The Puppy Present (Red Storybook) (4 page)

Ginger turned and ran, as fast as his wobbly puppy legs would carry him. The boys galloped behind, whooping and shouting.

“Get the dog, get the dog!”

Ginger’s heart pounded in his rib cage. He had never been so scared in all his life. Another tin can caught him on the shoulder.

“Get the dog, get the dog!”

Maddened with fear, Ginger dashed out into the road. A car jammed on its brakes and pulled up with a screech only centimetres away from him. The driver leant out of his window and bellowed, angrily.

“Get that dog off the road!”

“It ain’t ours,” said one of the boys. And they went on their way, rather quickly, before they could be accused of causing an accident.

The driver hooted furiously on his horn. In panic, Ginger bolted – straight down the road, into the path of a large container truck. There was a
thub
, as Ginger and one of the nearside front wheels came into contact.

Ginger grunted. His body went hurtling through space. The truck drove on. The driver, sitting high up in his cab, had no idea that he had almost run over a small ginger puppy.

After a while, the breath came back into Ginger’s body. Slowly and painfully, he picked himself up and went limping off into the shadows, dragging one leg behind him. He was cold, he was wet, he was exhausted. He was also very, very frightened.

Poor Ginger! He hadn’t known that such terrors existed. He thought of Maisie, who had called him her very own Christmas puppy. Where was Maisie now? Why didn’t she come and help him?

Maisie couldn’t. She was miles away, at her
nan’s. She had no idea that her Christmas puppy had escaped into the big wide world and almost been killed. In any case, she was enjoying herself! She had forgotten all about her Christmas pup.

Whimpering, Ginger dragged his poor battered body under a hedge and curled himself into a ball. What else could he do? Even if he had known how to find his way home, his people weren’t there. They had gone away and left him.

Ginger could be dead for all they cared.

James Colin was running away from home. He had made up his mind. Nobody loved him any more. All they cared about was the baby. Dad had said to him at breakfast, “I’m warning you, my boy! I’m not going to tolerate much more of this sort of behaviour.”

James had said, “
What
sort of behaviour?” and brought his spoon down with a satisfying
plap
into his cereal bowl so that a great shower of milk and Rice Krispies had gone splatting across the table. Some had landed on the baby. Hah!

Dad had roared, “
That
sort of behaviour!” and leant over to give James a sharp smack on the hand.

Mum hadn’t stuck up for him. She hadn’t told Dad that it was an accident and that you shouldn’t ever punish your children by hitting them. All she had said was, “Oh, James,
really
! Now look what you’ve done!” And she had gone jumping up to see to the baby.

Fuss fuss fuss! Just because a tiny weeny little drop of milk had landed on it.

“Your manners are getting worse and worse,” scolded Mum.

“Manners?” said Dad. “What manners? He hasn’t got any manners! He’s becoming a thoroughly rude and unpleasant little boy and I’m not sure that I like him any more.”

“Neither do I, when he behaves like that,” said Mum; and she wiped the baby’s face, very tenderly, with a piece of kitchen towel and went, “There, there! All nice and clean again.”

As if the baby cared! It was always messing
itself up. The baby
liked
being dirty.

Now it was nine o’clock and Dad was in the shop, serving customers. Mum was in the storeroom, sorting boxes. It was then that James decided: he was going to run away. He would run as far and as fast as he could and they would never see him again. Then they would be sorry!

He took a plastic carrier bag from one of the kitchen cupboards and began filling it with food. He put in an apple and an orange and a banana. He put in a packet of biscuits and a packet of crisps and a bottle of Coca-Cola in case he got thirsty. He reckoned that should be enough to keep him going.

Then he opened the kitchen door and crept out, very quietly, so that Mum wouldn’t hear him and come running to fetch him back. He had a sort of feeling that probably, in the end, he
would
come back, but not until they had appeared on television and begged him.

In his imagination he saw his mum, with tears streaming down her face, and his dad, very pale, standing beside her.

“Please, James! Wherever you are… come back to us! We want you, we love you! We didn’t mean to be unkind to you!”

But that wouldn’t happen until he had been gone for about… six hours. At the very least! They had to have enough time to start getting worried and to be sorry for the way they had treated him. If Mum caught him now she would just get mad at him for helping himself to food. And for going into the road, which he wasn’t meant to do.

James ran down the garden path and unbolted the back gate. The back gate led into a grassy passage with garages at one end, where James’s dad and his neighbours kept their cars. James thought about going to sit in the garage and get started on some of his food, but he managed to resist the temptation. It wasn’t time to start eating just yet. He was running away!

He ran as far as the end of the passage. And there he stopped. Something had caught his eye. Something under the hedge. What was it? It looked like a bit of old fur coat – except that old fur coats didn’t whimper. This one was definitely whimpering.

James set down his carrier bag. He knelt, cautiously, to take a closer look. From under the hedge a pair of eyes peered up at him. It wasn’t a fur coat. It was… a dog!

The next minute James was racing back up the passage, up the garden path, in through the back door, across the kitchen, out into the hall, shouting as he went: “Mum! Mum! Come quickly! I’ve found something!”

James’s mum came hurtling out of the storeroom. For once she even left the baby behind.

“What’s the matter? What is it? What are you shouting about?”

“I’ve found something, Mum! I think it’s hurt!”

Together, Mum and James went running down the garden path.

“Out here!” said James.

“Out here?” said Mum. “What were you doing out— ”

“Look!” cried James. “Under the hedge!”

“
Oh
!” Mum was down on her knees in an instant. “It’s a puppy! Oh, the poor little thing! It’s absolutely drenched… run, James, and fetch a blanket! Quickly! A blanket or a big towel. Anything will do. Just be quick!”

James snatched the first thing that he could find. It was a blanket from the baby’s pram, but Mum didn’t even seem to notice.

“We must get him to the vet,” she said. “Immediately. Go and tell your dad while I get the car out!”

James ran into the shop. In front of all the
customers he shouted, “Dad, I’ve found a puppy and we’re taking him to the vet!”

“You’re what?” said his dad.

“Taking him to the vet!” shouted James.

“What for?” said his dad; but James had already gone hurtling back into the house.

Mum had taken the baby out with her to the car, but she had left the puppy wrapped in its blanket on the kitchen floor. James squatted down and very gently stroked it.

“Puppy,” he said. “Poor puppy!”

The puppy cringed, as if it thought James was going to hit it.

“It’s all right, puppy!” James spoke crooningly, as he had heard Mum do with the baby. “I’ll take care of you!”

Mum had come back.

“I’ll need you with us, James. I’ll need you to keep an eye on the baby.”

James really didn’t see why the baby couldn’t have been left in the shop with Dad. Did it always have to go
everywhere
with them? He grumbled about it to his mum. “Why can’t we leave the baby with Dad?”

“Oh, James! Don’t be difficult,” said Mum. “You know Dad’s busy serving customers.”

Carefully, Mum picked up the puppy and carried it out to the car. She told James to get into the back with the baby and to hold the puppy next to him.

“Gently! Don’t hurt him.”

James sat there, with the puppy on one side of him and the baby on the other. He tried showing the puppy to the baby, but the baby just lay there in its special baby seat, kicking its legs and making the ‘Gaa gaa gaa’ noise that it made when it was happy. It probably thought they were going out in the car just for fun.

“Sick doggie,” said James. You had to talk to babies in baby talk or they didn’t understand. “Sick doggie, going to vet.”

“Gaa,” said the baby, blowing a few bubbles.

James gave up. It didn’t even seem to understand baby talk!

There was an old lady with a cat in the vet’s waiting room, but she took one look at the puppy and said that Mum had better go in first.

“That’s very kind of you,” said Mum.

“Quite all right,” said the old lady. “Felix is only here for his teeth. Your little dog looks very poorly.”

“He’s not ours,” explained Mum. “James found him under a hedge. We think the poor little thing must have been in some kind of an accident.”

“The vet will make him better,” said James, “won’t he? Won’t he, Mum? He’ll make him better?”

“I’m sure he’ll do his very best,” said Mum. “You stay here and look after the baby for me. Can you do that?”

James made a grunting noise. He supposed he could, if he really had to. He would far rather
not
have had to. He still didn’t see why it couldn’t have been left in the shop with Dad. It could have been put on the counter in its carry
cot and all the customers could have come and ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at it.

“I know I can trust you,” said Mum.

Mum and the puppy went into the surgery. James was left on his own, holding the baby. He felt a bit nervous. He had never held the baby before. Suppose he dropped it? It might break, like Mum’s flowers!

The old lady leant over to look.

“Is that your little sister?” she said.

“Brother,” said James. He felt a bit indignant. How could anyone mistake Alexander for a girl? He didn’t look in the least like a girl!

“How nice that your mum can trust you to look after him,” said the lady. “You must be a very mature and sensible young man. And what a lovely baby!”

James looked down at the baby. Was it lovely? The baby suddenly broke into a big smile. James was so surprised that he went and smiled back before he could stop himself.

“He obviously loves you,” said the lady.

James nodded, rather sternly. Just so long as it didn’t do anything in its nappy before Mum came back. Just so long as it wasn’t sick, or anything.

The baby behaved itself really well. James was quite proud of it. He supposed, on the whole, it wasn’t a bad sort of baby as babies went. Not as good as a puppy, of course!

It seemed ages before Mum came back, but at last the surgery door opened and there she was with the puppy still wrapped in its blanket.

“Is he going to be all right?” said James.

“Yes!” Mum smiled. She was obviously just as relieved as James. “The vet says he’s very badly bruised and shocked, but nothing’s broken. He’ll pull through.”

James felt like jumping up and punching the
air, only he couldn’t because of the baby. He squeezed the baby very tightly, instead.

“Can we keep him, Mum?”

“Well… no. I don’t think we can do that,” said Mum. “After all, he’s not ours, is he?”

“But I found him!” said James.

“Yes, I know you did, and I’m sure his owners will be extremely grateful to you. I shall tell them that you were the one who rescued him. But it still doesn’t make him ours. He’s such an adorable little chap! Someone, somewhere, is bound to be looking for him. They’re certain to want him back.”

James chewed rather hard on his bottom lip.

“How will they know where he is?”

“They’ll ring the police to report that their puppy is missing and the police will tell them.”

“How will the police know?”

“The police will know because I’m going to call them just as soon as we get home.”

“So where will he be?” said James.

“At the police station!”

James crinkled his brow. “Locked up? In a cell?”

“In a special dog cell.”

Mum went over to the desk to pay the vet’s bill, while James sat and thought about what she had said. He imagined the puppy locked up in his cell. Police cells were horrid! Grey and cold and bare, with stone floors and iron bars on the door. No soft blankets to snuggle into. After all, they were meant for criminals.