Buster

Buster
Jean Ure

Four stray dogs all with a story to tell of their rescue and how they came to live at Munchy Flats Cottage with their people Flossie and Jo. Buster is the boss dog, and he tells the stories…The first of four titles, each one told through the voice of a rescued dog.Buster the Bitsa is the star of this first book. He’s a mongrel – a bit of this and a bit of that. He’s the boss dog, the one who arrived at Munchy Flats cottage first. When Buster was a puppy he had a lovely warm and loving home. Being an adventurous little soul, he got out of the garden one day and was dognapped by a rogue. He was taken to live with a family who didn’t care for him but he managed to escape. Roaming the woods and fields he rescues a dear little lapdog and becomes a hero – with his picture in all the papers. His People recognise him and there’s a joyful reunion.

Copyright (#ulink_12488f55-88f9-5bc8-9faf-b4bb54f02292)

Collins

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First published in Great Britain by Collins in 2001

Text copyright © Jean Ure 2001

Illustrations by Maggie Ling 2001

Jean Ure and illustrator assert the moral right to be identified as author and illustrator of the work.

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Source ISBN: 9780006755098

Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2014 ISBN: 9780008116750

Version: 2014-09-23

Contents

Cover (#ud9c24cbd-1d20-5648-9241-7fcee4b8840d)

Title Page (#u8162a020-1088-5c61-9dd2-dbf7fc2c9603)

Copyright (#ulink_f9c8d366-c63d-5b36-aae5-cc5624071872)

Chapter One (#ulink_f9c1833c-87c8-5a3c-b42c-30d7611b4335)

Chapter Two (#ulink_091b1856-7593-5915-ace7-dbf8632ef159)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

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We are the dogs of Munchy Flats. We live here, with our people.

I am Buster, and I am the boss dog. I was here first. I tell the others what to do and make sure that they do it. I keep them in order!

There are two cats as well as us dogs. They are called Whiskers and Panda. They do not do what I tell them. They get into places where we cannot go, such as underneath the sofa or inside the cupboards. They sit on things we cannot reach, such as the top of the fridge or the television set. They take no notice when I bark at them.

Cats are not like dogs!

All of us have a story to tell, about how we came to be here. This is my story.

I was brought here when I was just a tiny pup. My people have a picture of me, which I think they must be quite proud of, as they have hung it on the wall. I can hardly believe that I once looked like that! All wriggly and giggly, with a head that was too big for my body. It is quite embarrassing. The others sometimes tease me.

“Oh, look!” they go. “Look at Buster as a puppy!”

Huh! I am sure they were just as wriggly and giggly when they were young.

I cannot remember much about those early days, but I know that I was happy. I had everything a pup could want. A warm home, people who loved me, good things to eat, and lots of fun! My people played games with me – tugging games, chasing games, games with a ball or a rubber ring. When I was old enough they took me for walks; I also had the garden to run in. I could go wherever I liked, except through the door at the side of the house.

I knew I mustn’t go through the door, for my people had told me so, many times. But I was young and foolish, and I did so want to know what was on the other side.

Well. One day a man came, with a ladder and buckets to make the windows clean so that the cats could look out of them. (Cats like to look out of windows.) After the man had gone, I ran into the garden – and guess what? He had forgotten to shut the door behind him! You can imagine what happened. I was through it in a flash.

I found myself in another garden. A smaller one, this time, with a path that led to a gate. I rushed down it at once, with my nose to the ground, sniffing all the lovely new smells. While I was sniffing, a car drove slowly past. I didn’t take much notice of it. I knew about cars, for my people had brought me home in one.

I went on sniffing. I sniffed fox, I sniffed badger.

I cocked my leg to mark the spot – this was my territory – and as I did so a voice spoke to me over the gate.

“Hallo, boy!”

I looked up, and wagged. A man was standing there, holding out his hand. I thought he might have something for me, so I went eagerly wobbling up to him on my rubbery puppy legs. I know now that you should never go to a stranger, but I didn’t know it them. I was too young. I thought everyone was my friend.

Before I realized what was happening, I found myself being grabbed by the scruff of my neck and swung up over the gate. I should have barked, to warn my people. They would have heard me, and come to my rescue. But I didn’t even whimper. I think I was too confused. All of a sudden, I had been stolen from my garden! I couldn’t believe the man would do me any harm, but I didn’t understand what was happening.

I saw the car that had driven past the gate. It was waiting, up the road, with its engine throbbing. The man flung open one of the doors and threw me inside. He did it quite roughly, so that all the breath was knocked out of me. I just had time to give a little yelp of fright before the car pulled away from the kerb and we shot up the road at great speed.

That was when I started to feel really scared.