The Puppy Present (Red Storybook) by Jean Ure Page A

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 andpowdered. 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. Hescuffed 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