Jean Ure - The Puppy Present

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!”