Copyright

Collins

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

77–85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith,

London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Collins in 2001

Text copyright © Jean Ure 2001

Illustrations by Maggie Ling 2001

Jean Ure and illustrator assert the moral right to be identified as author and illustrator of the work.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780006755098

Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2014 ISBN: 9780008116750

Version: 2014-09-23

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Keep Reading

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

We are the dogs of Munchy Flats. We live here, with our people.

I am Buster, and I am the boss dog. I was here first. I tell the others what to do and make sure that they do it. I keep them in order!

There are two cats as well as us dogs. They are called Whiskers and Panda. They do not do what I tell them. They get into places where we cannot go, such as underneath the sofa or inside the cupboards. They sit on things we cannot reach, such as the top of the fridge or the television set. They take no notice when I bark at them.

Cats are not like dogs!

All of us have a story to tell, about how we came to be here. This is my story.

I was brought here when I was just a tiny pup. My people have a picture of me, which I think they must be quite proud of, as they have hung it on the wall. I can hardly believe that I once looked like that! All wriggly and giggly, with a head that was too big for my body. It is quite embarrassing. The others sometimes tease me.

“Oh, look!” they go. “Look at Buster as a puppy!”

Huh! I am sure they were just as wriggly and giggly when they were young.

I cannot remember much about those early days, but I know that I was happy. I had everything a pup could want. A warm home, people who loved me, good things to eat, and lots of fun! My people played games with me – tugging games, chasing games, games with a ball or a rubber ring. When I was old enough they took me for walks; I also had the garden to run in. I could go wherever I liked, except through the door at the side of the house.

I knew I mustn’t go through the door, for my people had told me so, many times. But I was young and foolish, and I did so want to know what was on the other side.

Well. One day a man came, with a ladder and buckets to make the windows clean so that the cats could look out of them. (Cats like to look out of windows.) After the man had gone, I ran into the garden – and guess what? He had forgotten to shut the door behind him! You can imagine what happened. I was through it in a flash.

I found myself in another garden. A smaller one, this time, with a path that led to a gate. I rushed down it at once, with my nose to the ground, sniffing all the lovely new smells. While I was sniffing, a car drove slowly past. I didn’t take much notice of it. I knew about cars, for my people had brought me home in one.

I went on sniffing. I sniffed fox, I sniffed badger.

I cocked my leg to mark the spot – this was my territory – and as I did so a voice spoke to me over the gate.

“Hallo, boy!”

I looked up, and wagged. A man was standing there, holding out his hand. I thought he might have something for me, so I went eagerly wobbling up to him on my rubbery puppy legs. I know now that you should never go to a stranger, but I didn’t know it them. I was too young. I thought everyone was my friend.

Before I realized what was happening, I found myself being grabbed by the scruff of my neck and swung up over the gate. I should have barked, to warn my people. They would have heard me, and come to my rescue. But I didn’t even whimper. I think I was too confused. All of a sudden, I had been stolen from my garden! I couldn’t believe the man would do me any harm, but I didn’t understand what was happening.

I saw the car that had driven past the gate. It was waiting, up the road, with its engine throbbing. The man flung open one of the doors and threw me inside. He did it quite roughly, so that all the breath was knocked out of me. I just had time to give a little yelp of fright before the car pulled away from the kerb and we shot up the road at great speed.

That was when I started to feel really scared.

The man had thrown me on to the back seat. He was sitting in the front, behind the wheel. A woman was sitting next to him. When she spoke, she sounded quite angry.

“What do you want with that thing?”

“Fancied it,” said the man. “Thought the kids might like it.”

“A dog?” The woman turned to look at me. I cringed. By now I was really frightened. “I can’t stand dogs! Filthy dirty things, messing all over the place.”

I wanted to tell her that I didn’t do that any more. I was a clean boy! My people had praised me for it, only that morning.

“Who’s a clean boy?” they had cried, hugging me.

My tail had wagged so hard I thought it might wag itself right off. I was a clean boy!

I ran to the car window and began scrabbling, frantically, trying to get out. I wanted my people!

“Stop that!”

The woman leaned over the back of the seat and gave me such a thump with her hand that I went spinning to the floor.

“Pesky dog!” she said.

I lay there, trembling, not daring to climb back up in case she hit me again. I had never been hit before. Nobody, in all my short life, had ever been unkind to me.

“It needs training,” said the man. “I’ll soon lick it into shape.”

I was so stupid! I thought he meant that he would lick me with his tongue, which I could just dimly remember my mother doing when I was born. I didn’t realize that when he said lick what he really meant was hit…

They took me to the place where they lived. It was in a tall grey building surrounded by other tall grey buildings. There was no garden to play in; I almost never saw the sunshine or breathed fresh air. It was like a prison.

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