Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Little Truff
Little Truff
Little Truff
Ebook123 pages1 hour

Little Truff

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

A MUST-READ for ALL animal lovers, 11–111 years!
A delightful, modern family story for new generations.
Terrified of her owner, Little Truff, an abused Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, runs away from home. Life on the streets is raw and challenging, but she learns how to cope. When she’s caught on the beach by the ranger and taken to the pound, she finds a dog’s life is expendable; fewer than half the dogs survive the experience. Some are lucky enough to go to new homes, but many are put to sleep in their prime. When Little Truff’s time is up she appeals for help to Anubis, the black jackal and Egyptian god dog, before she’s led away to her fate.
What will happen to her? Will he hear her cries or will she be just another sad statistic?
Little Truff is a poignant account with insight – at times harrowing – into how people often treat their canine friends.
Review: All animal lovers will enjoy reading Little Truff. It is a very special little book, and quite different from anything I've read. Writing it in first person was the key as it gives a very personal approach to the feelings of animals and how they view the world and its people. Well-researched information about the dog breeds is included. Rosemary Platt.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherAnn Russell
Release dateDec 14, 2011
ISBN9781465710499
Little Truff

Read more from Ann Russell

Related to Little Truff

Related ebooks

Children's Animals For You

View More

Related articles

Related categories

Reviews for Little Truff

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    Little Truff - Ann Russell

    LITTLE TRUFF

    Copyright Ann Russell 2011

    The author asserts the moral right to be identified as

    the author of this work.

    All rights reserved. With the exception of short excerpts quoted for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior permission in writing from the author.

    The book is set in Auckland, New Zealand, on the North Shore and in suburban Green Bay in West Auckland. However, the story, the characters, pedigree Cavalier names and the events described are entirely fictional; however, the trauma suffered by Little Truff in her rehabilitation is based on fact, as is the condition of Amy the Newfoundland in the pound. Refer to Author’s Note.

    Words marked with an asterisk appear in the Glossary at the end of the book.

    First published in paperback New Zealand in 2011

    by AM Publishing New Zealand

    www.ampublishingnz.com

    Edited by Adrienne Morris and Maureen Green

    Proofreading, book design, layout, photography and cover design

    AM Proofreading and Editing

    To purchase the paperback edition, please visit www.annrussellwriter.com

    Available on www.amazon.com, www.smashwords.com and www.annrussellwriter.com

    ~~~~

    LITTLE TRUFF

    Based on a true story

    For readers 11 to 111 years

    ~~~~

    Ann Russell

    Copyright Ann Russell 2011

    Published by AM Publishing NZ at Smashwords

    ~~~~~~

    CHAPTER ONE

    Murphy was the most eccentric cat I’ve ever known. He was my best friend, neighbour and a compulsive thief.

    Because a lot had happened to me in such a short time I was feeling completely bewildered sitting on the back porch of my new home.

    Facing me was a wide strip of lawn and a row of fruit trees bordering a high fence with a vegetable garden along the western boundary, and an A-frame kennel sat between the apple and the pear. The expanse of grass was a bonus. As I stepped onto it I felt like a lone frog in a large green pond.

    I’d just been for a tiddle when suddenly I heard a thump. I spun around in the direction of the noise but my nose had told me what to expect long before I saw him.

    A handsome, muscular, marmalade cat stood on the grass between the grapefruit and the mandarin trees. He had someone’s old grey sock hanging from his mouth. I don’t know who was more surprised, him or me.

    Arching his back and fluffing out his fur made him appear twice his size as he lashed his tail threateningly and growled.

    From the corners of my eyes, I could see him sizing me up. Now if there is one thing I already knew, it is never ever eyeball a cat – especially a strange one. I averted my gaze but stayed where I was, sitting on the ground with a bump.

    ‘Hi,’ I said, trying to sound calm. ‘Who’re you?’

    After his initial surprise he regained his poise. Dropping his trophy, he fixed me with a brittle stare. ‘So, you’re not afraid of cats. Most unusual. Are you a boy or a girl?’

    ‘A girl.’

    ‘What’s your name?’

    ‘I don’t have one yet. My mistress didn’t like my kennel name, and she hasn’t made up her mind.’

    ‘I see. ‘How old are you, then?’

    ‘Eight weeks. And I like cats. My breeder had a Burmese.’

    ‘Well, well, well!’ the marmalade mused, his expression softening. ‘My name’s Murphy. I live next door at number eight.’ Stepping up close to peer at me he asked, ‘What kind of dog are you?’

    ‘I’m a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel,’ I replied proudly, straightening my back and lifting my chin to show I wasn’t afraid. ‘The breed King Charles the Second fancied,’ I added, turning my head ever so slightly so I could see him better. ‘You may call me Little Cav for now.’

    His coat glowing like amber in the afternoon sun as it slowly smoothed back against his body, he twitched his whiskers. ‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ he said. ‘Come to think of it, I’ve seen your type before. It was black, if I remember rightly, with bits of brown here and there.’

    ‘That would be a black and tan,’ I offered. ‘Cavaliers come in four different colours: black and tan, tricolour, ruby and Blenheim.’

    ‘So what are you?’

    ‘I’m a Blenheim,’ I said, ‘because I have a pearl coat with chestnut markings.’

    ‘Then why aren’t you called a pearl and tan? It’d make more sense,’ he scoffed, scrutinising me intensely. ‘Your owner should call you Spot.’

    ‘No, thank you! I want a nicer name than that.’

    ‘Well, why not Dot then, after that splodge on top of your head! It’s big enough,’ he grinned, as he sat on his haunches. ‘Maybe a bird went splat?’ he added tucking his tail neatly around his front paws.

    ‘You’re rude,’ I retorted, turning to face him, ‘and ignorant, too. This is my lucky spot. It’s an asset.’

    His whiskers wiggled as a Cheshire cat grin spread from ear to ear. ‘Since when has a single spot been an asset?’ he asked patronisingly.

    ‘Since 1704, to be exact,’ I stated primly.

    He hadn’t expected that. He shot me a penetrating look and smoothed his whiskers with his right front paw.

    I let him take his time.

    Head cocked to one side and his voice tinged with respect, he said, ‘That long?’

    ‘It’s a good story,’ I replied, sending him a sideways glance, ‘but you’re much too busy to hear it.’

    ‘No. Not at all. If we’re going to be neighbours, we may as well get to know each other.’

    ‘Very well, then. It goes like this: The famous Battle of Blenheim was waged on the thirteenth of August 1704 in Germany, and the English won. Their commander-in-chief, John Churchill, later the Duke of Marlborough, scribbled a note on the back of an invoice and sent his aide-de-camp to take the news back to London.’

    ‘On the back of a bill?’

    ‘Yes.’

    ‘Well!’

    ‘While awaiting news of the battle the duchess stroked her pregnant toy spaniel and absentmindedly pressed her thumb onto her pet’s head.’

    Murphy eyed me speculatively as if he knew what was coming. ‘Go on,’ he said, a quirky smile tugging at his lips.

    ‘Soon after the news of victory, her toy spaniel gave birth to five pups. Each of them had a chestnut mark on top of its head, the size of Her Grace’s thumb. Since that day, these unique thumbprints have been called lucky spots.’

    ‘Well, that is quite a story!’

    Murphy rose to his feet, tightened his shoulders and hunched his back high. ‘Sometime I must tell you one or two of mine,’ he said, stretching his back legs as he prepared to move off. ‘Of course, you know that cats were worshipped as gods.’

    ‘So you say, but don’t expect that from me!’ I quipped.

    Murphy grinned, becoming slit-eyed with amusement. ‘I like you, Little Cav. You’ve got spirit, and I hope your spot brings you luck.’

    CHAPTER TWO

    Murphy’s favourite place was the northern fence separating his property from mine. On a wide wooden slat atop, front paws extended, he faced the primary school. Serene and sphinx-like, he sat, lord of all he surveyed.

    His coat shone like burnished copper as the sun filtered through the gaps in the pine trees, penetrating every fibre of his being.

    Every morning when I was let out to tiddle he called in his Irish brogue, ‘Top of the morning top to you, Little Cav.’

    ‘And may you have many of them,’ I replied in the manner in which he’d taught me.

    ‘I say, has your mistress decided on your name yet?’ asked Murphy.

    I felt incredibly self-conscious when Helene finally chose my name. ‘It’s Portia. How embarrassing is that!’ I whispered, looking away sheepishly.

    ‘Very posh, just like the Cavaliers,’ he said, trying to be kind.

    ‘But I’m a homely sort and can’t be bothered with all that royalty stuff. I’d rather you kept on calling me Little Cav.’

    ‘As you wish.’

    Murphy, now my mentor, educated me in the ways of the world. ‘After all,’ he’d explain with an air of lordly wisdom, ‘I’m three years old and have had many experiences in life. Yours is only beginning. I’m a cat and independent and free to roam at will. You’re a dog so your life is very different. You’re confined to your master’s property and totally dependent.’

    When I’d been in my new home for over a month he asked, ‘How are things working out with the Crawfords?’

    ‘It’s OK, but I’m a little disappointed. When I first arrived I was the centre of attention but that isn’t happening any more.’

    ‘That’s life,’ the cat said, nodding his head sagely. ‘The novelty’s wearing off!

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1