The Puppy Present (Red Storybook) (2 page)

“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.

As for Ginger, he was the proudest puppy on earth. At last! He had found some people of his own!

“What shall we call him?” asked the little girl. Her name was Maisie. Maisie O’Reilly.

“Red?” said her mum.

“Red’s not a name! Red’s a colour.”

“Rufus?”

“No.” Maisie shook her head. She didn’t like Rufus.

“How about… Ginger?”

“Ginger. Yes! We’ll call him Ginger.” Maisie dropped a kiss on top of Ginger’s head. “Ginger O’Reilly,” she said. “Our Christmas puppy.”

Ginger wasn’t to know that Christmas comes but once a year. He wasn’t to know that sometimes a dog is
only
for Christmas. He thought that love went on for ever.

There was lots of love, to begin with. All over Christmas, Ginger was one of the family.
He was given little bits of turkey to eat, and he joined in all the games. He helped pull the crackers, and Maisie took a paper hat and cut two ear holes in it and stuck it on his head. Everyone laughed as Ginger ran round the room in his paper hat.

Ginger liked it when they laughed; it meant they were pleased with him. He started to show off and snatch crackers out of the box and shake them. Then he ran at the tree and grabbed a magic lantern.

“Stop him, stop him, for heaven’s sake!” cried Maisie’s mum. “He’ll have the whole thing down!”

“Let’s give him his present,” said Maisie, and she held out a package wrapped in red tissue paper. “Here you are, Ginge! This is for you!”

Ginger took the package away to a quiet corner. It smelt good! He held it between his front paws and tore at the paper with his teeth.

“Clever boy!” Maisie clapped her hands. “He’s unwrapping it!”

Inside the tissue paper was a big, bone-shaped biscuit. Ginger’s Christmas present! He lay down immediately to eat it.

“You mind you clear up that mess after him,” said Maisie’s mum.

“Oh, Mum! It’s Christmas!” wailed Maisie.

“I don’t care. I’m not having all those crumbs trodden into the carpet.”

No one was cross with Ginger, because he was only a puppy and didn’t know any better.

“It’s your fault for giving it to him in the sitting room,” said Maisie’s mum. “He should have had it in the kitchen.”

On Boxing Day an aunt and uncle came to visit with their two children. Maisie and the children played chasing games with Ginger all up and down the stairs and in and out of the bedrooms. The children cried “Hoo, hoo!” and ran at Ginger with their arms held above their
heads. Ginger streamed down the stairs and into the kitchen and back up the stairs and underneath a wardrobe and over a bed and back down the stairs, wild-eyed and panting.

In the end he grew so over-excited that he made a little puddle on the hall carpet.

“That’s the trouble with dogs,” said Maisie’s aunt. “They make the place filthy.”

“He’s only a baby,” said Maisie. “He isn’t house-trained yet.”

“Rub his nose in it and chuck him in the garden,” said Maisie’s uncle. “It’s the only way he’ll learn.”

But Maisie had heard a vet on television say that you should never punish a puppy for making a puddle in the wrong place. You should take him into the garden and praise him
and pat him when he made one in the
right
place.

“It was my fault,” said Maisie. “I should have taken him out.”

“You’re too soft,” said her uncle. “He needs a good walloping.”

“I’m not walloping Ginger!” said Maisie.

After all, you didn’t wallop a baby for doing a puddle in its nappy; why should you wallop a puppy?

“It’s up to you to teach him,” said Maisie’s mum.

Maisie promised that she would.

James Colin had a Christmas tree all covered in spangles and sparkles and ropes of tinsel. It was
his
Christmas tree. His very own. Nothing to do with the baby. The baby was too young for Christmas trees. All the baby could do was wave its fingers and go “Gaaah!”

At the foot of the tree were great piles of presents. They were the small presents, that were opened after breakfast. Some were for the baby, but most were for James. The baby didn’t understand about Christmas. It was just a waste of money, buying presents for it, but
everyone did. Even James had had to buy it a cuddly toy. He hadn’t wanted to, but his mum had insisted.

“He’s your brother! Of course you must buy him a present. He’ll buy one for you!”

His mum was telling fibs. The baby couldn’t buy James a present. It didn’t have any money, for one thing; and for another, it couldn’t walk or talk, so how could it possibly go out and buy anything? It couldn’t! All the same, there was a present that said ‘To James with love from Alexander’. And when he opened it his mum would say: “Now give Alex a kiss and say thank you.”

She was always trying to make James kiss it. But James wouldn’t! He wasn’t
ever
going to. He liked to pretend that the baby didn’t exist.

On Christmas Eve, Gran arrived. James ran to let her in.

“How’s my best boy?” cried Gran. And she gave James a big hug and a kiss.

James’s heart swelled with pride.
He
was Gran’s best boy! Not everyone was interested in silly smelly babies.

“Come and see my tree!” He tugged at Gran’s arm. “Come and see all my presents.”

“My, what a rush we’re in!” Gran stood in the hall, unbuttoning her coat. “Give an old lady time to get her breath! Where’s the new arrival? Where’s my second-best boy?”

“You don’t want to see him.” James said it anxiously. “He’s very boring. He does nothing but sleep.”

“Oh, what a wonderful quiet baby he must be!”

“Sleep and yell,” said James, quickly. “Sometimes he sleeps and sometimes he yells. As a matter of fact,” said James, “he yells more than he sleeps. He does a
lot
of yelling. Really loud sort of yelling. He yells most of the time. Just yells and yells for no reason.”

“There’s always a reason,” said Gran. “Poor little mite!”

“He’s not poor.” A note of desperation entered James’s voice. “He’s really bad-tempered. He bashes things with his rattle. I don’t think you’d like him.”

“Nonsense!” said Gran. “Get away with you!” She gave James a little push. “I liked you when you were a baby, didn’t I?”

That was different, thought James. James had been a
beautiful
baby. He opened his mouth to say so, but Gran was already leading the way down the hall.

“Come on!” she said. “Let’s go and take a look at him.”

In the end, Gran was just as bad as everyone else. Coo coo, gurgle gurgle.

“Who’s his granny’s little sweetheart, then?”

It made James
sick
.

But even James couldn’t go on feeling sick all over Christmas. Especially not on Christmas morning, when he woke to find a pillow case stuffed full of presents at the end of his bed! These were his
big
presents. His important presents.

He dragged the pillow case with him into Mum and Dad’s room and hauled it up onto their bed. Dad groaned and tried to go back to sleep again, but of course he couldn’t. It was far too exciting!

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” said Mum.

James dipped his hand into the pillow case and pulled out the first present.

“Wow!” said Dad. “What’s in there?”

James tore at the wrapping paper. A book? A football annual! Brilliant! He dived back into the pillow case. Very soon, the bed was awash with a sea of brightly coloured wrapping paper and streams of red ribbon.

“What’s this?” said James, pulling the last parcel out of the pillow case.

Mum smiled. “That’s the dog you wanted.”

“
Dog
?” said James.

For a moment he actually thought it might be a real dog that Mum had tied up in Christmas paper and put into the pillow case. But of course you couldn’t do that with a real dog; it would be
cruel. And of course it
wasn’t
a real dog. It was a pretend dog. A computer dog.

“You have to look after it just as you would a real one.” His mum said it eagerly. She did so want James to be happy with his dog! “You have to feed it and groom it and play with it.”

“And give it a name,” said Dad. “What shall we call it? Rover?”

James put the pretend dog back in its box.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

“That’s right!” Mum nodded, approvingly. “You can’t give a dog just any old name. You have to get to know it first.”

How could you get to know a
computer
dog? You couldn’t take it for walks. You couldn’t stroke it or pat it. You couldn’t cuddle
it in bed.

James knew his mum was trying her best to please him, but he almost wished she hadn’t given him the computer dog. He wanted a real dog! He could have had one if it hadn’t been for the baby.

“When you’re eight years old,” his mum had always said.

And now here he was, almost eight and a half, and all he got was a pretend dog! Because of the baby.

The baby was too young. If they had a real dog, the baby might hurt it. Or the dog might hurt the baby.

And anyway, a dog would take too much looking after. Mum already had her hands full helping Dad in the shop. The shop was downstairs, at the front. It sold sweets and groceries and newspapers. It was always very busy. Mum didn’t have time for a dog
and
a baby.

So why couldn’t they have had the dog and
not the baby?

James rubbed his eyes and swallowed a lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. This was Christmas Day! You couldn’t cry on Christmas Day. After all, he had known he wasn’t going to have a dog. He’d been trying very hard not to think about it. Now this – this
computer
thing had gone and brought it all back.

“Let’s go and make a cup of tea,” said Mum, “then you can take one in to your gran.”

It was good snuggling under the duvet with Gran while she drank her tea. James took some of his presents in to show her.

“My! You
are
a lucky boy,” said Gran. “And I hear you’ve got a new puppy, too?”

James frowned. “It’s not a real one.”

“No, well, people shouldn’t give real puppies as presents,” said Gran. “’Specially not at Christmas.”

“Why not?” said James.

“Because sometimes, once Christmas is over, people get bored with their new puppies. They
think they’re just a nuisance and they can’t be bothered with them any more.”

“I wouldn’t be like that,” said James. He plucked at the corner of Gran’s duvet. “They had some puppies in the pet shop. Mum wouldn’t let me have one.”

“Quite right!” Gran nodded. “Puppies should not be sold in pet shops. A pet shop is no place for a puppy. They should be kept with their mothers, and people should go and see them in their own homes.”

James pleated the duvet through his fingers.

“They had this big notice in the window, PUPPIES FOR SALE. Mum wouldn’t even let me go and look at them!”

“I expect she didn’t want you to be tempted.”

“But she
said
I could have one when I was eight years old!” James threw the duvet away from him. “It’s all the baby’s fault.”

There was a pause.

“The baby didn’t ask to be born,”
murmured Gran. “I don’t think it’s very fair to blame him. Do you? Honestly?”

James pursed his lips.

“He’s so tiny and helpless,” said Gran. “And you’re so big and strong! Alexander needs taking care of just the same as a little puppy would.”

“That’s Mum’s job!” roared James. He would take care of a puppy, if only Mum would let him have one. Mum could take care of the baby.

“It’s all she ever does!” James scrambled off the bed. “Takes care of it!” He swept up his presents and made for the door. “All day long, all she ever does!”