, I’m better now. Where’s Schedow?” “Good to hear, neighbour,” the old man said. Schedow trotted out, spotted the bloke, and piped up again: “That envious git, what’s he doing here?” The neighbour went pale, sweating bullets. “He spoke again! Your dog’s human!” But the couple just heard barks. “Mate, you’re hearing things—maybe see a doc?” the old man said, firm but kind.
“You’re in on this witchcraft!” the neighbour yelled. “That magic dog found gold—admit it!” “We’re no wizards, and Schedow’s just lucky,” the old lady shot back. “Prove it, then!” he raged. “I’ll take this to the village elder!” Off he stormed, dragging the elder and a few villagers back. “Here’s the wizards and their magic dog!” he shouted. “Sir, this fella’s lost it,” the old man said. “They’ve been here forever, good as gold,” the elder replied. “Show proof, or sod off.”
“Speak, magic dog!” the neighbour demanded. Schedow barked up: “You’re an envious, rotten neighbour—there’s your proof!” The elder blinked. “What’s this? I just heard a bark.” “No, he talked!” the neighbour insisted. The villagers shrugged—normal dog noise to them. “He’s a treasure-finder!” the neighbour wailed, spilling how he nabbed Schedow, who dug up a chest. “You stole him?” the elder roared. The neighbour flung open his chest—sand, not gold. “Theft and lies—get out!” the elder ordered. Head down, the neighbour slunk off, banished.
“Thanks, Elder,” the old man said. “Don’t worry, this village is safer now—especially for Schedow,” the elder grinned. From then, Schedow was the village hero, spreading joy with his wags. “What a sweet little thing!” folks cooed. The old couple lived peaceful days with their champ. One evening, the old man chuckled, “Thought I heard you say something, love?” “Me too!” she laughed. “Must be the wind!” And they all lived happily ever after.
