This book is dedicated to

the National Canine Defence League -

“A dog is for life, not just for Christmas”

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

Also by Jean Ure

Copyright

About the Publisher

When Ginger the pup was born, he was one of six. Six little bundles of fur, all warm and wriggling as they burrowed their way towards their mum.

He wasn’t known as Ginger then, of course. He was just one of the pups.

To begin with, nobody even knew whether he was a boy or a girl. Then one day someone picked him up, lifted his tail and said, “This one’s a boy!”

There were two boys and four girls. They were all honey-coloured except for Ginger, who was – well, ginger! Their mum, who was called Lucy, was half Yorkshire terrier and half something else. No one had ever been able to guess what the something else might be.

As for their dad, he was a great, swaggering, Jack-the-lad who lived up the road and thought no end of himself. He had a bit of red setter in him, so maybe that was where Ginger got his gingerness from.

The puppies all lived together in a big cosy basket with their mum. To begin with, they did nothing very much except sleep and eat. Their eyes were still closed, and they were so tiny they would have fitted into the palm of your hand.

But then, as they grew a little bit bigger and a little bit stronger, they started to explore. One after another they went nosing their way out of their basket and plopping across the floor in search of adventure.

One day Ginger plopped so far that he got lost and couldn’t find his way back. He sat in a corner, a little blind heap, whimpering for his mum. But it was all right! His mum knew where he was. He hadn’t gone nearly as far as he thought – just across the room, in fact. But it seemed like a really long journey to such a small-sized pup.

His mum pushed him back to his brother and sisters, who all pounced on him, sniffing at him, trying to work out where he had been. Ginger was just glad to be back in his basket! He had given himself a bit of a fright.

When the pups were just over a week old, their eyes opened. They could see! Ginger could see all the way across the room, to the corner where he had sat and whimpered. It still seemed quite a long journey.

And now the pups began to play. They played rolling games and tugging games. They played chasing games and chewing games. They scampered and they romped, and every now and again they got a bit rough and had to be told off by their mum. She wouldn’t stand for being bitten by a mere scrap of a pup!

Sometimes, a great fluffy thing called a cat came to visit them. It got into their basket and sat there, all puffed up and making purring noises while Ginger and his brother and sisters dabbed at its tail and looked in its ears and munched at its fur.

The cat didn’t mind. It even rolled over onto its back and let them settle down on top of it.

Life was fun for Lucy’s puppies!

Life wasn’t such fun for James Colin.

It had been fun, once. That was before his baby brother had come along. Now it was simply horrid!

James Colin had been James Colin right from the very beginning. His mum and dad had chosen his name even before he was born. They had been certain they were going to have a boy, and they did! Just James, all on his own. Which was the way that he liked it.

He had been the most wonderful baby there ever was. He knew this, because his mum and dad had told him so. Lots and lots of times! They had cooed over him and gurgled over him and waggled their fingers into his pram. They had asked him, “Who is Mummy’s beautiful boy?” “Who is Daddy’s favourite man?” And the answer had always been… James Colin!

For eight whole years he had been ‘Mummy’s beautiful boy’ and ‘Daddy’s favourite man’. Now a horrible new thing had arrived. It was called Alexander and it was all red and crumpled and not in the least bit beautiful. Sometimes it smelt. This was because it sicked itself or messed in its nappy. But Mum still cooed over it and gurgled, just as she had with James Colin. Ugh! James didn’t know how she could bear to touch it.

The worst thing was that she expected him to touch it, as well.

“Come on, James!” she kept saying. “Come and give your little brother a kiss!”

But James wouldn’t. He didn’t want a little brother! He hadn’t asked for one. He had been quite happy being James, all on his own.

“Oh, now, don’t be like that!” begged his mum. “You know we still love you just as much.”

Being loved just as much wasn’t enough. James wanted to be loved more. He wanted to be number one, the same as he had always been.

In any case, he didn’t believe that his mum did love him just as much. If she still loved him, then why didn’t she take any proper notice of him any more? Why did she spend all her time with the baby? Feeding it, changing it, slobbering over it. She obviously loved the baby far more than she loved James.

James ran into the kitchen and pulled open the back door. He was going to do something bad. Something really bad.

He stomped down the path and found a big stick. Then he stomped back up again and slashed with the stick at Mum’s flowers. That would teach her! Now she would have to take notice of him.

When they were ten weeks old, Ginger and his brother and sisters were turned out of their nice cosy basket. They were taken away from their mum and the big furry cat and put in a pet shop, to be sold.

Poor Lucy was a bit bothered, just at first, wondering where her pups had gone. She ran round the room, looking for them, and couldn’t understand why they weren’t there. But then she was taken for a good long walk in the park where she met some of her old friends that she hadn’t seen for ages, including her boyfriend, the great swaggering Jack-the-lad who was the puppies’ dad. They all raced around and chased one another, and did rather a lot of barking, and by the time she got back home Lucy was quite happy to be on her own again, with only the cat for company.

Puppies were so exhausting! It was good to be able to curl up nose to tail, just her and the cat in the basket, without six little nipping, yipping, biting, troublesome pups crowding you out.

In any case, the pups were growing up fast. It was time they went to new homes.

James Colin was supposed to be growing up. Sometimes, just lately, it seemed to his mum that he was becoming more and more childish.

She said, “You’re a big boy, now! You’re eight years old! Why are you behaving like a baby all over again?”

James couldn’t explain to her that there was a part of him that would have liked to be a baby all over again. He had so much looked forward to being eight years old! But now that he was, he wasn’t enjoying it one little bit. You didn’t seem to get much attention when you were eight. When you were a baby you got all the attention in the world. You were cuddled, you were crooned over, you were sung to, you were rocked, you were admired, you were washed and dried and powdered.

None of that happened when you were eight years old.

But he couldn’t say all this to his mum. It was just too – well – babyish. You were expected to be a big boy once you got to be eight. Big boys didn’t cry. They didn’t get kissed better if they hurt themselves. They certainly didn’t get washed and dried and powdered. Even James squirmed a bit at that.

What big boys did, they slashed at their mum’s flowers and broke them. Just to show her!

James’s mum was really upset when she found her flowers all battered and bent.

“James!” she said. “Was this you?”

Slowly, watching his mum from under his eyelashes, James nodded.

“How did it happen?”

“Don’t know,” said James.

“You must know! Were you playing?”

James frowned, as he thought about it. He scuffed his feet on the grass.

“I won’t be angry with you,” said his mum, “if you just tell me the truth. Was it an accident?”

James drew a breath. Deep, and quivering. He shook his head.

“You mean, you did it on purpose?”

There was a long silence.

“Did you?” said his mum.

“Couldn’t help it,” mumbled James.

“What do you mean, you couldn’t help it?”

“It just happened.”

“You mean, you walked into the garden and you thought, ‘I’ll break down all Mum’s lovely flowers’. Is that what you’re saying?”

James rubbed a finger over his forehead.

“Well!” His mum looked at him, reproachfully. “That wasn’t a very nice thing to do, was it? To break my flowers? It seems to me the sort of thing a four-year-old might do… not an eight-year-old! I would have thought an eight-year-old would have known better. I would have thought an eight-year-old would enjoy seeing beautiful flowers.”

Eight-year-olds were big boys. They did what they had to do. Breaking flowers was nothing to a big boy!

“I haven’t yet heard you say a certain little word,” said Mum. She tipped the big boy’s face towards her. “Sorry?” she said.

“I couldn’t help it!” roared James. “It just happened!”

And he went racing back into the house and up to his bedroom. The bedroom door slammed shut behind him.

His mum was left standing there, with all her broken flowers. The big boy watched her, from behind his bedroom curtain. Why didn’t she come upstairs and wallop him? He was a big boy. He could take it!

But his mum just sighed and put the poor broken flowers on the compost heap. Then she went back to the shop, where Dad was serving customers with newspapers and sweets and the baby was being admired in his carry cot.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do about James,” she said.

“Been naughty again, has he?” said Dad.

“I think he’s feeling a bit insecure. He thinks we love the baby more than we love him.”

“Well, we don’t!” said Dad. “We love them both the same. We’ve told him over and over!”

“Yes, I know.” James’s mum sighed. “But he asked me the other day if he could have a puppy and I said not until the baby’s older. So naturally he blames Alexander.”

“It’s hardly Alexander’s fault,” said Dad. “James will have to learn… he can’t always have everything just when he wants it.”

“He’s only little,” pleaded James’s mum.

“He’s big enough! He’ll learn. Don’t worry, it’ll be Christmas soon… his gran will sort him out!”

There wasn’t anyone to sort the puppies out, now that they were in the pet shop. No Mum to tell them off, no big furry cat to bop them one if they got a bit too playful. They had to be on their best behaviour if they wanted someone to give them a home!

Ginger had felt a bit anxious, just at first, but not really frightened. Nothing bad had ever happened to him in his short life and he still had his brother and sisters. It was a bit of an adventure!

Even though they were shut up in a cage, life was not boring. There were lots of new sights and sounds in the pet shop. For instance, there was a strange squawking creature, with brightly coloured feathers, that sat on a perch and kept shrieking, “Pretty Polly, pretty Polly!”

Ginger was fascinated. He had never seen anything like it before.

Then there were some funny soft things with long floppy ears and stumpy tails, and some little red-and-gold things that flickered about in a glass case full of water.

And there were people! Lots and lots of people.

Almost all of the people stopped by the cage to look at the puppies. On the very first day, two of Ginger’s sisters were sold. On the second day, Ginger’s brother was sold.

Ginger really missed his brother. They had been great playmates. The two sisters that were left were rather shy and quiet. They didn’t like to bite and pounce and roll about, the way Ginger and his brother had done.

On the third day, a lady came into the shop and said, “I’m looking for a puppy.” Ginger’s heart leapt. Maybe this would be his turn! His turn to find a person of his own!

The lid of the cage was opened and Ginger jumped up, eagerly.

“Oh, what a sweetheart!” cried the lady. But then her face fell. “Oh dear! It’s a boy. I really wanted a girl.”

Ginger was put back into the cage and his sisters were taken out. He watched as they squirmed and squiggled. One of them gave the lady a big wet lick on the tip of her nose. The other wagged her tail as hard as she could go.

“I really think I shall have to have both of them,” laughed the lady.

And so the puppies were put into a big cardboard carrying box and taken out to the lady’s car, and Ginger was left on his own. Nobody to snuggle up to, nobody to play with. Just one small puppy in need of some people.

Ginger crept forlornly into a corner of the cage and lay down with his head between his paws. Why didn’t anyone want him?

“There’s always one that’s hard to get rid of,” said the pet shop owner.

Poor Ginger! He didn’t realise it, but he was a very odd-looking puppy. He had one ear that stood up and one ear that hung down. His teeth stuck out and his face was all whiskery. He wouldn’t have won any prizes in a beauty competition.

“Never mind, little fellow!” The pet shop man waved his fingers at him through the bars of the cage. “Somebody’ll take pity on you… sooner or later.”

“Two days to go till Christmas,” said the pet shop owner. His eye met Ginger’s. It had been a week since the last of Ginger’s sisters had been taken away. Ginger had been all alone in his cage ever since.

“Cheer up, little chap!” Even the pet shop owner was beginning to feel sorry for him. “We’ll find a home for you.”

That very same morning, a lady came into the shop with her little girl. All they had really come in for was to look at the fish.

“Oh, Mum!” The little girl had caught sight of Ginger. “They’ve got a puppy! Isn’t he cute?”

“A bit funny-looking,” said her mum.

“Mum, he’s not, he’s cute! Mum, do you think we could have him? For Christmas? Oh, Mum, please!” The little girl clutched at her mum’s arm. “Please, Mum! He could be my Christmas present!”

“I thought you wanted fish?” said her mum.

“I’d far rather have a puppy! Oh, please, Mum!”

“Well… I don’t know.” The lady looked across at Ginger. Ginger looked back at her. The tip of his tail wagged, hopefully. “It’s a mongrel. Who knows what it’s going to grow into? It could grow enormous!”

“He won’t grow too big,” said the pet shop owner. He pointed at Ginger’s paws. “Tiny paws, see?”

“Oh, Mum, please! He looks so lonely, all by himself.”

The little girl ran across to the cage. Ginger’s tail began to fly in circles. He jumped up, with his paws against the netting. Desperately, he scrabbled to get out.

“Mum, he’s asking us!” cried the girl. “He’s asking as plain as can be! He wants us to take him.”

Ginger renewed his efforts. All the time that he was jumping, he was making little crying sounds.

“He’s begging us, Mum! We can’t just leave him here. Not at Christmas. Oh, Mum! Say we can have him! Please!”

And so the lady gave in. She bought Ginger as a Christmas present for her little girl, because the little girl wanted him so badly, and Ginger himself had asked so nicely.

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