The Christmas Guest

by Daisy Bell

Genres: Humor & Satire

Synopsis

The heartwarming tale of a homeless puppy with a huge heart When Teddy runs away from home a week before Christmas, he is confronted by a cold, scary and oh, so big world. Then he finds the Woods family. With their kind hearts and cosy cottage, Teddy forms a special bond with Claire and Ben, but it's in little Emily that he finds the best friend he needs. But Emily is ill, and raising a puppy is hardly a priority for her stressed parents. If only he can prove to them how much happier he can make them all, Teddy might just find his forever home this Christmas... ' A heart-melting Christmas story about the sweetest little dog bringing happiness to a family' Amazon reviewer.

Release date: October 20, 2016

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 304

Sample

Prologue

‘I want to go home.’

There, I’ve said it. Not that there’s anybody around to hear me; I haven’t seen a human for ages now, let alone a fellow dog. I’ve been trying to put on a brave face for the past few hours, but I’m beginning to think that my brilliant plan may not have been quite so brilliant after all. In fact, it could well be the silliest thing I’ve ever done – and I’ve already made quite a few mistakes during my two short months on this earth.

This morning when I made my great escape, I thought that running off to explore the world would be a fantastic adventure, and to start with I guess it was fun. OK, there were a few hairy moments – like wandering a little too close to that huge road with its terrifying roar of traffic and trying to befriend those gigantic animals with the scary-looking horns that nearly trampled me when I wriggled under their fence to say hello – but to be free to run and romp and scamper after being shut inside for nearly all my young life made me literally giddy with joy. And, oh my goodness, the smells! No sooner had I caught one delicious scent, my nose was leading me off on some other tantalising trail, sending me zigzagging all over the place, my tail wagging so hard it almost knocked me jaws over paws. Yes, in those first few heady moments, my heart beating wildly with the boundless potential of my new-found freedom, I felt happier and more alive than ever before.

But now my legs are wobbly with exhaustion, I’m cold, there’s an ache of emptiness in my tummy – and, worse, in my heart. The world is turning out to be a far bigger and scarier place than I could ever have imagined, and I’m realising just how little I know about how it all works. How do I find food if it’s not presented to me in a bowl? Where can I sleep tonight? And how do you even start to look for a new family to love? Yes, I’m afraid this is turning out to be a very big mistake indeed, but then Mum always did say that my nose for adventure would lead me into trouble.

I’ve been wandering along this narrow, twisty lane, bordered by high hedgerows, for some time now, hoping it will lead me somewhere where there are friendly humans, but it’s beginning to get dark and I need to find shelter for the night. It’s very cold and the thought of sleeping out in the open, all alone, is terrifying. This place – wherever I am – with its trees and grass and endless space and silence is so different to the city where I lived before. There it was never quiet, not even in the very dead of night when most humans are asleep. I think this place must be the countryside; at least, that’s what Veronica called it as she bundled me into the car this morning.

‘We’re going to stay with my parents in the countryside for Christmas,’ she had said, shoving me into the tiny gap between all the suitcases. ‘So you better be on your best behaviour, Mr Snuffles.’

Ah yes, I’m afraid that’s the name she gave me: Mr Snuffles. I know. Even her husband, Richard, didn’t think it was a good idea.

‘He’s a white golden retriever, Veronica; he’s going to grow up to be a big dog. You can’t call him Mr Snuffles, it’s not fair.’ But Veronica wanted the name – and, as I quickly learned, whatever Veronica wanted, she got.

In the distance I hear the ominous rushing noise that signals a car is approaching. I now know to jump out of the way, after an earlier near-miss that left me shaking and soaked in muddy water and turned my bright white coat a far less impressive shade of dirty brown. I cower in the hedgerow as the car flashes past, its lights briefly dazzling me. Even after the danger has passed I’m still trembling, so I stay where I am for a moment to calm myself before venturing out to face the world again. Come on, Puppy, be brave . . .

Then, suddenly, I hear a sound in the undergrowth nearby and catch the scent of something irresistible. Despite my exhaustion, I wriggle under the hedgerow following my twitching nose and find myself at the edge of another expanse of grass, although this time, to my delight, there are signs of human life: paths, flower beds, a playground and, in the distance, a scattering of buildings. It’s nowhere near as built-up as the city I came from, but where there are humans there is food, and maybe shelter too. And then – oh joy! – in the rapidly falling darkness I spot another dog accompanied by its owner and they’re heading in my direction. I give a few excited barks in greeting and a few moments later the dog has come bounding up to me, ball in jaws.

He’s a black and tan terrier about my size, even though he’s fully grown. He drops the ball in front of him.

‘Hey kid, are you lost?’

I’m not sure how to answer. ‘I’m on an adventure,’ I eventually reply with as much swagger as I can muster. ‘I’m exploring the world.’

‘But where are your humans?’

‘I . . . I ran away from them.’ Just saying the words makes me feel like whimpering at my foolishness. I sit down, trying to be strong, trying to keep myself together. ‘We were in the car travelling to the countryside, you see, and then my humans stopped to let me out for a quick break and I just . . . kept running.’

The terrier cocks his head to one side questioningly. ‘But why? Did they mistreat you?’

‘No, but . . .’ I think back to the weeks I spent with Veronica and Richard: the plush-cushioned bed they gave me to sleep in, the plentiful bowls of puppy food, the clothes Veronica tried (and failed) to dress me in, including a bright pink jacket which was far too tight around my tummy and itched horribly, although at least its little gold buttons were fun to chew off. At first there were cuddles too: she wouldn’t stop stroking and kissing me when I arrived, and while I still desperately missed my mother and the rest of my litter I began to feel loved and safe again. But then, somehow, everything went disastrously wrong.

The terrier’s human is calling him. ‘Oops, sorry, got to go,’ he says before I can say more. ‘Good luck with your adventure, kid. Look after yourself, it’s going to be a chilly night.’ And with that he picks up the ball and dashes off just as quickly as he appeared.

For a split second I think about chasing after him to ask if I can go home with him or even just play for a while, but he’s already quite a long way away and I’m too tired to catch up with him. I sink to the ground and put my head on my paws, trying not to cry. I just want to go home! But where is my home? I don’t suppose I have one any more. And with that realisation, my heart lurches horribly.

There’s a bitterly chill wind and my fur is still damp from its earlier drenching by the car. If I’ve got to spend the night outside, I really should find somewhere to shelter or else I’ll freeze. Picking myself up and giving myself a shake, I wander down the path in the direction of the distant buildings. I don’t think they’re human houses – they’re too small and they don’t have any lights on – but whatever they are, hopefully I can find a way to crawl inside to warm up. There’s nobody else around now, but I hear occasional scrabbling sounds in the bushes and catch glimpses of movement beneath the trees. I’d usually be keen to investigate further, but being alone in the dark suddenly feels rather menacing, so I stick to the path and pick up my pace. Although it’s now completely dark, I notice that my shadow is still trotting along next to me and I look up to find a dazzling full moon. I stop and stare up at its familiar silvery face, which I’d often admired through the windows of Veronica’s house, and, with a surge of courage, I realise that I don’t feel quite so alone any more.

Then, as I watch, something white and sparkling begins to drift from the sky, as if fragments of the moon are falling to earth. At first just a few float down, but then more and more appear, filling the air like the white feathers that once stuffed the plump cushions of my bed – and even the memory of Veronica’s furious scolding at that particular incident can’t spoil the magic of this moment. Spellbound, I watch as one of the moonflakes drifts lazily towards my nose . . . Oof, that tickles! I shake my head, then sneeze so hard I tumble over. Yikes, this stuff is cold! I really do need to find some shelter . . .

Nearby, I spot a bench in front of a hedge. Abandoning the idea of reaching the distant buildings, I decide the darkness underneath looks like a cosy enough space for a small puppy, so I crawl in and am overjoyed to be rewarded with the half-eaten remains of a ham sandwich. It’s a bit muddy and only a mouthful, but right now it tastes amazing.

Curling up beneath the bench, I stare out and watch the magical white stuff swirl and tumble through the air and, as I tuck my paws into my tummy trying to get warm, I’m suddenly hit by an overwhelming memory of being snuggled up with my mother. Just the thought of her brings with it a powerful sensation of warmth and happiness and safety, a feeling of being home, of being truly loved. I wonder if I’ll ever feel like that again?

I’ve been trying so hard to be brave, but now, curled up under that bench, lost and alone, I finally allow myself to despair. I’m just so tired . . . My eyelids are growing heavier now and as they shut the last thing I see is the moon dust beginning to settle on the grass, turning it silvery-white, transforming the world into an even stranger and more mysterious place.

Eight Days Until Christmas

I wake with a start. For a second I’m confused: where am I? Why aren’t I in bed in Veronica and Richard’s kitchen? But then an avalanche of uncomfortable sensations – cold, hunger, fear – reminds me exactly where I am, and I remember the not-so-brilliant plan that landed me here.

Lifting my head, I warily peer out from under the bench. It’s very dark now, the moon must be hidden behind the clouds. The white stuff has stopped falling from the sky, but there’s now a thick layer of it covering the ground, plumped up like the duvet on Richard and Veronica’s bed, smothering all the world’s smells and sounds. It’s so beautiful that for a moment I forget my troubles and simply gaze at the magical landscape, before a horrible, screeching yowl shatters the stillness, sending terror shooting through me. My ears prick up: what in dog’s name was that? It sounds like something big, wild – and hungry. As I wriggle further under the bench there’s an answering cry, only this time it comes from closer by. I wait, frozen in panic, my eyes scanning the dark for signs of movement and my nose twitching at the faint but unmistakable scent of danger, but the world has grown silent again, save for the rapid panting of my breath. I’m shivering uncontrollably – is it from the cold or from fear? I might be hidden from view here, but I feel as exposed as if I were out in the open. The darkness and that terrible howling has made me more conscious than ever that I’m still just a little puppy and out here on my own. Surely I can find a safer place than this to spend the rest of the night?

I struggle upright, but tumble jaws over paws again; the cold has made me stiff and besides I still haven’t quite mastered my legs. I think I’ve got the hang of them, but then I grow a bit bigger and suddenly they don’t work like I want them to. Mum always used to tell me to take things slowly, to be patient, that I’ll grow into myself in time . . . The thought of her starts me crying again. If Mum was here, she’d know what to do. No, you mustn’t think like that. You got yourself into this; you need to find a way out of it.

My tummy growls, reminding me that my last proper meal was breakfast – that morsel of sandwich barely made a dent in my hunger. Cautiously, I creep out from under the bench, hoping that whatever was making that noise has by now moved on. I can’t smell it any more either, so I assume that I’m safe – for now, anyway. It’s too dark to see anything clearly, so I stick my nose up in the air, hoping that it will guide me in the right direction. As I sniff the chill air I catch wind of a scent that makes my tail quiver and my tummy turn somersaults of anticipation. I know that smell! I remember it from Richard and Veronica’s house. That is the smell of roast chicken. I remember the taste too. Veronica had fed bits to me under the table, and it was the most heavenly thing I had ever tasted. My jaws begin to water at the memory: crispy skin, soft, buttery meat . . . Suddenly I no longer care about the cold or dark, or strange, screeching animals. Wherever that roast chicken is, that’s where I want to be!

With a rush of energy I bound forward – and promptly plunge up to my whiskers in a huge pile of the white stuff. Whoops . . . Struggling back to my paws, covered in it from nose to tail, I give myself a shake to get the worst off. Some of it has even got on my tongue, and while I’m trying to spit it out I’m amazed to discover that it has turned into fresh water in my mouth. I haven’t had a drink in ages, so I lick up some more. Brrrr, this moon dust is freezing! There’s such a thick layer of it that it almost reaches up to my tummy when I’m standing. I lift a paw experimentally and gently put it down again, watching with interest as it disappears into the white blanket. Now I try taking a few steps, but immediately stumble. Hmmm, this is not going to make progress very easy . . . Perhaps if I crouch down to give me an extra boost, I can spring forward with both paws and then . . . Yes! This time I manage to stay upright. Success!

So I set off on the trail of the scent, adopting a bouncing sort of bunny hop instead of my usual trot. All the crouching and springing is very tiring and I’m dizzy with hunger, but the chicken smell works like magic, distracting me from my frozen paws and empty tummy and urging me on, until far off in the distance I spot a speck of light. Could it be . . .? Yes, it appears to be coming from a house! It’s still a long way off, but I’m pretty sure if I can get there, that’s where I’ll find the roast chicken.

I try to pick up the pace, my breath turning to fog in the crisp air as I huff and puff through the snow. Although I have to stop now and then to sneeze my whiskers clean and shake the snow from my eyelashes. I’m flagging, stumbling more often now, but I’m heartened by the fact that the smell is growing stronger. The scent brings with it the promise not only of food, but of a warm kitchen and (is it too much to hope for?) a loving family with room in their home and their hearts for a small-ish, obedient-ish puppy. Because surely nothing bad could happen in a place that smells this good? Perhaps the family might even have some children of their own for me to play with . . . The possibility of new pals to tumble around with is almost as exciting as the prospect of food, and drives me forward. I haven’t really had anyone to play with since leaving my brothers and sisters – and how long ago was that now? I find it very tricky to keep track of time, but I do know how old I am because I heard Veronica telling one of her friends the other day. ‘He’s two months old and into everything,’ she had said with a roll of her eyes. (I’m not sure what she meant, but I got the impression that it wasn’t something she was particularly happy about.) Two months isn’t a very long time, I know, but so much has happened since then that I feel like I’ve already lived a lifetime.



My earliest memory is of cuddling up with. . .