phone.
But when Grandad was working with us on the kennel, he asked us questions about school and our teachers, and he even told us about his schooldays way out in the bush, âWhere the crows fly backwards to keep the dust out of their eyesâ. At Grandadâs country school, youâd get about five grades in the one classroom. And even more amazing was how the kids in primary school all over Australia were given teeny-weeny glass bottles of milk, the size of a small jam jar, for play-lunch so that Aussie kids would grow up with strong bones. The milk was free from the government.
By the time it was coming on dark, the kennel was half built, which was good progress. Then Dad got home, Mum called us in for spaghetti (my favourite dinner), and Gretchen got off the internet in time to eat with us.
During dinner, Dad announced we were going to the Dog Shelter the next day. I was over the moon. I was going to get my doggy birthday present.
Chapter Four
All the Bright family went to the animal shelter with me, but I was the one who was going to make the final choice. It was one of the best but saddest days of my life â both at once. There was cage after cage of lost, unwanted, or abandoned dogs. I wished I could give them all a home.
You wouldnât believe how many different sorts of dogs there are. Mum has a funny book sheâs kept since she was a kid where you flip half a page over and create new dogs from the front of one page and the back of another. Heaps of dogs looked like theyâd come out of Mumâs book â as if some scientist had played about with them. Some were smooth, some hairy. Spotty, silky-smooth, curly, and scruffy. Brown, black, blonde. Some had floppy ears, some pointy ears. Beady eyes or big owl eyes. Some long noses, some little noses. Some were as small as your hand; others were as big as a small horse. Some were full-grown and some were puppies. And the noise! Barking, howling, sniffling, whimpering, yapping, yowling. Itâs like most of the dogs knew that when visitors came, it was their chance to have a home. They were calling for attention.
Each of us had our favourites. Mum fell in love with a cute spaniel with one leg missing. Dad liked a young Kelpie-cross, but he said working dog breeds need lots of room to run around. Gretchen went nuts over a tiny dog with bulging eyes; I swear it was the size of a rat. Grandad didnât say much, but he spent a lot of time patting a big old German Shepherd who was so skinny you could see her ribs.
How was I supposed to choose? Luckily, it wasnât going to be up to me. I got chosen.
I had stopped to look at three fat puppies with shaggy fringes hanging over their eyes and wiry sandy-brown hair on their bodies. One was curled up by itself in a corner. The other two were play-fighting. The bigger one was winning. She was a girl. You could tell because she didnât have boy bits. She was a rough player â always knocking her little brother off his feet and pouncing on him. But he was great at wriggling out from under her. Then heâd jump on his sister, but sheâd throw him down in a sort of karate hold. Heâd squirm and nip. Sheâd lose her grip a moment, heâd escape, and then it would begin all over again.
That sister is just like Gretchen , I thought. And her little brother has the same sort of mussed-up, straw-coloured hair as me. Heâs also tough, just like I want to be  â¦
âNever say die,â said Grandad quietly over my shoulder.
âWhat does that mean?â I asked.
âNever ever give in,â said Grandad. He patted my shoulder and walked on to join Mum, Dad and Gretchen at another cage.
I laughed. I knew what it was like to be the little brother who could never stay on top for long. The shaggy little brother must have heard me. He walked away from his game with his sister and trotted over to me. His bright, intelligent eyes looked at
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