by Jean Ure
I tried not to think of the old lady at all. I still felt bad about leaving her. And the children! What would the children say when they visited their gran and asked, “Where’s Prince?”. Their gran would have to tell them that Prince had run away. They would be so upset. The last words they had whispered to me were, “See you again soon, Prince!”
One day, when I was cold and tired and hungry, and almost beginning to despair of ever finding my way home, I thought of going back to the old lady. I thought how her face would light up at the sight of me.
“Prince!” she would cry. “You’ve come back!”
But then I thought of my people. They were starting to become a dim and distant memory to me. I was scared that if I didn’t find them soon I would forget all about them. So I knew that I had to go on.
The very next day I found the trail! I followed it eagerly, all my weariness forgotten. It led me to a big park, with woods and a stream. The park seemed familiar. Suddenly I was sure that I had gone there with my people when I was a pup!
I stepped out, boldly. There were dog smells and human smells everywhere, so that the trail became harder to follow, but I really felt that I was coming to the end of my journey. My people were somewhere near!
I gathered up my strength and began to lope across the frosty ground. My heart was beating very fast. Would my people remember me? I had been a bad boy! I had done what they told me not to do. Maybe they would no longer want me. They might even have bought another dog in my place.
Just for a second, I drooped – and that was when I noticed the child. A tiny little thing, hardly big enough to walk. It was crouched at the edge of the stream, trying to reach a piece of wood that was floating there.
I looked round for the child’s mother and saw a woman with a push chair. She was talking to another woman. She hadn’t seen the child crouching by the stream.
I ran at her, and barked; three times, very loudly. She took no notice. So then I jumped at her, and barked again. She didn’t understand what I was trying to tell her! She cried out, and hit at me.
“Go away, you filthy thing!”
Well! I had done my best; I could do no more. If the child fell in the water and drowned, it would be the woman’s fault, not mine. I had to find my people!
But I made the mistake of looking back; and even as I looked I saw the little thing go toppling in. What could I do? I couldn’t just leave it! Maybe I might have done, once. But that was before the old lady’s grandchildren had taught me that not all children are cruel. There are some that are gentle and kind. And this one was so tiny! It reminded me of when I was a pup, all wriggly and giggly and helpless.
I turned, and took a running jump into the stream. The water was so cold it cut me like a knife. I seized the child’s sleeve between my teeth, but it had caught on the branch of an overhanging tree and try as I might I couldn’t tear it free. I let it go, and barked again and again, as loudly as I could.
At last the woman took notice! She screamed, then came running. But a man had also heard, and he got there before her. He waded into the water and hauled the child to safety, leaving me to drag myself back up the bank.
Quite a crowd of people had gathered, all exclaiming and asking if the child was all right. I didn’t think anyone would bother with me, but I was wrong. Before I had a chance to escape, a woman had grabbed hold of my collar.
“Whose dog is this? Does it belong to anyone?”
At some stage during my wanderings, the disc that said PRINCE, with the old lady’s address, had been torn away from my collar. No one knew who I was or who I belonged to – and I couldn’t tell them!
All the people stood round, looking at me. One of them said, “I reckon he deserves a medal!”
The child’s mother agreed. She had forgiven me for jumping up at her. With tears in her eyes, she said that if it hadn’t been for me, her baby would have drowned.
“He tried to tell me, but I took no notice!”
The woman who had hold of my collar wondered if I was a stray.
“He’s terribly thin… he looks as if he hasn’t eaten for days. I shouldn’t be surprised if someone had thrown him out.”
She meant well, but oh, how I wished she would just let me be on my way. I bucked and reared and made it as obvious as I could that I had somewhere to go, but she didn’t understand. She put me in her car and took me to a place called Second Chance, where they shut me in a cage.
I was captive again!
There were lots of us dogs at Second Chance. Some, like me, had been found wandering, without a name tag on their collars. Some had been brought in by people who didn’t want them any more – what a cruel thing to do to a dog! Some, very sadly, had been left on their own when their people had died.
We were all very confused and very anxious. Some of us barked, some of us cried, some of us turned in circles or paced miserably to and fro. A few had given up all hope and just lay with their heads between their paws.
I was in a cage with a small black dog who told me her name was Mitzi. Poor Mitzi. She was one of the ones who had given up hope. She said that her owner had been an old man who loved her dearly. And Mitzi had loved him. But the old man had died and Mitzi had been brought to Second Chance. She had been here a long, long time. She had seen a great many dogs come and go. But nobody wanted Mitzi; she was too old.
“You’ll be all right,” she told me. “You’re still young. You’ll find someone very quickly.”
But I didn’t want someone. I wanted my people!
The day after I was taken to Second Chance, there was great excitement. A reporter came from a local newspaper. He was going to do a story about me!
I was brought out of my cage to have my photo taken.
“What shall we call him?” said the reporter. “What’s your name, boy?”
Nobody knew. And of course I couldn’t tell them. They decided that they would call me Boy, just for now.
“Or, how about Brave Boy?” said the reporter.
“Brave Boy!” they cried. “Yes!”
So Brave Boy is what I became.
“But it isn’t my real name,” I whispered to Mitzi, as we curled up for the night. “My real name is—”
And then I stopped. What was my real name? I couldn’t remember! I couldn’t remember what my people had called me!
I put my nose in the air and howled.
“Cheer up.” Mitzi rubbed her old grizzled head against mine. “Maybe now your picture’s in the paper they’ll come and find you.”
Oh, how I wished! How I did wish. But would my people read the paper? Would they recognize me? And if they did recognize me, would they want me back again?
“Anyone would want a handsome young dog like you,” said Mitzi.
But I had been a bad boy. Bad boys don’t deserve to be loved.
I shivered, and cuddled closer to Mitzi. I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t been there to comfort me.
Second Chance was like a doggy orphanage: all of us dogs without any people, desperately waiting to be rescued. Every day people came to look round – and every day, it seemed, someone wanted to take me with them.
“You see?” said Mitzi. Her ears drooped. “I told you… you won’t be here very long.”
But the kind lady who looked after us all said that nobody could take me until my picture had appeared in the paper.
“Just in case his real owners turn up.”
Some of the people who wanted me said they would come back again in a week or two, to see if I was still here.
“You won’t be,” said Mitzi, and she crept to the back of the cage and lay with her head between her paws. She looked so forlorn! I nuzzled her, trying to give her the courage to go on.
“You have to talk to people!” I said. “You have to wag at them, and show them that you’re friendly.”
But poor Mitzi had wagged at so many people. She had licked and wriggled and whimpered, and still nobody had wanted her.
“Too old,” they said. “We want something young.”
Mitzi didn’t think that she would ever be loved by anyone again. Her muzzle was turning grey, and her legs were a bit stiff, and she couldn’t see quite as well as she used to. I wished with all my heart that I could tell people how lonely and frightened poor Mitzi was.
One day, the lady who looked after us showed me a big photograph of… me!
She told me what it said, above the photo. BRAVE BOY RESCUES BABY. “Let’s hope, Brave Boy, that someone recognizes you.”
And guess what? Someone did! But it wasn’t my people. It was the children’s gran. The old lady…
“Prince!”
I had forgotten that the old lady had called me Prince.
“Is that your real name?” whispered Mitzi.
I knew that it wasn’t; it was the name the old lady had given me. But I still couldn’t remember what my real name was.
The old lady was so pleased to see me. I gave her a little wag, and a little lick, trying to show her that I was pleased, too. But I still hung back. Mitzi couldn’t understand it.
“This is your person! Why don’t you go with her?” And then she added wistfully, “She looks so nice…”
Mitzi would have loved to go with her! But I knew that if I went back with the old lady, I would never see my people again. I couldn’t run away from her a second time. It would break her heart.
But dogs can’t always choose. Already the old lady was holding out a lead, ready to clip it on to my collar. Then, suddenly, my ears pricked up. I had heard something!
“Buster!”
Buster. I remembered now! Buster was what my people had called me. Buster was my real name!
I turned, and there they were – my people!
“Buster! Oh, Buster!”
With a great scream of joy, I hurled myself at them. I bounced, I sprang, I wagged, I licked, I rolled on to my back and waved all four paws in the air.
“Oh, Buster,” they cried, “we thought we’d never find you!”
They told the old lady how I had disappeared from the garden – how they had searched everywhere for me, day and night. They had put up notices, they had rung the police, they had visited all the doggy orphanages.
“We’d almost given up hope!”
So then the old lady told them how her grandchildren had discovered me, battered and bruised, hiding under a bush. She told them how she had taken me in and looked after me.
“We became such good friends! Then one day he just ran off. I couldn’t understand it! I see now that he must have been trying to find you!”
Instead, my people found me. They still loved me! They had forgiven me for being a bad boy. My story had a happy ending.
I’m glad to tell you that Mitzi’s story also had a happy ending. And I was the one who made it happen! Nobody could understand why I insisted on running back to my cage and barking.
“You surely don’t want to stay here?” laughed my people.
No, I didn’t! But I didn’t want poor Mitzi to have to stay, either.
“Mitzi, Mitzi!”
I barked until she did what I wanted. Slowly, she crept up to the bars of the cage and we touched noses.
“Oh!” cried the old lady. “Look at that! She’s just like my darling Sukie!”
It was love at first sight! The old lady didn’t seem to mind that Mitzi’s muzzle was grey and that her legs were a bit stiff and that she could no longer see as well as she used to.
“That will make two of us!” she said.
So Mitzi went off, as happy as could be, with the old lady, while I came back here to Munchy Flats, to live with my people. I have never left them again. I never will. And I will certainly never go through the forbidden door.
I have learnt my lesson!
If you enjoyed Buster, check out these other great Jean Ure titles.
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Also by the Author
Other Chums to read
Bella
Bonnie
Bouncer
Also by Jean Ure
The Puppy Present
Monster in the Mirror
Big Tom
Help! It’s Harriet!
For older readers
Skinny Melon and Me
Becky Bananas, This is Your Life!
Fruit and Nutcase
The Secret Life of Sally Tomato
Family Fan Club
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